#the only sad thing is that I have nothing to pair it with

[athenalvss]

Imagine a Dick Grayson x reader where Bruce accidentally walks in on them

YES, MY LOVE? ( Dick grayson! )

summary: Dick has a broken leg, a beautiful girlfriend, and a nice bed in a house where no one is around, so why shouldn't he enjoy his moment in the spotlight?

pairing: Dick Grayson x fem!reader

cw: smut ( p in v), get caught.

open request - Dick masterlist

The manor was completely silent. Everything was wrapped in soft shadows, with the moon filtering through the hallway's enormous windows and the night breeze caressing the heavy curtains.

You'd received a message from Dick during the day asking you to come to the mansion to keep him company while he rested. He was tired of sitting alone, staring at the ceiling, counting nonexistent cracks, and complaining about "the sad temporary death of his nightlife." So why would you say no to your poor boyfriend with a broken leg?

You crossed the entrance without making a sound, went straight up to his room, and when you opened the door you found him lying on the bed, with an open book on his chest, the cast resting on several pillows and the face of a dramatic martyr.

"As far as I can see, you're alive, darling. How lucky you are." You said from the doorway, taking off your jacket.

"Barely. You don't know what it was like to watch three documentaries in a row about antique furniture restoration. I'm about to ask Alfred if I can rearrange the bookcase by color."

You approached, giggling, and carefully climbed onto the bed, lying down beside him. "So you need me to keep you from leaving your life as a security guard and becoming a decorator?"

"Exactly. My righteous soul is in danger," he replied, turning slightly toward you with that soft smile that seemed innocent as he rested his head on your chest. "And besides... I missed you."

You stroked his jaw, and he closed his eyes for a second, as if that simple gesture was what he truly needed to heal. Your lips found his in a slow, leisurely kiss, until you felt his hands clutch your waist with a mischievous smile until you pulled away. "I missed you too, Dickie."

He groaned faintly, as if hearing that nickname weakened him more than any wound on the battlefield. "Don't call me that if you're not going to stay all night," he said, hiding his smile in your collarbone, his voice vibrating against your skin.

"I have to go to college tomorrow" you sighed, your fingers playing with his hair.

Dick pulled away just to look at you, his brow furrowed slightly and his expression a mixture of Greek tragedy and subtle emotional blackmail.

"You can skip it. For a noble cause. You can say your boyfriend is slowly dying of boredom and needs constant company to survive."

You laughed softly as he gently pulled you towards him again, cradling you against his chest. "You're very persuasive for someone who's immobilized in one leg."

“I’m using the only thing I have left: my charm,” he replied in a deep voice, kissing the top of your head. “Don’t leave me tonight, i beg you, im young, vulnerable and horny”

You rolled your eyes, but clung to him with the same need. Dick had that dangerous ability to persuade; the way he touched you made you dizzy, the way each touch felt as natural as breathing. At some point, between laughter, soft kisses, and wordless promises, you both ended up under the sheets, sharing the warmth of a moment that seemed eternal. You couldn't help but think the force he used while he tried to move with his leg in a cast was ridiculous, but even that was adorable in its clumsiness. And you couldn't help but help him settle in while he gently pulled you on top of him, as if nothing could hurt him more tonight than the distance between you.

"Dick, are you sure there's no one here?"

"Trust me," he replied with absolute certainty, running a hand down your back. "We have the mansion to ourselves. It's a blessing from the universe. As if Gotham were saying: Today, Dickie, today is your turn to be happy."

You kissed him again, deeper this time. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he caressed your waist, his breathing mingling with yours. Your legs were on either side of his hips, the heat between you slowly rising like a tide. His hands, firm but gentle, gripped your waist, slowly guiding you to continue grinding his clothed cock, which you could feel growing at the friction of your panties.

"You look beautiful," he murmured, his voice husky from the closeness, while his fingers went up just below your shirt, trying to remove it and let him see your songs moving to your rhythm.

Your smile curved at the sight of him so exhausted. You slowly lowered your torso until his lips found yours again. The kiss was hungrier, deeper. Your hands moved up to his already ready cock, feeling his muscles tense beneath your fingers.

"You're killing me," he murmured through gritted teeth, his smile barely trembling as he felt his cock sink into your wetness. "What a beautiful way to die."

"sure no one's there, right?" you whispered against his ear, a playful smile on your lips. "I don't want them to see me riding on your cock."

"I told you..." Dick whispered, smiling against your neck as he held you against him, not wanting you to move yet, both of you in his bed, sharing the warmth under the sheets. "No one's home. Alfred's in the cave, and Bruce left tonight. He never comes around."

His lips moved down your collarbone, and you chuckled, stroking his messy hair. His leg was in a cast, yes, but that hadn't stopped him from moving his hips toward you with that signature "I've been through worse, this isn't going to slow me down" look.

His hips found a rhythm of their own, slow but determined, grinding against you with clear purpose. That smile of his settled on his face.

"Look, I'm hurt, huh?" he murmured against your skin. "You could show me some mercy."

"More mercy than this?" you replied, unable to stop yourself from laughing softly, your voice barely trembling from everything you were feeling. "I'm riding you with my tits in your face. I can't do much more..."

Dick's laugh was drowned in a deep sigh. His fingers gripped your waist tightly, as if he needed to anchor himself to you so he wouldn't lose his mind.

The room, once silent save for broken whispers, was now filled with rapid breathing, wet thuds, and the creaking of the bed as the heat grew between you. It was a moment suspended in time, so intimate that it hurt to think it might end soon.

Dick's lips found yours in a hungry, almost desperate kiss, while his body, still limited, surrendered completely to what you allowed him to do. "Keep squeezing my cock baby, I'm gonna cum, shit," he murmured, his voice breaking, his forehead resting against yours.

Your hips began to move with more urgency, as if each touch sought to satisfy all the pent up needs of all those days of waiting. Dick looked at you as if you were all he needed to stay whole, as if the pain in his leg were just background noise compared to the comfort of having you like this, so close, so devoted. His fingers trembled slightly against your skin, but they didn't stop clinging to you, guiding you, seeking more of that connection that seemed to envelop them completely.

"Don't stop," he murmured, his voice hoarse, against your neck. "Please... don't stop."

"Dick, are you awake?" Bruce's deep voice cut off abruptly.

Both of you froze in that instant even though you had both had the best orgasm since you started dating, still feeling his thick threads of cum filling your soaked pussy, your first reaction was to cover yourself with the sheet up to your head, leaving Dick with his head resting against your chest, letting out an exhausted grunt.

Bruce didn't move for a couple of long seconds. "...You should be resting," he said at last, in that serious, dry tone he used when he was suppressing the urge to lecture.

"I was resting," Dick replied without lifting his head from your breasts, still hidden in the sheets.

"And no lock on the door."

"Whose fault is that?"

Bruce took a deep breath through his nose, as if he were doing mental yoga to keep from setting the mansion on fire. "Finish ruining the bed," he said, turning toward the hallway. "But we'll talk tomorrow."

Clic.

The door closed firmly.

Silence.

Dick stood there, leaning against you, completely motionless.

"Richard?"

"Yes my love?"

"I'm gonna kill you"

[neellscapsule]

a resounding heart attack

summary | there are three romance rules you have to follow: don't date coworkers, don't fall in love with flirty people, and never show how whipped you actually are. clark fails the three of them.

pairing | clark kent x wayne!female!reader

warnings / tags | pure fluff with a bit of suggestive stuff (language & actions), but nothing actually happening except lingerie photos that reader does not send but they are from a production :D. reader is a menace but gotham loves her ??? she's actually so cheeky so flirty so everything (just one chance pls). clark is blushing mess especially when it comes to her. mentions to a sad childhood because reader it's literally a wayne ?????

word count | 4.9k

authors note | hi there!! english is not my first language so there might be some mistakes, or not, it can depend :)

i've written this with david!clark on my mind but you can picture him hoverer you want. i also believe in battinson agenda for this specific version of clark :D

THERE ARE LITTLE THINGS IN THE WORLD THAT CAN AFFECT CLARK KENT.

All the types of Kryptonite disturb him in different ways. Red sun weakens him, dulling his strength and senses until he almost forgets what it feels like to be invulnerable. Magic does a number on him too, inexplicable and chaotic, like trying to hold onto smoke with bare hands. Other aliens with tech far beyond Earth’s understanding have hurt him, too. Kara once punched his arm and left it all purple — it healed fast, but it still hurt.  

There are, indeed, little things that can affect him. 

But you? 

You are at the top of that list.

He does not remember his heart beating that fast, almost inhumanly, on the edge of being impossible. Does not remember his cheeks ever being so red, his clumsiness bordering on being considered the dumbest man on Earth. Once he dropped his entire mug of coffee on his slacks just because you called him “Smallville” with that mischievous little smirk. 

Jimmy, Lois and practically everyone just laugh at him, his quirks, but he can't help it.

He can't help how much you affect him. Can't help how much he likes you. 

In his defense, there's no way he was able to not like you. Not only because he —and at least half the population— thinks you are hot. You are hot. Very much. He’s not going to lie to himself about that. The kind of beautiful that doesn’t feel like it was made for the front page of a magazine, but the kind that stuns you mid-sentence because of how effortless it is. You laugh too loudly sometimes, you talk with your hands, and you make eye contact like it’s a dare.

But it’s more than that.

You’re smart. Sharp as broken glass. Your writing is electric, biting in the way that Gothamites tend to be—your byline alone has caused five resignations, two public apologies, and one lawsuit (which the Daily Planet won). Not even Perry crosses you, that must count for something. You flirt with everyone, but with him, it’s different. You save your cheekiest lines, your softest smirks, your most infuriating whispers for him—as if you know how easily he folds.

The worst thing is not that you work together. No. Clark has a complete and long list about the worst —best— part of working with you.

In the first place, is that you share the same space with him. Your desks are pressed together, both of you facing one another, screens lit up, voices low as you trade edits, ideas, and insults. Your heel taps his shoe sometimes—grazing more than stepping. He’s convinced you don’t even notice it, that it’s just a habit, something subconscious.

From his seat, he sees you clearly. Memorizes your expressions like a song stuck on repeat. The way your eyes narrow when something doesn’t sit right. The sharp inhale before you pounce on a lead. You scrunch your nose when someone makes a poor argument, like it physically pains you to hear idiocy. You press your tongue briefly between your lips when you're deep in thought, which he pretends not to see but always does. You smile—oh, when you smile—it hits like sunlight through lead glass. Blinding. Honest. Beautiful.

The two of you share a corkboard pinned to the wall. His side is sparse—some clippings, a "Mighty Crabjoys" movie poster, and a coffee-stained sheet of work hours he never took down. But yours? Yours is filled to the brim, despite not being much space.

A series of colorful letters that spell your name, doodles, a Gotham National University pennant, and a printed photo of a night out with everyone —Lois, Jimmy, Steve, Cat, you, and himself included.

He hears the click of your heels before anyone else does.

It’s the kind of sound that parts his thoughts in two, makes them flutter like loose pages in a breeze. Sharp, rhythmic, deliberate. You don’t walk through the bullpen—you arrive. And every step pulls the air taut around him like fishing line. 

He doesn’t need to look up to know it’s you. His entire body already knows. His hearing adjusts itself before he can think better of it—your heartbeat, lighter than most, steady and confident, like it owns time. Like it’s never once skipped or stalled the way his just did.

You turn the corner and he’s already looking, caught in the act—he knows you catch him. You always do.

You enter the Daily Planet like you own it, and in some subtle way, you do. Not because of your name. You don’t need money or threats to command a room. You have something worse. Charisma. Ease. Danger. Power in a smile that knows it has claws and doesn’t care to hide them.

Your skirt is black and short—unreasonably so. Illegal in several states, maybe. Certainly illegal in Clark’s heart, because it just stopped beating. Your white stockings gleam slightly under the lights, spotless and smooth and devastating. You��ve tucked your ironed shirt into your waistline like some kind of cruel, beautiful war crime. Gold glints from your ears, your wrist, the edge of your collar. Not fake gold, not plated. Real. Heavy. Old money.

You wear your wealth the same way you wear your grin—like a challenge.

You look over, the corner of your mouth curling, and say, just for him, “Good morning, Smallville.”

Smallville.

He could snap the pen in his hand if he weren’t careful. You say it so softly. So wickedly. Like you know. Like you know that he’s already halfway undone and you’re just playing with the bow.

Clark already had your coffee in his hand—he'd been holding it since 7:43 AM, exactly three minutes after he arrived. Two sugars, no cream. Lid slightly ajar because you said it kept the flavor from suffocating. He didn’t really understand what that meant, but he listened. He always listened.

He handed it to you with trembling fingers.

“Good morning,” he says, trying not to clear his throat.

You sit down, smooth the back of your skirt behind you with grace and muscle memory, and lean to the side, setting your bag against the leg of your desk. Your voice is light as you bring your phone to your ear again. He doesn’t mean to listen. But he hears everything. He always does.

“Alfred,” you say warmly. “Yes, I got here. No, no traffic, thank god. Yes, I remembered my meeting with Lucius over the computer. No, I’m not eating fast food for lunch. No— No, I will not talk to Bruce unless he sends Dickie over for the weekend. I already told him that.”

Clark’s cheeks heat just listening to you talk. Not because of what you’re saying. But because of how you sound when you say it. Comfortable. Confident. Unfiltered. Even the way you say Alfred is affectionate and biting at the same time. Gotham to your core.

“Alright, Alfie. Gotta go. No, I’m not drinking too much caffeine. That’s a lie and you know it. Bye.”

You hang up and turn your attention to the rest of the room, sweeping your gaze around the bullpen like a queen taking inventory of her court.

“What’d I miss?” you ask, reaching for your coffee.

Lois, across from you, didn’t look up from her monitor. “You missed Jimmy flirting with Marcie from legal. Again.”

Jimmy Olsen, from the far side of the square of desks, turned his chair with all the mock indignation of someone deeply unashamed. “I wasn’t flirting. I was complimenting her boots.”

“You told her she had the stride of an Amazon warrior,” Lois deadpanned.

“Well, she does!” Jimmy said, throwing up his hands. “That’s empowering. I’m being supportive.”

You sipped your coffee, giving Clark a wink over the rim. “You’re one scandal away from a harassment workshop, Olsen.”

“Pffft. I’ve dated half the women on this floor.”

“Exactly.”

Lois snorted, and Clark tried very hard not to laugh. He tried even harder not to stare.

It was pointless.

You leaned back in your chair, arching slightly as you stretched—your blouse pulling just enough to make Clark look away before he went blind from the effort it took not to look. You tapped your pen against your lower lip as you glanced at the whiteboard across the bullpen.

“I see no one’s updated the lead stories,” you said casually. “So we’re still pretending the mayor’s brother being caught in a LexCorp-funded apartment with two unlicensed bounty hunters isn’t news?”

Perry White’s voice roared from his glass office. “I’m waiting on confirmation before we blast that one, Wayne!”

“Oh, sorry,” you replied, not even looking at him. “I forgot the Planet’s new slogan: ‘Cowards First.’”

Clark coughed to cover his laugh, and Lois shook her head, grinning.

“Do you wake up and choose violence or is it just muscle memory at this point?” Lois asked, not even hiding the fondness in her tone.

“Neither,” you said, rolling your chair closer to the below edge of the desk. Your knees brushed his. He stopped breathing. “I wake up and check if Gotham’s still a hellhole. Then I make myself look nice for Smallville here.”

You smiled at him, devilish. Clark’s mouth opened and closed like a dying fish.

Jimmy leaned over the desk, pointing between the two of you. “This,” he said, “this is why I never bother flirting with you. I don’t like losing.”

“Oh, lover boy,” you purred. “No one even asked you to compete.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “And I never will again. Lesson learned.”

Lois chuckled, returning to her screen. “Good. Maybe now you’ll actually write your piece on the sewage reform bill.”

Jimmy groaned. “Please. Why do I always get the sexy stuff?”

Clark finally found his voice. “Because last time you covered a robbery, you took a selfie with the suspect.”

“He was holding the stolen merchandise!” Jimmy argued. “What was I supposed to do—ignore the story?”

You shook your head with a dramatic sigh. “You’re the reason Perry has a ‘No Selfies at Crime Scenes’ memo pinned to the break room door.”

Clark smiles, ducking his head toward his screen, pretending to reread a paragraph he’s already proofed twice. But your heel taps his shoe under the desk—lightly, casually—and the impact goes straight to his ribcage.

You sip your coffee and sigh happily. “Mm. You got the vanilla right this time.”

“I, uh—yeah,” Clark says. “I remembered.”

“Of course you did.” You grin, crossing one leg over the other. “You always do.”

He forces his eyes to his monitor. His vision is fine, of course. Superfine. He could read microscopic text if he wanted. Right now, though, even large font blurs when you look at him like that.

Lois finally glances up and gives you a once-over. “Did you steal that skirt from a teenager?”

You make a scandalized noise. “Lois Lane. Jealousy is unbecoming.”

“I’m just worried HR is gonna pass out in the hallway.”

“Please. HR loves me. They send me memes.”

Jimmy leans over the divider. “Is it true you threatened that CEO with a bottle of wine?”

You tilt your head thoughtfully. “Technically, I described what a bottle of wine could do in the hands of a woman from Gotham. The threat was implied.”

Lois huffed. “God, you two are unbearable before ten.”

You wink. “We’re unbearable after ten, too. Just more caffeinated.”

A comfortable hum settles into the bullpen after that. Everyone returns to work—Lois muttering to herself, Jimmy editing photos, the low murmur of keyboards and printer hums filling the space. Clark focuses on his article, or at least pretends to. The screen glows back at him, a half-finished headline blinking expectantly. He tries again.

From his seat, he can see you—your expression flickering through a dozen small emotions as you scroll through your inbox, narrowing your eyes, muttering curses at editors, grinning when Jimmy shows you a ridiculous photo of a dog wearing sunglasses. He watches you like a man stranded in the desert watches a thundercloud. With reverence. With thirst.

It’s stupid, probably. This crush. This...thing.

But then again, everything about you is a little bit dangerous. A little bit impossible.

And still—he wants it. Wants you. Wants this part of his life that feels so close to normal, even if it isn’t.

Because you don’t know.

You don’t know who he is. What he is. You flirt with him like he’s just a man. You smile at him like he’s not carrying the weight of ten thousand secrets on his spine. And when your heel brushes his shoe again, just lightly, he lets himself smile back.

Just a little.

Just enough to make it through the rest of the day.

Moving to Metropolis had been a choice . . . unexpected to everyone close to you. Well, you didn't have many close people back on Gotham that weren't your brother, Alfred, and Dick. And Dick was your nephew, so that must say something. 

Growing up as orphans took its toll on you and your brother, but each of you took different paths. While Bruce trained in his youth to become Gotham's vigilante—the glorious Dark Knight—adopting Dick while on it, you had become more of a celebrity, always the center of attention. 

When you came of age, you became a model —while studying multiple careers: you were fascinated with the aspect of having many degrees since you could remember— and it wasn't until you moved to Metropolis several years later that you abandoned your career altogether.

It wasn't that you didn't enjoy it. You really enjoyed being a model. Especially when the shoot wasn't shared—the modeling world was very competitive, and quite exhausting, too.

But it wasn't enough.

You went to therapy for many years. Your brother hadn't been able to be convinced, but Alfred had insisted so much that you had no way of refusing. And it was in one of your last sessions that your psychologist had mentioned something about a new lease on life.

Perhaps she didn't mean exactly moving to another city, but you took it like that.

Gotham had been your cradle and your crypt. It raised you, starved you, scarred you. It made you what you are. But it also stole a piece of you when it took your parents. You were only eight, and you still remember the scream your brother made—guttural, inhuman—as he held your tiny shoulders and covered your eyes. He’d been just a kid, too.

You loved Bruce, deeply. You respected what he became. But the way he chose to fight back… it wasn’t your way.

You had to find your own.

That's how you ended up in Metropolis, with an excellent letter of recommendation (or rather, a favor) that led you right to where you are now. You lived well, combining the money from your last name with your salary, in a safe area, on the top floor of a tall building.

Metropolis differed vastly from Gotham. While Gotham rarely saw a ray of sunlight, Metropolis seemed flooded with it. There weren't as many villains as in your hometown either, but the ones that did exist were either pure aliens or completely enhanced. Meta-humans, they called them.

And here they didn't have a vigilante. They had a hero.

Superman.

Your brother doesn't especially likes him. Doesn't hate him either way. He just wants you safe, and if Superman is there to protect all of Metropolis, then he must be there to protect you as well. 

You don't worry much about it. If it's about burglars, you have a gun, a taser and a pepper spray so powerful that you could be arrested in at least five countries. If it's about aliens . . . well, you had a good life.

Lunch breaks at the Daily Planet were a coin toss. Sometimes, you barely got a fifteen-minute window to scarf down a protein bar between deadlines and chaos. Other times, like today, you managed to sneak out with Lois Lane—two of the sharpest tongues in the city wrapped in designer sunglasses and sarcasm, tucked into a booth in a tiny diner four blocks from the office.

You liked this place. A hole-in-the-wall with cracking linoleum and a grumpy waitress who called everyone “sweetheart” and meant it in a way that could also mean “dumbass.” The coffee was terrible, but the fries? Perfect. Greasy, salty, served on cracked white plates with tiny cups of spicy ketchup. You and Lois had claimed the corner booth months ago, and no one had dared to sit there since.

You pulled your sunglasses off your head, tossing them onto the table as you sank into the squeaky vinyl seat.

“I swear to god,” you muttered, unbuttoning the top of your blouse to breathe, “if Perry gives me one more rewrite on that Luthor piece, I’m going to throw myself out a window.”

Lois smirked over the rim of her iced tea. “He only pushes you because your drafts are so clean. You know he likes to feel like he’s doing something.”

“Yeah? Next time he wants to feel productive, he can scrub the bathrooms.” You stabbed a fry. “He’s lucky I don’t invoice him for every time he makes me put a period after LexCorp instead of Lexcorp.”

Lois’s laugh was soft, knowing, the kind that made her seem lighter than she ever let herself be at work. “You need a vacation.”

“I need a raise.”

“You’re already rich.”

You shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want Perry’s money too. I’m a capitalist pig. I want your money while we’re at it.”

Lois chuckled again, shaking her head. “Gotham.”

“Damn right.”

It was easy, this. Effortless. You’d always gotten along well with women—grew up around men who didn’t talk about their feelings and a brother who bottled everything up until it cracked through his ribs—but Lois? Lois was like steel wrapped in velvet. Smart, intense, loyal to a fault. You liked her immediately. She reminded you of a fox—sharp, beautiful, and always watching.

You weren’t sure when you’d become best friends. It had just… happened. Shared assignments turned into late-night editing sessions, which turned into wine-fueled gossip nights, which eventually became something deeper. It felt good to have someone like her. 

She didn’t care that you were a Wayne. She didn’t care about Gotham. You were just you to her. You hadn’t had that in years.

“So,” Lois said, her voice carrying that sharp edge she got when she was gearing up to dissect something, “are we gonna talk about it or do I have to drag it out of you?”

You blinked at her. “Talk about what?”

She gave you a look. The Lois Lane look. The one that could strip paint from a wall and force you to confess crimes you hadn’t even committed.

“Oh no,” you said, pointing a fry at her like a weapon. “I am not talking about it.”

“You are absolutely talking about it,” she countered. “Because you’ve been mooning over him like a teenage girl with a crush on her math teacher, and I’m this close to staging an intervention.”

Your entire body went hot, like she’d just shouted the truth to the whole diner. “Lois—”

“Don’t Lois me,” she said firmly. “You are painfully, pathetically, devastatingly whipped for Clark Kent, and it’s embarrassing for both of us at this point.”

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “I am not whipped.”

“You’re whipped,” she said again, sipping her tea with infuriating calm. “You’re so whipped you buy your outfits based on how you think he’ll react. I saw you this morning. That skirt? That was a weapon of mass destruction.”

You peeked through your fingers at her. “Okay, first of all, I looked amazing. And second of all…” You hesitated, then sighed. “Yeah, maybe I wanted him to notice.”

Lois leaned forward, smug. “And did he?”

You hated that she was making you say it out loud. “He… looked at me.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes!” you hissed. “Lois, it’s Clark. He looks at everyone like they hung the moon. That man probably blushes at Perry when he’s in a good mood.”

Lois laughed so hard she nearly choked on her tea. “Okay, first, I wish I could un-hear that mental image. Second, you’re wrong. Clark doesn’t look at me like that. Or Jimmy. Or anyone. He looks at you like that.”

You snorted, leaning back against the booth. “He’s just… nervous. He’s nervous around everyone. That’s his thing. He’s like a giant golden retriever with anxiety.”

Lois leveled you with another one of her patented, withering stares. “You’re an idiot.”

“Thank you,” you said sweetly. “I work hard at it.”

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Y/N. He likes you. He’s just shy. Painfully shy. The man can barely string a sentence together when you’re around.”

Your heart gave an unhelpful little flutter, and you immediately tried to squash it. “Or he’s just… shy in general.”

“No,” Lois said flatly. “Trust me, I’ve known him for years. He’s quiet, but he’s not shy. He’s the kind of guy who’s comfortable letting everyone else take the spotlight. Except with you. You short-circuit him.”

You stared at her, trying to will yourself not to hope. Hope was dangerous. Hope led to heartbreak. And you’d had enough of that to last a lifetime. “You really think he likes me?”

Lois smirked. “I know he likes you. You could cut the tension between you two with a butter knife. Honestly, it’s nauseating.”

You bit your lip, fiddling with your straw. “He’s just… I don’t know. He’s Clark. He’s kind, and sweet, and ridiculously good-looking, and—”

“And you’re crazy about him,” Lois supplied.

“Shut up.”

“You are,” she said, grinning like the devil. “You’re so gone for him it’s painful.”

You shoved a fry in your mouth to avoid answering, chewing furiously. But she wasn’t wrong. Clark Kent had somehow managed to completely undo you. Which was ridiculous, because you’d grown up surrounded by some of the most intimidating, impressive men on the planet. Bruce. Alfred. Hell, you had met the most attractive men on Earth while being a model…

Clark Kent made your heart beat like you were sixteen again.

“He’s so fucking cute.”

“You’re pathetic.”

“Violently.” You popped another fry into your mouth. “Do you think he knows? Like, knows?”

Lois blinked at you over her straw. “Are you serious?”

“I mean… I flirt with him a lot.”

“You practically sit on his desk and purr.”

“He never flirts back.”

Lois put her drink down with a thunk. “Y/N. He stutters when you look at him. He spilled an entire latte on his lap last week because you called him Smallville.”

You tilted your head, considering. “Okay, but—he’s like that with everyone, isn’t he?”

“No. He’s not. He’s awkward, sure, but with you? It’s different. What I'm saying is that Clark Kent is terminally down bad for you. And has been since you showed up at the Planet for the first time in Prada heels and a war crime of a pencil skirt.”

You smiled, teeth flashing. “So you noticed that skirt.”

“Everyone noticed that skirt. Including HR.”

“Still not my shortest.”

Lois rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible. And half the office thinks you’re already dating.”

You blinked. “They do?”

“Of course they do,” she said. “You two sit practically on top of each other all day. You bring him coffee, he brings you bagels, you touch his leg under the desk, he turns the color of a tomato… it’s a whole thing.”

You buried your face in your hands again, frustrated with yourself. “I’m going to die.”

Lois grinned wickedly. “Or you’re going to kiss him. Your choice.”

The walk back to the Daily Planet is slow, heavy with the weight of too many fries and just enough gossip to give the next hour of productivity a fighting chance. You and Lois move together the way you always do—shoulder to shoulder, stride for stride, two women used to commanding space and rarely apologizing for it.

Lois is telling you about a source she has in the Mayor’s office—a guy who apparently sweats like a faucet when asked about Luthor’s latest construction contracts.

“You should see him,” she says, half-laughing as you both round the corner. “One mention of ‘independent oversight’ and the man’s upper lip turns into Niagara Falls.”

You snort, adjusting your sunglasses on top of your head. “I’ll go with you next time. I’ve been told I have a very disarming presence.”

“Oh, you disarm alright,” Lois mutters, pushing open the lobby doors. “Mostly by blowing people’s equilibrium to hell.”

“Why thank you,” you grin. “I do my best.”

You ride the elevator up with the kind of easy silence only best friends share. Lois doesn’t press, not anymore. She’s said her piece about Clark—twice—and now she’s letting the cards fall where they may. Which is good. Because your heart is still somewhere back in that booth, fluttering like a moth caught in a lampshade.

The bullpen is quieter now, the post-lunch lull settling in. Phones ring, keys clack, and the occasional shout from Perry’s office cuts through like a cleaver. Jimmy’s at his desk, editing something with his headphones on. Lois splits off with a “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” and you answer with “That’s a very short list,” earning a wink and a wave as she disappears.

You move through the bullpen with purpose—heels tapping soft but steady—and you’re halfway to your desk when something catches your eye. Or rather, someone.

Clark.

He’s exactly where you left him: sitting ramrod straight, tie slightly loosened now, glasses perched just so, brow furrowed in concentration. From behind, he looks painfully composed. Too composed. The kind of composed that only comes from total panic.

And the screen in front of him?

Well.

That’s your face.

Your body.

A high-resolution photo splashed across his monitor, larger than life. You in pale green lingerie, draped across a white velvet couch, lips parted, hair tousled, gaze direct. The photo is a couple years old, but unmistakably you. From a Gotham editorial that never ran publicly, just teased in hush-hush corners of the internet and fashion magazines. A private, exclusive shoot—back when you still occasionally let stylists talk you into anything.

It wasn’t obscene, not exactly, but it was… suggestive.

Clark Kent is staring at it like it might explode.

You stop walking.

Then, slowly, carefully, like a predator who’s just spotted something delicious, you change course. You drift behind his desk with feigned nonchalance, the lazy curl of a smirk already blooming on your lips. He hasn’t noticed yet. He’s too focused. You almost feel bad.

Almost.

You lean in close. Not too close—just enough. Close enough to breathe the same air. Close enough that he can feel the softness of your blouse graze the back of his shoulder. You rest your chin on the slope between his collar and the thick fabric of his suit jacket. He froze, every muscle going tight as though you’d just hit him with a Taser.

Your voice is warm honey when you speak.

“Well, well. I didn’t know I had a fan club.”

Clark jerks like he’s been electrocuted.

“Y-Y/N—!” His voice pitches up. He fumbles for the keyboard like it might save him, slamming a key—probably Escape, poor thing—but it only zooms the photo in further. Right on your midriff.

You raise an eyebrow, still resting your chin on him like you belong there. “Nice monitor, Smallville. That screen quality’s amazing. Did the Planet get new tech or are you just… investing in some private research?”

“I—No, I didn’t—This isn’t—” he’s turning bright red, hands practically slamming at the keys now in pure panic. The image disappears with a blur of motion, but the damage is done. The shade of him. Scarlet all the way up to his ears. You swear even the back of his neck is blushing. 

You grin, slow and wicked.

“Relax,” you murmur near his ear. “It’s not like I’m offended. I’d say I’m flattered.”

Clark makes a sound that’s somewhere between a cough and a strangled gasp.

You step around his chair, finally moving to stand in front of him. Not that it helps. You’re still too close—just standing, slightly leaning into the wood. And you’re looking at him now. Really looking. Fingers resting lazily on the edge of his desk, eyes soft but unreadable.

“That’s an old photo,” you said conversationally, eyes flicking toward the screen. “At least two years, maybe three. I’m impressed you dug it up.”

He made a strangled noise. “I—I wasn’t—”

“Oh, sure,” you interrupted again, smirking. “You just… accidentally stumbled across me in lingerie on a random Tuesday afternoon. Happens all the time.”

“Y/N,” he said, his voice rough with mortification. “I can explain—”

You tilt your head.

“But between you and me,” you say, voice low, “there are… better views than that photo.”

Clark blinks rapidly, shoulders so stiff they could crack. “Better—?”

You let the silence stretch, letting him squirm just a little longer. Watching him. Watching how hard he tries not to look at your mouth. Your legs. Anywhere but your eyes. He fails, beautifully.

You smile—real slow, like it knows too much.

“I mean,” you shrug, feigning innocence, “if you want an updated photoshoot, all you have to do is ask. I’m very cooperative when properly motivated.”

The sound that escaped him wasn’t even a word. More like a faint, startled noise from the back of his throat.

You straightened up at last, letting him breathe, and smoothed your skirt with a practiced flick of your fingers. “Anyway,” you said breezily, as though you hadn’t just completely destroyed him in front of his own computer. “I should get back to work.”

Clark turned slowly in his chair, wide-eyed and still visibly reeling, his tie slightly askew. “Y/N, I—”

You held up a hand, cutting him off. “No need to explain, Smallville. Really. Just… try not to get distracted, hmm? Perry would hate for you to miss a deadline because you were staring at my legs on a screen.”

You gave him one last, devastating smile before gliding toward your desk, heels clicking softly on the floor. Behind you, you could feel his gaze follow you like a physical thing, hot and helpless and utterly, wonderfully Clark.

Yeah, maybe Lois was right.

[wildflowersandvibranium]

Muscle Memory

Chapter Fourteen

Pairing: CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO LOVERS Restaurant Owner Bucky Barnes x Cardiac Surgeon Female Reader Alternate Universe

Series Summary: In a town that never forgets , she thought she could hide the bruises behind a perfect smile and life. But someone from her past sees too much—and remembers everything.

Chapter Warnings: References to physical and emotional domestic abuse , PTSD-like symptoms , dissociation , panic , and self-blame , distress , crying , mentions of childhood trauma , romantic Intimacy (Non-Sexual) , fluff , angst

a/n: second to last chapter you guys omggg im so sad but also over flowing with gratitude and pure joy! Last chapter is after this , then the epilogue! thank you @arcadiajope for the motivation to lock in and get her done!

series masterlist

<- previous chapter - next chapter coming soon ->

The sound of her feet padding  on the hardwood floor of the stairs then to the lower level of the restaurant echoed unnaturally in the now quiet building. 

The music had died out long ago. Most of the guests had cleared out and gone home after the police took Tyler away in cuffs , but Y/N still felt the weight of a thousand eyes and words on her skin. 

Her breath came and left in shallow , harsh , jittery pulses as her hands trembled clinging to Bucky's arm that held her heels , like it was the only thing tethering her to earth.

Wanda stood at the bottom of the stairs , eyes wide and glassy , her bouquet long forgotten on a side table. Her hands fluttered and reached toward Y/N instinctively, but she stopped herself before reaching her friend fully.

"I'm sorry," Y/N spoke in a hoarse whisper. “I didn’t mean—your wedding—"

Wanda stepped forward and gently cupped her face, careful not to touch the bruised side. “Don’t.” She shook her head , keeping their eyes locked together. “You have nothing to apologize for. Do not apologize for that man.”

Y/N tried to nod but it turned into more of a hiccup then a sob. Wanda just pulled her in for the softest hug rubbing a hand up and down her back.

“I gave my statement,” Y/N said as Bucky’s hand found hers again. “They asked a lot, but I—”

“You did perfect,” Bucky murmured beside her. “You were brave.”

Sam passed by with the last lock of the door, nodding to Bucky dropping the keys into his hand before nodding. “We’re all good. Place is locked down. Vision and Pietro are gonna take care of the cleanup and tear down tomorrow.”

“Thanks, man,” Bucky smiled , his voice low as he tugged Sam into a hug. After Bucky released him , Sam turned and gave Y/N a soft, reassuring look before stepping back toward the kitchen.

Bucky scooped up his leather jacket from the hook by the doors and draped it over her shoulders guiding her gently outside with a soft hand on the small of her back. Not demanding , just reassuring and leading.

The brisk night air hit her face like a cool kiss ,  cold and quiet and away from all the noise and worries. 

She inhaled slowly , eyes fluttering shut as he opened the bright red truck door for her guiding her inside.

“You okay to sit?” he tilted his head gently, already pulling his jacket tighter around her frame.

She nodded once and let him help her in.

Only once she was buckled in tight and wrapped in the warmth , did she blink slowly and realize they were not heading toward her and Tyler’s house.

She didn’t ask where he planned on taking her right away. She knew she was safe. So instead , just leaned back in the seat and watched the signs pass by , the slow curve of streetlights through the windshield, and the thud of the tires against the uneven road. 

The silence in the cab of the truck wasn’t anywhere near uncomfortable—not with Bucky. Her hand still trembled and twitched in her lap, and when his fingers found hers without his gaze leaving the road , she gripped them tightly lacing them together.

He glanced at her once at that , long enough to see the question in her eyes as he spoke up for the first time since leaving Buck’s. “I’m not takin’ you back there.”

She didn’t answer. Not right away.

“I just need to know you’re safe tonight,” he added , thumb brushing her knuckles. “I can tell you where we are going if you want , i was gonna wait till we got there but if you need me to tell you–”

“I’m not scared of you,” she whispered. Stopping him from speaking as he brought their laced hands and kissed the back of hers once more before returning his eyes to the street.

The roads got darker and darker as they left the bright city lights behind. There were no more streetlamps , just the moonlight and the occasional flicker of a porch light far off the road. 

Still, Y/N didn’t ask where they were going. She didn’t need to. Not with Bucky driving. Not with the quiet presence of him beside her and the way his hand remained lightly resting on her thigh now.

But when the truck rumbled off the paved road and onto the dusted dirt path, something inside her stirred.

“Where are we?” 

He gave her the softest look. “Somewhere he can’t get to you.”

The curve of the trees. The arch of the hills. The open stretch of sky and field.

“…Wait,” she whispered, sitting forward slightly as her eyes widened looking around quickly, not out of fear but wonder and thought. “Is this—?”

Bucky’s face covered with a  smile as the corners of his mouth twitching in that boyish way that it did when they were kids.

He parked just in front of a house. Not a shack. Not a shed. But a home. 

Tucked beneath the evergreen tree line with nothing but stars above and wildflowers dancing in the breeze beside. It had dark shingles and a large wraparound porch, two chairs swaying gently in the night breeze. Lantern lights glowed on either side of the front door like they’d been expecting her. Glowing in their light sat two large wooden flower beds , mixed seedlings like carnations , marigolds and daisies sat growing in the boxes.

“This is the clearing,” she whipped her head to face him , voice breaking just a little. “Our clearing. From when we were kids. When…when my dad would—” She cut herself off as tears pricked at her water line.

Bucky stepped out without a word and rounded the front of the truck , opening her door for her, giving her his hand. He didn’t rush. Didn’t say anything yet. Just helped her down, let her feet crunch the gravel, and then guided her slowly toward the porch with a warm hand at her back.

She paused on the first step , making his freeze beside her. And looked up at him.

“Whose house is this Bucky?”

He looked down at her, soft pride sparkling in his blue eyes. “ 'S'mine , Dolly.”

Her eyes blinked hard as the tears poured steadily down her cheeks , stuttering. “What...h-how?”

“I bought the land a couple years back when Mr. Roberts put it for sale--,” he shrugged continuing , as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“--didn’t really tell anyone. Ma and Becks know of course. Built it piece by piece , with some help from Sam and a few old buddies from college. Just wanted it to be right. Always told you I’d build a place someday, didn’t I?”

She turned her eyes and stared at the house again, speechless. The porch. The pine trees. The long stretch of grass where they used to lie on their backs, pretending the stars could answer their wishes. It had it all.

“You really did,” she whispered in disablief. “You actually made it real.”

His eyes held onto hers , lifting his hand to gently cup her cheek, swiping away the fresh tears. “I could never break my promise to you…cm’on”

He nodded to the house as they stepped onto the porch, her hand sliding into his again like muscle memory. But just as he reached for the front door, her voice broke the silence again , stopping them dead in their tracks.

“Bucky—wait.”

He turned back at her , face laced with worry and confusion. 

Her face drawn up tight , vulnerable , shadowed by the night. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”

He just looked at her for a beat.

Then another. And instead of asking what she meant—or pressing her for anything more—he just leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead.

“Shh,” he cooed against her skin. “Not tonight , okay?”

New tears swelled in her eyes, but she nodded anyway giving him , her best--tight lipped smile.

He met hers with one of his own , flashing his teeth and leaned back to open the door with his shoulder and bring her inside.

The house smelled like cedar and crisp apple soap with something that reminded her of old summers—the clean air of freedom, of quiet places without bruises, without shouting, without fear–something she couldn't name. 

The floors was warm under her feet as she tugged her shoes off, setting them aside gently by the door. The lighting was low and soft inside as Bucky led her through the living space, where a well worn-in couch faced a fireplace crackling with low flames he started up, and into the back room where a bed with fresh sheets waited, folded blankets and quilts already stacked at the edge.

Without a word, he opened the bottom drawer of a large oak dresser and pulled out a soft, clean red t-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants. His clothes. 

He handed them to her carefully as if an offering. “Here.”

She took them with a barely audible "thank you" --clutching it against her chest like they might get ripped right back and taken away from her.

“Can I… use the bathroom?”

“Course’ make yourself at home , first door on the left.” He pointed down the hall as she turned to follow the direction and padded out.

She disappeared for a moment, and when she returned back to him , her hair was tied up, her makeup half wiped away , and his oversized shirt hung down past her thighs.

She looked small, but steadier. Grounded by the weight of his home around her.

Bucky was now walking about in the living room , gathering a blanket from the couch and shaking it out , freeing it from any loose cat fur. When he turned and saw her, he stilled.

He didn’t say anything about how she looked in his clothes. Gosh did he want to--but he kept it to himself. For now.

“C’mere,” he murmured instead, motioning toward the couch. “Sit.”

She did. And he sunk down beside her, careful not to crowd her but slowly wrapping the thick soft blanket around her shoulders and over her legs. Like shielding something sacred.

“You warm enough?”

She nodded silently. “You always did this. When we were little. When I cried too hard to sleep in the tree house."

He smiled softly. “You remember?”

“I remember everything you've done for me James.”

His hand slipped into hers again. She squeezed it tightly.

A hush settled around them, not heavy but comforting, like a snowstorm outside strong walls. Her body finally relaxed back into the couch, head resting lightly on his shoulder.

“I feel safe,” she whispered. “I didn’t think I ever would again.”

“You are,” he promised. “And I’m gonna keep it that way.”

The fire crackled softly when she stood to look around later--when he excused himself to change and get ready for bed himself. 

She tugged the blanket more onto her shoulders, her bare feet softly hitting the wooden floor beneath her as she ventured into the open space beyond the living room.

The hallway was lined and decorated with framed photos—sunsets, a few landscapes she swore looked like the rockies, and one , shot of Bucky grinning in front of a half-finished Bucks. He was beaming with joy and pride.

It was quiet in the house, but not empty. It breathed. With warmth. With memory. With love.

And then she spun around to peer around the wall into the kitchen.

She stepped into the doorway but froze as her legs felt like jello. The walls were painted a soft, buttery yellow color. The cabinets whitewashed and weathered, as if they’d lived a full life already. And the backsplash? Blue tile. Not just any blue. Cerulean. Slightly mismatched squares. Like mosaic glass from a coast. It wasn’t sleek or cold. It wasn’t modern.

It was exactly what she’d described , what she wanted. Dreamed to have one day.

Her throat closed up.

Her hands flew to her mouth--knees buckled.

She didn’t hear the heavy thudding steps across the floor or the soft little mrrp from the bundle of fluff in Bucky’s arms , as he made his way back from the bedroom.

But he saw her the moment he stepped into the kitchen when the living room was empty.

She was frozen. Shaking. Her shoulders rising with each breath like she couldn’t catch one. Eyes red. Tears silently spilling down her face as she turned toward him when he whispered into the air with concern and brows furrowed.

“Y/N?”

She looked at him, mouth open like she was trying to say something, anything, but all that came out was a choked sound—a sob mixed with awe and grief and love all tangled together in a tight knot. Her hands dropped from her face and clutched her chest.

“You remembered,” she whispered , barely being able to speak. “All of it. Even the damn tiles, Bucky…”

He set Alpine down gently on the floor, the cat blinking up with curiosity before prancing off toward the windowsill climbing up and plopping down in her spot.

Bucky crossed the kitchen in two strides and caught her as she collapsed into him.

“I can’t—” she gasped. “I can’t believe it’s real.”

His arms wrapped around her, strong and warm, one hand splayed between her shoulder blades, the other cradling the back of her head. “Of course I remembered,” he murmured into her hair. “I built it for you.”

She sobbed harder then. Not out of fear. Not out of pain. But because for the first time in what felt like years—maybe ever—she realized she was standing in the middle of something that had once been a dream.

The yellow kitchen.

The blue tiles.

The man she loved so much who’d promised her peace.

And the life he’d quietly made ready for her, waiting all this time.

Her fingers clenched in the front of his shirt, as she let herself cry into his chest. The smell of him wrapped around her. But when her legs gave just a little more, Bucky shifted and guided her to the couch. She sat. He didn’t leave her side.

She took one trembling breath, then another. Her eyes were misted , far away, and her voice—small. 

“Why does this keep happening to me?” she whispered into him.

“What is wrong with me!?” She was angry. Hurt.

“Doll—”

“Why am I so easy to hurt?!”

Bucky's heart broke into a million pieces at how small and battered she sounded.

He shifted , cupping her face with both hands. His thumbs brushed at the tear tracks, his own eyes burning with the weight of what she was asking and the tears of —what she believed. That it was all her fault. 

“Nothing,” he said firmly, grounding her with every syllable and sound. “Nothing is wrong with you.”

She tried to look away, but he gently brought her eyes back to his.

“You are strong, and kind, and good. You save lives every damn day,” he spoke with a deep sternness , his voice thick with emotion. “But you got lost somewhere along the way. You forgot how to save your own.”

Her lips quivered , she felt nine all over again. She blinked fast. A sob was stuck behind her teeth.

He kept his eyes locked to hers and didn't stop. “Can I tell you something?”

She closed her eyes for a moment before opening them again  , and nodded a slow broken movement.

“When I look in your eyes…I don’t see the bruises. I don’t see the tears or the hurt girl sitting in a tree house wondering what’s wrong with her , or why the world is so wrong to her.”

His thumb brushed beneath her lashes.

“I see us. Together. Turning grey.”

She made a sound between a laugh and a cry, and he smiled faintly, voice softe as a lullaby.

“I see little kids runnin’ around this place… with my eyes and your nose—”

He leaned forward and tapping her nose gently, making her huff a tiny breath, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips through the tears.

“—my stubbornness,” he added, “and your bravery…your smarts. I see you bossin’ me around, showing me how to fold the damn towels the ‘right’ way.”

A tear rolled down her cheek as she shook her head, almost laughing.

He nudged her nose with his. “I see me rocking you on that porch,” he said, and gestured toward the sliding glass door just off the kitchen, where a small deck stretched toward the tree line. “Right out there.”

He took a breath and kept going, listing everything like a prayer.

“I see you barefoot in the kitchen swatting at me to stop sneakin’ bites while you cook. I see Sunday mornings slow-dancing in pajamas. I see dogs and cats that sheds on every piece of furniture we own. A house full of noise. Maybe chaos. But its safe. Its Ours.”

Her hand came up to touch his chest. 

He leaned in closer, voice a whisper now, forehead to hers.

“I still want it, dolly. Every dream we had back then, every little piece of wishing on a star. I never stopped wantin’ them. I still want them.”

She felt like she couldn't breathe , but at the same time like his words were a breath of fresh air keeping her above the surface.

“I want it all with you. When you’re healed. When you’re ready. I’m here. And I’m staying.”

His voice broke at the edges—gentle, but aching. A quiet vow, sealed in the way wax is pressed in declaration.

Y/N's face crumpled together..

“I never stopped loving you,” she finally broke out , chest heaving. “I just… I didn’t think I was enough for you anymore.”

Bucky’s brows knit tight. His heart shattered and healed all at once.

“I thought you deserved better,” she admitted, voice failing her. “Tyler—he made me believe I was the problem. That I was weak. That no one would stay. He twisted everything. Used what I loved against me. And I let him. I was so stupid.”

“Don’t,” Bucky said instantly, voice firm but tender. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for his cruelty.”

Her shoulders shook as she looked away, ashamed.

He reached for her again.

“Look at me,” he said softly.

She did.

“You’ve always been enough, Y/N. Even when you were hurting. Even when you didn’t believe it. Especially then.”

Tears slid silently down her cheeks.

He pulled her gently into his arms, tucking her to his chest like she belonged there.

“You were my home,” he whispered into her hair, “way before I ever built one.”

She broke truly broke. Not in a way that shattered, but in a way that released. Her sobs were soft and ragged, soaking into the collar of his shirt, her arms curling around his waist like she’d finally stopped running.

And he just held her.

Held her like a man.  One who would never let her go again.

-end of chapter

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[a-bit-of-writing]

What you wanted {Megumi x Reader}

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen Pairing: Megumi x Reader ・❥・After the battle ends, you realize what it cost for Megumi to save you.

You knew better than to ask for this.

You should’ve left things untouched, should’ve kept your hands to yourself and your questions buried beneath the weight of your chest. But curiosity… it had teeth. And it had sunk them into your throat the moment you whispered the words you never should have dared say.

“If it comes down to it… would you save me?”

Megumi had looked at you then, really looked. Eyes too dark, too hollow, for someone so young. There was something wrong about the way his silence wrapped around your question, as if he were choking on all the things he wouldn’t say.

He didn’t answer then.

But you knew.

And now – here – you finally have your answer.

The battlefield behind you is quiet, smoldering. You don’t look at the curses. You can’t. You don’t even know how many he killed. Only that they’re gone, and you’re still here.

Your legs are trembling, slick with blood that isn’t yours. Your throat burns with every breath, but you’re breathing.

He didn’t let you die.

And maybe that’s the problem.

Megumi stands a few paces away, back turned to you, shoulders rigid, jaw tight. His fists are stained with something dark, maybe it’s blood, maybe it’s regret. His shikigami are gone, dismissed the moment he realized the worst had passed.

You step toward him, but your voice cracks before it reaches the air.

He doesn’t turn.

Only speaks. Quietly. Bitterly.

“Why are you sad?” His voice is low, controlled but sharp, like he’s holding himself together with nothing but sheer will.

“This is what you wanted.”

The words strike harder than any curse ever could.

You flinch.

“I didn’t want this,” you whisper. “Not like this. Not if it meant—”

“Me losing control?” he cuts in, finally facing you. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes burn. “Because that’s what it took. I had to stop holding back. That’s what you wanted. To be saved.”

He laughs once, bitter and joyless. “You wanted to see what I could do if I stopped caring about the rules. So I did.”

Your stomach twists. “Megumi—”

“I became the kind of person I didn’t want to be.” His gaze is flat. “For you.”

He steps closer, and you don’t move. You can’t. Not with the way his pain has twisted into something darker, heavier.

“I killed them all. Brutally. And I didn’t feel anything until it was over.” His voice is too calm. “That’s what scares me.”

You reach for him, but he steps back.

“I did it because I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you,” he says. “So don’t look at me like that. Don’t act like this wasn’t what you wanted.”

Tears slip from your eyes without permission. “I didn’t want to break you.”

His jaw clenches.

Too late.

And somehow, in the silence that follows, you both understand the truth neither of you will say.

You lived.

He changed.

And something between you – something fragile and unspoken – died.

[hantas-left-elbow]

Sometimes, Love Takes Time

pairing: timeskip! Katsuki Bakugo x Reader

summary: sometimes people work out, sometimes they don’t, and sometimes they need a break. This might be one of those times. cw: potentially ooc.. but otherwise I don’t think there’s anything but if there is please tell me!!

authors note: I wrote this in one night so there’s most definitely run on sentences and typos, sorry in advance

It was never supposed to end like this. 

You two were supposed to love and stick by eachother until death do you part. So why was it not death splitting you up, but rather torn hearts?

You married pro hero Dynamight, or more domestically known as Katsuki Bakugo, 6 years ago. Up until 2 years ago it was like heaven on earth. Although he was still his usual brash and loud self, he was also attentive. He knew you like the back of his hand. And that’s what scared both of you, albeit silently, with this divorce. You don’t just stop loving someone, you can’t end habits with a motion of a pen. 

And it didn’t help that you had shared custody over your 4 year old daughter with him. Every Friday when it was his turn to get her, to come and pick her up, it took everything in you not to ask him what could’ve been if you both tried harder. Your pride just didn’t let you. You weren’t gonna show him that you were missing him like the sun misses the moon, like how the pacific and Atlantic oceans are touching but never mixing. 

You thought the reason you two had gotten a divorce in the first place was because love just didn’t exist between you anymore. No more dates. No more “I love you”’s after phone calls, the bed turned into a place just for sleep and nothing else, no more playful jabs at eachothers, hell the way he looked at you even- the love just wasn’t there. You both mutually agreed that this was the best course of action instead of playing the act of a loving couple to friends, family and even the press. You didn’t know it then, but that feeling could have easily been fixed with a calm talk. A talk that came up with plans and ideas to relight that love between you but no, you both thought straight to divorce. 

Now instead of going to sleep and waking up knowing that at least Katsuki slept in bed, you went to sleep knowing you’d be alone the whole night. Your wardrobe divided by half, the pictures got taken down, dinners of 3 turned into dinners of 2. It felt like the only constant anymore was your daughter. But even still, she wasn’t home every other week. She was with the man you loved so fiercely at one time. No, not one time. You still did.

“Mommy?” Your daughter, Yuki, asked you one day after you picked her up from Katsuki’s place. 

“Yes?” You responded, looking back at her in the rear view mirror. “Daddy seems sad everytime you come to pick me up or he comes to pick me up” she responded. That hit like a punch to the gut but you schooled your face. “He may just be sad that he won’t see you for a week” you tried, purposely not touching on the ‘or when he comes to pick me up’ part but that doesn’t go un-noticed by your daughter. “But that doesn’t explain why he seems sad picking me up!” She says getting annoyed at the beating around the bush answer. Damn Katsuki and his awareness getting passed down to his daughter. “I don’t know, that’s something you’ll have to ask him”

And Yuki sure as hell did because when you picked her up again, the first thing she said when you got into the driver’s seat after buckling her up was, “he said it was because he misses you” that made your hands fumble while buckling up. “Hm?” You squeak out. “Last week I was with you, I asked why daddy was sad when he picked me up and when you picked me up. So I asked. He said it was because he missed you.” You take a deep breath to calm your emotions before responding as you pull out of Katsuki’s driveway. “Really? That’s interesting.” You said calmly. “You should talk to him about it! We could be a family again!” Yuki said so sure of herself. That hurt more than you expected it too. “I don’t know if it’ll work like that, honey but I’ll try” you were willing yourself not to cry or show any signs of your emotional state to her. 

Maybe, just maybe your story with Katsuki Bakugo wasn’t over just yet. 

That night, laying in your cold, empty bed you turned to your bedside table and picked up your phone. Debating if you should or shouldn’t, all rationality flew out the window. You clicked on Katsuki’s contact and pressed “CALL”. It was 10:38 PM so you weren’t expecting him to answer but to your surprise, he did. 

“Yes?” Said his raspy voice for the other end. Your mouth tan dry, any plan that you might’ve potentially had was now blank in your head. 

“You miss me?” It was the only thing in your head, so you said it. But you regretted it the minute it left. You could ever so slightly hear his breath hitch. “So she told you? I know it was weird she asked why I looked upset picking her up from your place.” He said more so to himself than to you. “So you do? You do miss me?” The silence after you said that, to others they might have started second guessing, but 6 years of marriage and even more years of dating, you get to know that person really well. You let him take his time in coming up with an answer. “Yeah. So what are you gonna do about it?” He replies and it was your turn to go silent. “Tomorrow night, that restaurant we went to before you proposed. I’ll get Mina to babysit Yuki.” Your voice had a tone of finality and firmness to it that you weren’t expecting, but grateful for. “Yes ma’am” was all you heard before the line ended. 

Sometimes love needs time, and this might be one of those times. 

[bi-bard]

Pathetically Naive and Desperate to Believe - James "Bucky" Barnes Imagine [Marvel | Captain America]

Title: Pathetically Naive and Desperate to Believe

Pairing: James "Bucky" Barnes X Reader

Word Count: 2159 words

Warning(s): insecurities

Summary: [Inspired by "Pretty Funny" from Dogfight | prior to first Captain America movie] Bucky tries to finally make a move with a close friend. However, his interest seems to be disingenuous when he leaves said friend sitting alone for the night. He's left scrambling to fix everything between them before he loses the most important person in his life.

Author's Note: This deadass only happened because I saw a video of this song like ten minutes after watching the first Captain America for the first time. This doesn't super strictly follow the song because it would make me too sad if I did.

And, yeah, Bucky's my favorite and I don't think that surprises a single person who has looked at my blog before.

Navigation Guide | Prompt List - Romantic Tropes | Original Characters Masterlist | Album Writing Challenges

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Bucky Barnes was one of the most infuriatingly charming people I have ever met. A natural flirt, even though he always seemed determined to deny it.

In any other course of events, I would've avoided a man like him like he had the plague. But I had an obstacle keeping him around: Steve. My oldest friend. Bucky's too. And I was unwilling to lose Steve just to avoid how Bucky acted every day.

And maybe, just maybe, there were times that I didn't mind Bucky's behavior. Like the times he'd throw an arm around my shoulders to make sure I didn't get too far from the group. Or when he throws a wink at me after making a joke that would've likely gone over my head if he hadn't. Or when he would make small comments about making sure I was taken care of with the sincerest look on his face that it would knock me over.

But I wanted to believe that I knew better than to ever get caught up in those moments. Bucky was still Bucky. He still found someone new on his arm every time I saw him. I had no interest in being a name on a list. I was a bit too much of a romantic for that kind of thing.

If I lived my whole life being nothing more than friends with that man, I would have lived a fine life. A life of denial, but a fine life.

But fate- and Bucky- seemed determined to ruin my plans.

"There you are!"

I jumped at the sudden loud sound of Bucky's voice as he made his way over to me.

"Sorry," he replied, seeming amused by my fear. That stupid smile. "I've been looking for you all day."

"I'm not a difficult person to find," I replied. "Unless you're blind... or easily distracted."

"Are you implying I get distracted easily?"

"Well... you're not blind."

He scoffed, running his hand through his hair. I silently scolded myself for staring at his smile a little too long.

"What did you want, Bucky?" I crossed my arms over my chest.

"I was wondering if you'd let me take you out tonight," he asked.

"I don't have any plans," I explained. "I could meet you and Steve-"

"Not with Steve," he stopped me. "Just the two of us."

"Oh," I mumbled. "Like a..."

"Like a date, yeah," he confirmed.

It felt like my heart jumped into my throat. And I felt like I did a truly awful job hiding it.

"Is it that bad of an idea?"

"No, no," I replied a little too fast. "I just... I wasn't expecting that."

There was a pause before he slowly stepped closer to me. "What do you say?"

"I think...," I trailed off, looking for any sign in his eyes that he was lying. I couldn't find one. "I think that sounds great."

His smile got a little bit wider. "Good. I'll stop by your place around seven."

"Sounds like a good plan."

He reached over and grabbed my hand, pulling it up to kiss the back of it. "See you tonight."

I just grinned like an idiot as he dropped my hand and walked away.

I waited until I knew he was out of earshot and sight to celebrate a little bit. I bounced on my feet a little bit. I only stopped when I saw someone looking at me with a weird expression.

Going about the rest of my day was almost painful. My brain kept drifting. What I would wear, what we'd do for the night, if Bucky would kiss me that night. The last thought was what always snapped me back to what I was supposed to be focusing on. I had lost all sense of logic.

What happened to being sure that I knew better?

I had never made my walk home so quickly.

I spent ages looking through my clothes. I then realized that Bucky never said what the plans were tonight. I didn't know if I should've looked formal or casual or somewhere in the middle.

Somewhere in the middle was safe. Right? Maybe?

I hated not knowing.

But it's fine. Everything was fine.

It only took me ripping everything out of my wardrobe, putting it back, and then ripping it out again to figure out what I wanted to wear. Yup, perfectly fine.

After picking up my place and finally managing to grin at myself in the mirror, I placed myself firmly in my seat and waited.

I noted that despite the chaos, I had managed to be incredibly early.

I watched the clock move slowly.

I watched seven o'clock arrive. There was no knock at the door. No charming greeting waiting for me on the other side. There was nothing but the sound of my own heart beat and breathing.

I watched as ten minutes passed then thirty and then an hour.

My heart kept dropping farther and farther.

No. No.

Bucky was a lot of things. Cocky, a flirt, stubborn. But he wasn't mean. He wouldn't make plans with me and then leave me high and dry. He couldn't. There would have to be some kind of explanation. Some excuse.

My mind thought of every other time I saw Bucky with someone on his arm. Every single person that suddenly seemed so much better than me.

I felt like a ghost. No personality or physical form or independent thought. Just a thing that existed. That hovered around, even when unwanted.

The tears that filled my eyes as the night went on were humiliating.

It was ridiculous to feel this way. Bucky didn't owe me anything. Not really.

I fell asleep while curled up in my chair. Tears dried on my face, eyes puffy, and lips cracked from my constant biting to try to get those tears to stop.

The next morning was hell.

I had to pull myself out of my seat, which was met with cramped muscles and cracking bones. I pulled my carefully chosen outfit off like it now truly meant nothing to me at all. I washed my face like it would undo the tears falling if I scrubbed hard enough. None of it changed how I felt. How miserable I was.

I made it out of the house later than usual.

I had never been so determined to just go through the motions of a day.

But again, the universe decided to play a game at my expense.

"There you are!"

I didn't jump this time. I just continued walking.

I hated how easily I recognized Bucky's voice. I hated that he could pick me out of a crowd so easily that I couldn't hide from him. I hated that those facts both impacted me more than they truly should have.

"(Y/n)! (Y/n)! Wait!"

I still didn't acknowledge him.

"Oh, for the love..."

I suddenly found my wrist being grabbed as I was pulled down a nearby alleyway. Just far enough that any conversation was hidden from the crowd on the sidewalk and road.

I shoved against Bucky's chest, freeing my wrist from him.

"You've got some nerve, Barnes," I snapped at him.

"I needed to talk to you-"

I was seething at his calmness. "You ditch me last night and then act like you deserve any of my time the next day? That's bold. Even for you."

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean to do that."

"Oh, I'm sure," I replied, sarcasm dripping from every word.

There was a pause as he gave me a sad look. He was clearly searching for something to say.

"What were you expecting, Bucky? That I would promise that it wasn't a big deal? That it was all fine? It wasn't. You left me. Alone. That was rude... cruel"

Another pause. Like he already knew exactly what he had done wrong, but only now realizing how deeply his mistake had hit me.

"Are you embarrassed of me?" I mumbled after a moment.

Bucky looked at me like I had two heads.

"It'd make sense, wouldn't it?" I looked down at my hands now. "Being friends with me is one thing because Steve gives you a buffer. But being with me, alone in public? That's too far. Too many people would have an opinion."

"Where did you get that idea?" he seemed offended.

My eyes snapped back to him. "When you left me on my own! Had a lot of time to think then!"

He jumped when I raised my voice.

I looked away from him.

"(Y/n), I never wanted to leave you on your own," he explained. "I did everything I could to get there, but it was an emergency. My folks needed my help. By the time I did get away, you wouldn't open your door."

I closed my eyes immediately, not even bothering to mutter about how vague his excuse was or how I was likely asleep by the time he showed up.

"Please look at me," he begged. I heard the gravel shift under him as he stepped forward. "Give me a chance to fix this."

I finally looked at him. "I can't go through that again-"

"Then I'll make it up to you right now. No more waiting."

"Bucky..."

"I'm being serious," he pushed. "I will spend this whole day with you showing you how bad I want you."

I shook my head.

"You know that I'm not giving up on this."

"Yeah, it'd damage your ego."

He chuckled. "I was hoping to be called stubborn, but sure."

When I didn't speak up again, Bucky seemed to get a little antsy. He started glancing around the alleyway, as if he were looking to see if anyone was watching. My heart dropped a bit. I was right.

And then, he grabbed my hand and started pulling me back down the alley.

"You can't just pull me around whenever you want," I snapped at him, going to pull my arm away from him.

"Just give me a second," he argued, tightening his hold on me. "Trying to prove something."

I stumbled to a stop with him back in the middle of the sidewalk. He looked around the crowded space. I didn't. I just stared at him.

He smiled when he looked back at me. That infuriating smile that made my heart race at a stupid speed. The one that could've gotten me to forgive him with no explanation if he just let me see it for long enough. The one that reminded me how much of a fool I was.

I was so focused on his smile that I didn't pay attention to anything else he was doing.

I didn't see how his eyes jumped between every part of my face. I didn't notice his hand dropping mine. I didn't notice that he was suddenly touching my sides. I didn't notice him getting closer to me until I could feel his breath on my face.

"Bucky..."

He shushed me quietly. "Just give me a second."

His lips touched mine a moment later.

My mind went so fast that it almost gave me a headache. I fought between pushing him away or pulling him closer. I didn't know what to do with my hands.

All of those worries didn't seem to be enough to stop me from slowly kissing him back. As if it were natural. As if I had done it countless times before. It had all been a matter of when and not if.

He pulled back first, looking almost as shocked as I was by the moment we just shared.

"I would never be embarrassed of you," he said. "Never. You are one of the best things in my life. I would never be able to forgive myself if I screwed up everything between us right as I'm finally getting my chance with you."

My words got caught in my throat as my face heated up.

"I... I am completely in love with you," he added, pressing his forehead against mine. "You don't have to say it back. You don't have to say anything at all. All I ask is for a few hours to make up for last night. Please."

I finally found my words and finally managed to get them to come out of my mouth, "I think I can make that work."

He smiled again as I chuckled to myself. This smile wasn't infuriating this time. It was lovestruck. Completely and utterly lovestruck. And then I noticed that it looked the same as every single smile he’d ever sent my way.

I took a deep breath, letting some of my fear roll off my shoulders. "I love you too, Bucky."

His smile widened as he leaned in and pressed another kiss to my lips. Shorter and softer. Maybe living a life where I was only friends with Bucky wouldn't be as fine as I originally thought it would be.

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Tag Lists:

Overall - @geeksareunique @daisydark

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

Some Important Causes:

GLAAD - LGBTQIA+ Organization

National Coalition Against Domestic Violence

CHIRLA - Coalition for Humane Immigrant Rights

Palestinian Red Crescent Society

[jovialturtleface]

Bye bye!

[muliwamm]

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦　⁺ 　 . ✦

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro loved when people did things for him.

He loved when fans gave him gifts. He loved getting gifts during holidays. And he especially loved getting free samples from food establishments—he thinks the samples were deliberately put out for his enjoyment.

"How did you know I love raspberries?" Toji would smirk, winking at the innocent cafe worker before grabbing one three more samples and walking away.

But Boxer!Toji Fushiguro did not like doing things for other people. The only people he's ever willingly helped in his life was his mother, and he wanted to keep it that way.

Doing things for people meant you were below them and they were above you and that was not Toji's way of life.

Doing things for people showed you cared—which shows vulnerability which then gives the other person the impression that you like them and Toji does not like people.

Especially if he's not getting anything out of it.

So why, you ask, was Boxer!Toji Fushiguro following you around Tokyo, carrying your shopping bags as you shopped to your hearts desire?

On his card, of course.

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro blames himself for this, honestly.

when he asked if you were single, your hand slowly raised, preparing to land a harsh smack to his cheek.

"Wait, wait, wait, okay hold on," He pleaded.

"Look, I'm-" he runs a hand through his hair before sighing.

"I'm sorry, okay? I was being an asshole, let's- let's restart okay? Hi, I'm Toji," he said as he put a hesitant hand out.

But before you got a chance to give him your two cents, fans came crowding asking for autographs and pictures, which was when you put the dots together and realized he was famous.

You smirked, and patiently waited until the crowd cleared out, watching the way Toji switched from sad puppy to ladies man in a matter of seconds.

"You want to make it up to me?" You question, crossing your arms.

Toji nods.

"You have officially been graduated to my personal butler for the day," you give his a sweet smile, dubbing him with a banana on each shoulder before turning and making your way to the register.

so now Toji is here, bags from various clothing and shoe stores adorning his arms as he follows you around Tokyo like a lost puppy.

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro was the best butler you could ask for.

He carried your bags, gave his opinion on the different blouses and jeans you picked out, and he paid for everything.

"What do you think about these jeans? Do they make my butt look big?" You say as you exit the dressing room, turning in the mirror to examine the fit.

Toji huffs, not looking up, "they're fine."

"You're not even looking," you pout.

He huffs louder, forcing his eyes away from his phone to focus on you. Well—your ass.

He takes a goooood second, admiring the way the jeans hug your ass perfectly.

"They look good, ma" he finally says.

You raise your eyebrow at the nickname before turning to go back in the dressing room.

"Oh!" You say, poking your head from behind the curtain.

"They're thirty six thousand yen, is that okay?" You ask in a honeyed tone.

"Thirty six thou- wait hold on-" Toji says stunned before you cut him off.

"Kay, great!"

He huffs, slouching in his chair, wondering why he even agreed to this.

Even though he's spent almost all his money on a person he just met, he enjoyed the time you guys have been spending together over the course of 3 hours.

You talked, had a cute little date at a secluded cafe after you practically dragged him inside when you saw they were selling cat shaped cakes.

He told you more about his boxing career and you told him about how life has been after moving to Japan. You both talked about everything and nothing, and Toji wished that moment could never end.

Until it did.

Because you saw a pair of shoes you wanted and he lost another 200 dollars.

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro let out a sigh of relief when you got a call from your neighbor, informing you that your pet chickens, marlo and bean, escaped into her backyard again, meaning your little shopping spree had to be cut short.

"I think I'm broke now," Toji grumbles.

"You'll manage," you say, giving him an affectionate pat on the arm.

"Well, I should get going now. You can just put those in the trunk," you gesture towards your car before walking past Toji and getting inside.

He just stands there, mouth gaped in disbelief, yet again.

But for some reason he found himself complying. Which he hated himself for.

When he finished he made his way towards the driver side, crouching to meet your gaze.

"So, apology accepted?" He asked hopefully.

"Hmmm..." you ponder, tapping a finger on your chin while playfully smirking at him.

"I guess," you conclude.

"Can I at least get your number then? I mean I deserve a reward after chasing you around all day," Toji dramatically huffs.

You laugh at his antics, pulling your phone out and handing it to him.

"As long as you promise to respond," you say.

"I'll always respond, doll," Toji says once he finished putting his number in, handing you your phone back.

"Y'know you're real sweet once you get your way."

You roll your eyes and laugh before turning on your car

"I'll see you?" Toji asks.

"Mhm," you nod

"Good," he says in a low tone, bringing your chin between his pointer finger and his thumb and pressing a barely there kiss on your forehead.

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro had never met anyone like you.

You were so nice yet you never hesitated to speak your mind.

You didnt care what people thought, stating that "we're all going to die anyway. Why waste life on worrying about what some rando on the street thinks?"

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro thinks that was the moment he folded.

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro texts you later that night, planning to win back his pride and peace of mind after losing it all in the span of 4 hours by a single person.

His slap on the face was already trending on twitter, Shiu had been busting his chops, calling and texting him non-stop—to which he ignored every one, and Toji decided that he needed to show you why every man across the nation feared him, and why every woman wanted to fuck him.

He is Toji Fushiguro.

Rich Boxer Dude 🥊💴 4:24 pm - you save your chickens? Read

Mamacita 😛 (you) 4:30 pm - yup they're safe in my back yard now 😭

Rich Boxer Dude 🥊💴 4:32 pm - cool cool 4:33 pm - so wyd now

If you couldnt already tell, Toji is struggling to execute his plan "to win back his pride and peace of mind".

Mamacita 😛 4:37 pm - also I didnt say it earlier but Ty for today 4:37 pm - you could have said no, i was js rlly pissed off 😭

Rich Boxer Dude 🥊💴 4:40 pm - nah dw abt it 4:41 pm - I wanted to 4:41 pm -even if I'm broke now

Mamacita 😛 4:45 pm - okayy 4:46 pm - how about I treat you to lunch as a thank you? 4:46 - I'll wine and dine you nd treat you reeeealll nice 😌

That was suppose to be his line.

Rich Boxer Dude 🥊💴 4:50 pm - isnt that suppose to be my line?

eventually, after tedious planning and excessive flirting on your end, you guys planned a date at the park after Toji's upcoming boxing match on Sunday.

You both agreed that you would bring lunch and he would bring dessert, where he suggested he just bring himself if he's bringing dessert.

Mamacita 😛 5:23 pm - what? Why would you do that? then we wouldn't have any dessert 5:24 pm - Just bring cake from that cafe we went to today 5:26 pm - I love cake

The joke completely flew over your head.

It's safe to say Toji left that conversation with an even more damaged pride (of whatever was left of it) and failed flirting attempts.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦　⁺ 　 . ✦

A/n: pookie is in such high demand 😭 and two fics back to back WHO IS HERRR

also 36,000 yen is equivalent to about 250 usd and 376 aud. Dont ask me why a person would drop 250 on some jeans I would

Series Masterlist

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@ll0rona @kailovsun @aksqui

[leclerc-hs]

something blue - ln4

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader summary: in which you and your ex boyfriend see each other at a wedding months later OR lando misses the fuck out of you. warnings: angst angst angst, language, smut, duh smut, p in v, f!receiving oral, dirty talk, kinda sad, yearning??, NOT PROOFREAD (will fix any typos over time) word count: 5k+ author's note: hi angels!!! I hope y'all enjoy. xoxo. bad grip - op81 will be out next (on August 1)!!

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“You’re in my seat.”

You don’t bother to look up right away. Instead, you take another sip from your glass, unbothered. You already know who it is…because you’d recognize that voice anywhere. Cool, low, and effortless. 

When you finally lift your head up, he’s standing across the table. A single hand shoved into his pocket, the other holding a half-empty glass. His jacket’s long gone. Probably draped over some chair a few hours ago, and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled just enough to show the veins in his forearms.

His tie is half undone and crooked. Which tells you that he stopped pretending to be formal about five drinks ago. He walks around the table, standing at the empty chair beside you.

Lando.

You blink. “Didn’t realize seating was assigned by ego.”

He lets out an amused sound. Not fully a laugh. And his eyes drag over you a second too long. Slow and obvious. But there’s some calculation behind it. Like he’s daring you to flinch.

“If we were, you’d have to be outside,” he says, stepping forward. His shoe now nudging the leg of your chair. 

You give him a tight smile. “And you’d be in the valet lot, bothering someone else’s date probably.”

He falls into the chair beside you. Resting his arm along the back of it like he’s claiming space. Not just the seat, but you. He smells like something expensive. Musky, citrus, and the memory of someone who’s never been told no.

You don’t bother to look at him. Instead, you glance around the table. Littered in polished silverware, large centerpieces, and down at the very end….a pair of mutual friends who definitely knew what they were doing when they made the seating chart.

You make a mental note to return the favor. Maybe at their wedding. Or baby shower.

“Didn’t think you’d show.” You say, fidgeting with the napkin.

Lando leans back in the chair, posture relaxed. Careless. Like nothing bothered him.

“Thought the same about you,” he says, voice low. “Figured you’d come up with some excuse. Avoid me even longer.”

You arch a brow.

You finally run to look at him.

“I was promised free champagne and music,” you mutter. “Didn’t realize you were part of the package deal.”

He watches your mouth when you speak. He always did. And it used to be flattering. Now it just feels like some bad habit neither of you can break.

He shrugs. “Sounds like a bonus to me.”

“You were always overconfident.”

“And you always had a way with making things difficult.”

You turn your full body toward him now, elbow resting on the back of your chair. Eyes narrowed. “Is that what this is? Difficult for you?”

He looks at you. Like really looks. His tongue presses agains the inside of his cheek, like he’s holding something back. Like he’s already said too much to you.

“Not particularly.”

You laugh. “Right. That’s why you sat next to me.”

He gestures to the table. “It’s my seat.”

“It’s the seat you decided you wanted as soon as I sat in it.” 

He grins. “Y’make everything sound like foreplay.”

“Only because you’re used to losing.”

And that earns a small laugh from him. And then he shifts closer, forearms on the table, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body. 

“Still got that mouth, yeah?” He says, quietly. “Never learned when to stop.”

Your eyes narrow.

He leans in closer. Just enough to make your breath hitch.

“I’d say it’s nice to see you,” he mutters, “but I’ve gotten really good at lying.”

You tilt your chin up. “That’s always been your strongest skill.”

The clatter of food being brought out snaps the tension just enough for you to tear your gaze away.

He stays close.

Watching.

Plates clatter around you. The smell of food floats through the air, and conversations pick up at the table. 

You pick up your fork. He doesn’t move.

“Seriously,” You look ahead at your plate. “Go sit somewhere else.”

“Didn’t know you were so territorial.”

“Didn’t know you were desperate for attention.”

It makes him smile. 

“M’not the one picking fights at a wedding.”

“M’not” you say, cutting into your food now. Not even hungry. “You’re just the one who showed up four months too late to a conversation.”

He hums. “Conversation, hm? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

You don’t answer. Mostly because you’re chewing. Mostly because of the way he’s looking at you. Like he’s still inside of whatever memory he just thought of. And it’s making it very…very hard to swallow.

You finally glance at him. “You’re not allowed to look at me like that.”

He leans in, smirking. “Like what?”

“Like you remember.”

And he holds your gaze. And for probably the first time, he doesn’t shoot back some one liner. He just looks.

So you do what you always do when he gets too close to the truth.

Weaponize your mouth.

“You’ve always had a shit memory,” Your voice is soft. “Selective.”

His jaw ticks.

You cut another bite off your plate.

And his knee brushes against yours. Stays there.

“I remember enough,” he speaks. “Like how your cheeks get more pink when you lie. Or how you always change the subject whenever you’re scared.”

You scoff. “M’not scared of you.”

“No,” He hums. “You’re just scared of what you’ll say if you aren’t careful with your words around me.”

You reach for your drink. And he watches your hand.

“Still an asshole,” you say.

He grins. “Still into it.”

You face forward again, refusing to leet him see the way your thighs press together. The way your pulse spikes.

But he knows.

-

He doesn’t ask. He never did when it came to you. Not really, at least.

He just appears. Hand out, gaze unreadable. Waiting.

And you consider ignoring him. Because you should.

But your pride is bigger than your bitterness, so you slip your hand into his without a word.

The palm of his hand is warm. Familiar.

And you hate that your hand still fits in his like it does.

The music shifts. Slow. 

His hand slips along your waist like its never forgotten. Possessive. Confident. Not polite in the slightest.

And you hate that your skin still burns beneath the pads of his fingers like it used to. Like it always did.

And you focus on the space over his shoulder. The warm lights. The movement of other couples. Anything that isn’t the way his thumb starts to slowly drag small circles across the skin of your back. Anything that isn’t his mouth.

“You’re quiet,” He mutters. Low and close.

You hum. “Trying to enjoy the song.”

“Funny. I don’t remember you ever being someone to pretend.”

You glance at him, “I don’t remember you always being this desperate for my attention.”

His mouth twitches. No teeth. “Always mistook interest for desperation.”

“No,” You shake your head. “I just learned the difference.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just lets it sit for a moment. And then his grip is tightening around you. Not much. Almost like a reflex.

“Still cruel,” he mutters. “Sharp.”

“You always liked that about me.”

His eyes drag to your mouth. “Unfortunately.”

The music is the kind of slow that feels like a heat creeping under your skin. You move too well together. You hate that he still fits. That nothing in your body except for your brain seems to recognize that you’re supposed to be over this. Over him.

“I really thought you wouldn’t come,” He says. Voice casual.

You lift your chin toward him. “Didn’t think you’d notice.”

He looks at you. Like really looks at you. “I always notice you.”

And you hate the way it lands. Hate the way it makes your heart spike. Your stomach clench.

So you roll your eyes. “You’re exhausting.”

“And yet…” He leans in just enough that your noses are practically brushing. “You’re still here.”

You don’t respond.

Instead, you shift closer. Enough to make your chest graze his. Your thigh brush his.

Two can play at this game.

And his breath catches. You feel it. Hear it.

But he maintains the same cool and collected face you always used to fall for.

“M’not falling for it.” He says.

“For what?”

“This act of yours. The one where you pretend you don’t still want me.”

You smirk. “If I wanted you, you’d already know.”

And then he’s grinning. Slow. Dark.

“That’s the thing,” He mutters. “I think I do.”

And your stomach twists. Sharp. Hot.

You roll your eyes. Try to take a step back. But his grip on you doesn’t loosen.

“Let go.”

“I will,” he says. Voice low and dangerous. “When you stop pretending.”

If anything, his grip gets firmer. 

And you’re about to say something, but he cuts you off with movement.

Fast. Smooth.

Dips you without warning.

And the world tilts as you go with it, back arching in his hold, hands catching you with practiced ease.

The lights blur around you, but all you can really see is him. Framed above you. 

“Still a brat,” He mutters. 

And you smirk.

He drags you back up. Slow. Until your chest to chest. And then his lips are ghosting your jaw, your ear.

“I miss this,” he breathes. “Miss you. Mouthy. Mean.”

You try to laugh, but all that comes out is a breathy sigh. “You miss the idea of me.”

“I miss you,” his voice is firm. “Not the fucking idea.”

Your fists tighten around his neck. 

“Is that supposed to fix this?”

His fingers flex against your waist. Like it was hurting him to have you this close and not actually have you.

“No,” his voice is quiet. “But I never stopped thinking it.”

So you pull back enough to look at him. To look at the freckles on his nose, the lines under his eyes from lack of sleep. And he still looks at you like he wants you.

So you smile. Aching.

“Thinking about me was never your problem.”

And you don’t wait for a reply. Just step out of his arms.

Try not to look back as you walk away. Reaching the doors to the balcony and push them open. 

Cool air instantly greeting your skin.

You press your hands into the railing, pulse thrumming. 

And you’re barely there for a minute before you hear the door slam harder than it should’ve. Footsteps.

You don’t bother turning.

“You’ve got some fuckin’ nerve coming out here,” you say, arms braced on the railing, staring out into the dark like it might keep you from falling apart.

Lando’s voice snaps back instantly. “I have nerve?”

You spin to face him, anger bubbling in your chest. 

“Don’t act surprised. You always come chasing after me whenever it’s convenient for you."

His jaw tightens. “I came because you walked away in the middle of something.”

“No,” you bite. Eyes stinging. “You left in the middle of something. Months ago. When I was still holding everything together while you were in fucking Brazil or Australia or wherever the fuck you needed to be that week.”

He flinches, but you don’t stop. Can’t.

“You think this..this moment..means anything? That you can just show up, say you miss me, and everything you put me through will magically fade the fuck away?”

“And you think it was easy for me?” He grunts. “Y’think I didn’t feel it? Every timeI woke up in some hotel bed in another city with no one beside me? Every time I opened my phone and didn’t see your name because you stopped trying?”

“I stopped because I had to!” You shout. “I couldn’t keep waiting for scraps of you. I have a life too, Lan. A career.”

His hands fly into his hair. “I never asked you to give everything up!”

“You didn’t have to!” You yell back. “You just made me feel like I was the selfish one when I didn’t!”

Lando’s breathing hard now. Hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“Y’think I didn’t want to choose you?” He spits, eyes burning. “You think I didn’t want to fucking stop everything? The races. Media. All of it. Just to stay in one place with you?”

You flinch. But he isn’t done.

“I was trying to be enough for the sport and you.” His voice cracks. “But every time I blinked, it was like you were pulling further away. Like I wasn’t trying hard enough.”

“You were never there.”

The words land like a slap. Honest.

“I gave you everything I had to give.”

You laugh. Tired. Cold. “No, Lan. You gave me leftovers. Gave me what was left of you after everyone else took.”

“I was trying to make it work.”

“And I was trying to hold it together while you vanished into every fuckin country on the map.” 

He’s in front of you now.

But you keep going. Shaky. “I had to start pretending I didn’t miss you just to function. Had to smile and tell people that we were fine and so in love when the reality was I hadn’t even heard from you in five days some times.”

Lando flinches. “And you think I didn’t notice? That it didn’t kill me too?”

“You didn’t even act like it did.”

“I didn’t know how to fix it!” He explodes. “I couldn’t be everywhere at once. And I knew…I knew if I made you choose, I’d lose you!”

“Well, you lost me anyways.”

And that’s what finally breaks him.

Has him reaching out to grab you. 

And before you can so much as blink, his mouth is on yours.

Hot. Unforgiving. Fucking stupid.

But you don’t push him away. You kiss him back like its some punishment. 

And his hands slide to your hips. Your fingers twist against his collar, dragging him down harder  into your own mouth.

And when you break apart, your breath is ragged.

His forehead rests against his. You’re still angry.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you whisper. Trying to convince yourself that you’re over it. That this is just a lapse in judgment.

“Don’t lie.”

And his eyes stay on you. Dazed. And you go to speak but nothing comes out.

So you turn. Fast. Like if you don’t turn away, you’ll let him do it again. Say the wrong thing.

But you barely make it a step past him before he says it.

“Wait,” he breathes. Hand around your wrist. Loose. “Please…just wait.”

You stiffen.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” he says. “Not like that…Not… uh, here.” He scratches the back of his neck.

You look over your shoulder. His tie’s half undone. Lips swollen and slightly wet. Hair a mess. And for once, he kinda looks wrecked. 

“I have a room upstairs,” He admits. “I’m not trying to pull you back into anything,” His voice soft. “I just…I need to talk to you. Somewhere quiet. Without this….noise.” He gestures to the crowd of guests, the music, the laughter. 

You hesitate.

You want to walk inside, finish your drink, and pretend. Pretend he’s someone you used to know. Pretend he’s someone you didn’t kiss. 

But he’s still looking at you like he means it. Like you mean everything.  Like he’ll drop down to his knees and beg you if thats what it will take.

“Five minutes,” he says. “That’s all I’m asking for…five minutes…please?”

You hold his gaze for a few moments. Let it stretch. Contemplate. And then you finally nod.

“Fine,” you whisper. “But you better mean it this time.”

He exhales with relief. Like he can finally breathe properly again.

“I do.”

And then you’re walking down the hallway. Past the ballroom. Past the noise. Until it’s just the two of you again. 

The elevator ride is short. Land steps out first. Not hurried or anything…just quiet. Like he’s scared if he’s too sudden you’ll run off.

The hallway is empty. And you follow him a step behind. Arms crossed over your chest. You feel flushed. Almost too aware, too alert, of everything. The kiss still at the forefront of your mind.

When he stops outside the door, his hands fumble with the keycard. Just slightly. Just enough to show how uneasy he is also feeling. 

He doesn’t say anything either.  He just pushes the hotel door open, steps inside and waits for you. Hoping you won’t change your mind and run off.

You walk in. The room is softly lit, just the bedside lamp and the light from the bathroom steaming out. Bottle of something on the dresser. And the bed’s made, but not really. Evidence of him lounging on it was clear.

He stands a few feet away. Looking at you like he doesn’t know what to do. Where to begin. How to start.

“So?” Your voice is a little too harsh. Out of protectiveness. “You’ve got five minutes.”

And he flinches. Breathes loudly.

“I didn’t come to the wedding to fuck with you.”

You blink. Caught a little off guard.

“I knew you’d bet there though,” He says. Honest. “Knew it would hurt. But I couldn’t stay away.”

You look at him now. His face is flushed. Lips slightly parted like he’s been holding this in all night. Like the cocky face he put on all night has completely vanished.

“All these past few months,” he continues, “I kept thinking it will get easier. The distance. The silence. I thought if I worked harder, did more training, more media, all of it….I thought…I thought if I buried myself in that I’d stop thinking about you every single time I opened my phone.”

Your stomach twists.

“But it never fuckin’ stopped.” He says, voice lower. “Didn’t matter where I was. Spain, Canada, China…you were always in my head. Always.”

Your throat tightens. And you feel the goosebumps form on your skin. 

He steps closer. Carefully. A single step. Slow.

“And I hated it.” His eyes flick to you. “Hated that I couldn’t even be mad at you…well I was mad. Fucking livid, all the fucking time. But not reasonably…because you had every right to leave.”

You exhale a deep breathe. Pressing your lips together. Trying to keep yourself composed.

“I wasn’t trying to punish you, Lan.” Your voice is soft. “I just couldn’t keep putting myself second.”

“I know,” he says almost immediately. “I know that now. But I didn’t back then. I thought I did everything I could. Giving you time that I didn’t even have to give.”

You shake your head. “Making time didn’t mean you were present.”

“And I get that now.”

He’s closer. Not touching, but close enough that you have to tip your head back just a bit to hold his gaze.

“Y’think I didn’t want to choose you?” His voice breaks a little. “That I didn’t spend nights wondering and pleading what it would be like if I could just stop everything? Just be with you.”

You don’t answer. 

“And the truth is…I thought if I even asked to you wait longer, you’d hate me for it.”

“I didn’t hate you.” Your voice is quiet. Soft. 

His gaze drops to your mouth. “I know.”

Silence.

Your skin is buzzing. Heart thrumming against your chest.

“I just…I missed you.” He mutters. “And I…I don’t know how to say it without sounding like a completely selfish prick.”

“You don’t sound selfish, Lan.”

Your eyes are stinging.

“You’re the only person who has ever made me want more than all of this.” He admits. “And I fucked everything up.”

You try to swallow the lump that’s sitting in your throat. “Yeah,” you mutter. 

And the words sting to say. Sting to hear.

But he nods. Doesn’t argue.

“I just thought…if I kept going…kept chasing everything, that I could fix it later,” he shrugs. “Like you’d just be there..when I finally figured it all out.”

You breathe. Exhausted. Sad. “You always said timing was everything.”

And his lips twitch. “Yeah, turns out I’m shit at that too.”

You don’t answer. Just look at the slope of his shoulders. The tiny wrinkle in his collar. And the way his hands keep opening and closing like he doesn’t know what to do with them. 

“I still think about you. Every night.”

You shut your eyes for a moment. Trying to stop the tears from forming in your eyes.

“Still reach for you in bed like a fuckin’ idiot.”

He leans in closer.

“And I know…I know that I don’t get to ask this, but…” his voice lowers. “Can I please kiss you again?”

Your breath hitches. Eyes sliding back and forth between his. And he looks wrecked. Devastated.

And this time…you kiss him first. Not because it fixes everything. Not because everything is magically better now.

But because it feels right.

It’s fast. Like you’re mad at yourself for even giving in. Like you don’t even want him to feel satisfaction of knowing just how much you need it too.

He groans into your mouth, hands cradling your jaw, holding you there.

And he’s no longer hesitating. No longer asking.

And you let him.

Let him press you against the wall of the room like he’s fucking starving, like he’s been imagining this for months (he has).

“Still know how to shut you up,” He mumbles against your lips, nipping your bottom lip.

Your hands fist into the collar of his shirt. “Y’still talk too much.”

And he’s already sliding one hand up beneath the hem of your dress. Greedy.

Gasping when his thumb brushes against you right where you need him. Teasingly.

“Still get like this, yeah?” He laughs. Darkly. “Worked up. Just from fighting.”

You glare, but it means nothing. Because you’re already moaning and gasping into his neck as he presses again.

“You’re not special,” you bite. 

But he laughs. Confident. “No?”

He drops to his knees in front of you like he’s done it thousands of times. He has. Like its muscle memory. It is.

“Yeah well tell that to your cunt,” he mutters, pushing your dress all the way up and licking a slow strip over the damp fabric.

Your body shakes. Your hand flies to his hair, weaving it in between your fingers as you grasp it tightly. And he’s fucking grinning when he feels you tremble.

“You used to beg,” He remembers. “Used to say my name over and over like it was the only word you knew.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “And you used to listen.”

He pulls your panties down with his teeth. “Still do, baby.”

And then he’s tasting you like a staved man. Slow. Messy. But thorough. 

And you moan loud when he curls his tongue just right. Groaning into you like he’s the one who’s fucked.

“You feel the fuckin same.” He grunts, looking up at you. “Fuckin fuck. You feel exactly the same.”

You grab his collar. Desperate.  Pull him up towards you.

And his mouth is crashing into yours again. Then somehow you’re both stumbling toward the bed. Half-laughing, half-mad, half-clothed.

He’s fumbling with the zipper of your dress, cursing under his breath when the zipper gets caught. And you’re tugging at the buttons of of his shirt, only making it halfway through before your fingers give up. And you just shove the fabric open instead, buttons popping. 

“Christ,” Lando mutters, lips dragging along your throat, hands freeing the zipper. “Still so fuckin’ impatient.”

“Y’love it,” you breathe. “Always did.”

And his eyes darken.

“I did,” he agrees. Voice low. “Still do.”

You kiss him again. Hard, open mouthed. Because there’s just no point in pretending anymore. Not with the way he fits against you, not with the way your skin is buzzing from his touch. 

And he kisses you back like he’s missed this more than anything in the entire fucking world. Like the memory of your mouth could never be enough for him.

He pushes you back onto the mattress, his mouth dragging down your stomach like its a map he’s memorized.

“You’re shaking,” He grins against your skin. “Missed me this much?”

You nod, biting your lip. 

“Say it.”

Your voice breaks. “I missed…God I fuckin’ missed you.”

He groans, head falling against your thigh. “God, we never should’ve broken up.”

And then he’s burying his face between your legs like a starved man. Licking you like he needs to memorize every inch, sound, and twitch of yours. Moaning against you, mouth slick and open.

His tongue works over you slowly at first, deep. Dragging. And then he’s moving faster, meaner, teasing your clit and then backing off. Again and again.

Your hands fist into his curls, “Lan, please…”

He groans, rutting his hips into the mattress like he’s the one being teased. Then, pushing two fingers into you. Curling them just right. 

And your hips buck off the mattress with a loud moan.

“God…fuck..Lan, please don’t stop.”

He doesn’t.

He eats you through your orgasm like he needs you more than air. Popping off when you lay limply, before slipping up to hover over you. Lips shiny, eyes glazed.

And then he’s groaning hotly into your mouth when your legs wrap around his waist, grinding against him for some friction. 

“Fuck,” He groans, voice raw. Dragging his hips against you. “You always knew how to drive me fucking insane.” 

You arch up into him. “Then stop wasting my time.”

His hand wraps around your thigh, pulling it higher up his waist as he pushes into you. Slow. Like he’s savoring the feeling. 

Your lips part in a soft gasp and his forehead drops against yours.

“Fuck…” He groans. “I’ve thought about this almost every night.”

He pulls his hips back and thrusts again. Harder.

“Every time I shut my eyes…this. You.” 

You moan, loudly. Nails digging into his skin. 

He fucks you deep. Fucking filthy. One hand wrapped around your throat as he leans over you.

“This what you’ve been thinking about, hm?” He grunts. “Late at night, fingers buried deep in that perfect cunt…pretending it was me, yeah?”

Your face flushes as you nod. 

And he’s losing his rhythm, groaning.

“Been jerking off to the thought go you like this,” he confesses. “Fucking my fist and wishing it was you.”

He presses his fingers into your clit, and you jolt with a loud cry.

“Fuck…you’re gonna make me,”

“Then do it,” he snaps. 

And you do.

You come shaking as he fucks you through it, still muttering absolute filth against your ear. Still chasing his own.

And when he finally comes, it’s with a loud groan of your name. Cock buried deep as he spills into you.

He collapses on top of you for a moment, breathing hard.

You don’t know how long the two of you lay there like that.

But you feel Lando shift slowly. Like he’s scared if he moves too fast it will break whatever spell you’re both under. 

“You okay?” He whispers, voice hoarse. His lips grazing your shoulder.

You nod.

“I meant what I said,” he mutters. “About missing you.”

You let your eyes close. It would be so so easy to pretend that nothing mattered. To stay here and forget all the pain of the weeks you both spent apart.

But it did matter.

He rolls off of you, just to the side. Skin still touching. And when you finally face each other, his curls are damp, cheeks flushed, and eyes so so soft.

“You okay?” You ask.

His throat works itself before he nods. But he doesn’t take his eyes off of you.

“I don’t know what this means,” you confess. “I still don’t.”

And he looks at you like he’s reading your fucking soul. “Me neither.”

He drags his fingertips lazily along your skin. Trailing your shoulder, to your collarbones, before slipping them up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “But I know it’s not nothing.”

You don’t speak. Your throat and chest tight with emotion.

Eventually, your fingers start tracing light shapes along his ribs. Thoughtless.

“You used to do that all the time,” He mutters.

You pause. “Do what?”

“That thing with your fingers. The little shapes. Lines. Especially when you couldn’t sleep.”

You feel your heart in your fucking throat. But you keep tracing.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he says quietly. “Even when I tried to…it would..it would just have me thinking about you all over again.”

You swallow. “You didn’t have to try.”

“But didn’t I?” His voice is rough, hoarse. “You wouldn’t take to me. I didn’t even know what I was allowed to say to you anymore. If I was even allowed to say anything.”

“You could’ve,” you whisper. “I just….I didn’t want to be the one holding us together by myself anymore.”

“I know,” He says. “And I hate myself for making you feel that way.”

You blink hard, trying to stop the tears from falling.

Lando reaches for your hand, linking your fingers together. Bringing it to his lips, pressing soft kisses to each of your fingers, then your knuckles. One inside of your wrist. 

Slow. One by one.

“I think I was scared,” He admits. “That if I actually gave you all of me, and you still left…” He trails off. His jaw clenching and eyes shutting at the thought.

Your heart thrums. “I was never asking for all of you, Lan.”

“Maybe not with words,” he says. “But you deserved it anyways.”

He drops your hand, to bring it to your cheek. Thumb catching the single tear that manages to slip free at the corner of your eye. 

“I miss us,” he smiles sadly. “Not just the sex. Or this. Just I miss your stupid coffee orders that changed every week. And your laugh when you were too tired. Or the way you used to fall asleep on my chest.”

You bring your face closer to his, breathing him in.

“And I miss your terrible excuses for missing calls,” You joke. “And oddly enough, how you always left your fucking socks everywhere.”

He smiles. A real one.

And then he’s leaning in. Kisses you again. 

Soft.

Slow.

Sweet.

“Can we…try again?” He asks quietly. “Not tonight..not like this of course. But maybe…”

You squeeze his hand, a soft smile on your lips. His smile mirroring yours.

“One step at a time.”

And for now…it’s enough.

[shikiii-skadi]

A Leaf from Tomorrow

SUMMARY: you were just trying to get some food when you are suddenly faced with a child who is freezing the cafeteria. but the most surprising thing was that he called you mother and has an undeniable resemblance to both yourself and malleus.

PAIRING: malleus draconia x reader

WARNINGS: biological children are implied and the usage of mother

NAVIGATION: Twisted Wonderland Masterlist | Diasomnia Masterlist

It was time you put your foot down and stop your food from being stolen. Well, you didn't really put your foot down. You just told your friends that you would eat later in the cafeteria when they all went. It was a drastic measure, but you couldn't continue living like that.

Every time you, Deuce, Ace, and Grim ate together, you never got nearly enough food in your stomach, because Ace and Grim seemed to believe that your food was also their food. So now you were on your way to have lunch on your own. Hopefully, someone you knew is also still there. Otherwise, it will be super awkward to sit at a table with a bunch of strangers. It will make you self-conscious of how you eat...

But it seems you didn't need to worry about eating right now.

A group of students came frantically running from the cafeteria, nearly knocking you over in the process. You barely got out of the way in time by stepping between two statues in the hallway.

One of your fellow students seemed to have the same idea, because he squeezed himself beside you, so he could catch his breath for a moment.

"What is going on? Why is everyone running?" you asked him, seizing the opportunity to get answers without needing to possibly get involved in the chaos.

The unknown student took a few heavy breaths before answering. "An attack! Someone is freezing the cafeteria. I think some students even got frozen."

"What?" You were in disbelief that it was really that bad. "Are you sure it's not just a prank from a few mischievous students or ghosts?"

"I know what I saw. That definitely wasn't a prank!" the student said, clearly offended you’d even suggest it.

You turned to the entrance of the cafeteria when you felt the temperature in the hallway drop. You couldn't see anything from your place. But you could feel the pressure of magic in the air. It felt powerful. So it must be true what the student said. But there were only a handful of things that could charge the air with this amount of magic.

"Was it an Overblot?" you asked the student, now sharing his panic.

"I don't know. Do you think I stayed long enough to check?" he snapped at you, before his voice returned to a more civilized tone. "I don't think I saw blot ink or a phantom anywhere... But does it even matter? We should get outta here and let someone else deal with whatever is in the cafeteria."

The student didn't wait for you and instead sprinted off. You wanted to follow, but stopped when you suddenly heard what sounded like the hysterical cry of a child.

Your breath hitched as the temperature dipped again, cold nipping at your cheeks and frosting the edges of the hallway tiles. The crack of ice spreading echoed faintly from the cafeteria doors. And then that cry came again.

Who would bring a child to Night Raven College? And why would they be alone?

The impulse to run warred with your instincts. But something about the sound rooted you in place. A chill that had nothing to do with ice crept up your spine.

So once again, throwing any sense of self-preservation out the window, you decided to investigate the cafeteria.

As you approached the entrance, a thin layer of ice curled and crept across the floor beneath your feet. The temperature was dropping as if the air itself recoiled with sadness.

And then you saw it.

The cafeteria doors were open, hanging slightly ajar, frost spiderwebbing from their hinges. The cafeteria was a frozen winter scene. Tables were rimmed with rime. Plates of forgotten lunches sat frozen mid-bite. Students who hadn’t escaped in time were partially encased in thick magical ice. Thankfully, it didn't seem like they were injured. They are just trapped.

And in the center of it all, curled up and trembling within a growing circle of frost, was a boy.

He couldn’t have been older than five or six. His hands covered his face as sobs wracked his tiny frame. You were struck by the sight of such a young child in this place. A child who seemed so out of place amidst the suffering he unintentionally caused.

The ice creeped outward with each of his hiccupping sobs, the magic surging with raw, unchecked emotion. His hair shared the same color as yours. Small horns peeked out from beneath the tousled locks. They were curved, and unmistakably draconic.

Your breath hitched.

Horns.

The resemblance to Malleus was impossible to ignore. Not just the horns, but also the gentle curve of the boy’s brow, and the elegant bone structure of his tear-stained face. But there was something in his eyes, when he finally looked up at you. They were wide, watery, and impossibly green. But lacking the sharp edge Malleus would have had. The boy's eyes were softer and his nose cute. That hit deeper.

Not like Malleus. Like... you.

You looked at the boy in silence for a few moments, not sure what to say. "Eh... Are you hurt?" you asked eventually your tone of voice awkward, as you tried to smile reassuringly at him.

The boy's big, round eyes were staring at you. He blinked a few times. "M-mother...?"

Huh?

Before you could ask or clarify anything, the boy ran toward you and launched himself into your arms. His tiny frame seemed to hide an impossible strength, because you felt like he would actually snap your spine if he hugged you any tighter. "Mother!!"

You were as frozen in place as the unfortunate students, who didn't get away in time. You didn't know how to handle this situation. You were pretty sure you didn't spawn a child in your time in Twisted Wonderland. The only thing coming close to a child you took care of was your ever-hungry cat-weasel companion. Certainly not a real breathing kid.

Despite your inexperience with children, you could tell that explaining to this traumatized, and very much powerful little boy, that you can't be his mother, wasn't a smart idea. So you just told yourself that he just called every woman 'mother'. That's something children do, right?

You patted the boys back in hopes his crushing grip on you would loosen at least a little. "There, there. Everything is fine."

Well, actually, nothing was fine, but you also needed the reassurance of your own words.

You gently pried his arms away enough to kneel down in front of him. "Can you tell me what happened here?"

"Everything was different and strange. Not like home. I was here, and there were so many people and-" His words were interrupted by a wrenching sob. "I was scared, and I didn’t mean to! I just wanted you, but-b-but you weren’t there, and then everyone started running and they yelled at me, and, and-"

As the coldness in the air heightens again, you rub the boy's shoulders gently, despite feeling slightly panicked that he might freeze the entire school. "It's fine. It's fine. You were just scared. No one will get angry with you," you smiled at him. "Do you maybe know a way to fix this?"

He shook his head. "No. Father always does."

"Well, it's not that important anyway. The Headmage will figure something out... Probably," you say when you saw his face twisting with guilt. Although you could feel the stare of a frozen student nearby, who definitely does not agree with you.

The boy nodded at your words.

You paused. You didn’t even know his name. Just calling him 'boy' is certainly weird. "Say, do you remember your name?"

He looked at you in silence before suddenly beginning to cry again, leaving you very confused. "Why are you acting like you don’t know me? I don’t like this game!"

Someone seemed to be sensitive. While you had no experiments with children, Grim certainly taught you how to deal with sudden mood swings and tantrums. Although using tuna as a distraction probably won't work.

"But how can I be sure you are the real you and not a spy, if you won't tell me the right answer?" you replied playfully, poking his stomach. "So? What's your name?"

He giggled when you poked him and stopped crying. "You are being silly, Mother," he said. "My name is Maledor, of course!"

You nodded, as if you knew that as well. Hoping that he didn't turn the tables on you to test you, and said the wrong name. But certainly a child wouldn't do that, right?

"Aha! Maledor. That’s a perfectly real name. You’re clear. No spy here."

You think about what you should do next. Seeing that no help or rescue had come in all this time, you could assume that none of the students who got away actually told the staff. You shouldn’t be surprised by that. After all, this was a school full of self-centered and mischievous students.

You couldn’t leave Maledor alone. And you had little faith that going to Crowley for help would do anything. He would end up dumping the work on you anyway, so you might as well search for a solution on your own, before Ramshackle gets a new member. 

By Maledor's pointy ears and little horns, it wasn’t hard to tell that he must be a fae. So, going to Diasomnia is probably the best course of action. Maybe someone there knew who this little boy belonged to. And maybe Malleus or Lilia can defreeze the cafeteria. 

You took Maledor by the hand as you led him to the Diasomnia Dorm. Every so often, his grip would tighten, like he was making sure you wouldn’t suddenly disappear. As soon as you went through the mirror and arrived on the bridge that led to the castle, which was the dorm, you could feel Maledor visibly relaxing.

"This is better! I like it here. It looks like home," he said with a cheerful voice. Seemed like you did good by bringing him here. 

Right when you were about to enter the dorm, Sebek suddenly crossed your path. His sharp eyes fell upon Maledor. "Human! Why do you have a fae child with you?!" he demanded. Then somehow jumped to: "Have you kidnapped him?! Hand over the child at once!"

"When do you think I kidnapped a magical fae child, from its magical parents?" you shot back. "Do you think I walked to Briar Valley and back in an afternoon?"

Sebek didn’t listen to your words to hung up on the idea that you kidnapped a child. Like that wasn’t something faes usually did to humans, right?

"I said hand over the child!" he shouted, before trying to grab Maledor.

You didn’t know why, but a sudden protective streak came over you, and you stepped in front of Maledor, blocking Sebeks' hand. "Don’t just grab a child!"

Sebek recoiled, shock flickering across his face at your boldness. "Are you impeding one of Lord Malleus' loyal knights, human?"

Sebek tried to grab Maledor again, not listening to you. Maledor, on the other hand, obviously did not want to be grabbed by Sebek and was hiding further behind you, grabbing your jacket. "Mother, I don’t want to go…!"

When Maledor said that, Sebek paused. "M-Mother..?" he repeated, shocked. For a second, you think Sebek might actually let you explain the situation, but he immediately began shouting again. "How dare you steal away a fae child and then confuse it so much?! What wicked human trickery have you used?!"

You grit your teeth, trying hard not to let Sebek's ear-splitting accusations break your patience or your eardrums. "I didn’t do anything to him! And can you not yell? You’re scaring him."  You glance at Maledor, who is now peeking nervously from behind your leg, clutching your jacket tightly. 

Sebek falters only a split-second before putting himself between you and the entryway. This standoff would be comical if it weren’t so tense. "I will not allow a potential kidnapper entrance to Prince Malleus’s domain!"

"Look, I didn’t kidnap anyone," you said. "He appeared in the cafeteria, scared, and accidentally froze half the room. I thought someone in Diasomnia might recognize him or help fix the mess."

Sebek’s eyes darted from you to Maledor and back. "You expect me to take the word of a human? Of Night Raven’s resident troublemaker?"

Sebek's next rant was kept short when suddenly Lilia appeared swinging between the two of you. You screamed. Then Sebek screamed. And Maledor giggled. 

Lilia landed lightly between you and Sebek, his eyes glinting mischievously as always, although there was a subtle alertness there. "My, my. Such excitement at the gates! Am I crashing a secret meeting?" he laughed.

You tried to catch your breath. How did Lilia always manage to appear exactly when you least expected it? "Lilia! Don’t sneak up like that," you gasped, half-laughing but mostly frazzled.

Sebek, who was embarrassed for also screaming, now tried to act as if he didn’t. "L-Lilia! The Prefect has procured a fae child and refuses to answer for it!"

"Oh? My, what an adorable little visitor we have…" Lilia said, studying Maledor’s face with recognition. He seemed to be delighted by Maledor. 

"Uncle Lilia!" Maledor said, before coming out from behind you. 

"Uncle?" you repeated, flabbergasted as you watched Maledor and Lilia interact as if they were long-lost family. "Do you know Maledor, Lilia?"

Lilia’s smile widened, a spark of mischief glittering in his eyes as he knelt down to Maledor’s level. "Of course I know this one," he said. "It’s been some time since we’ve had such a precious visitor from, shall we say, afar."

Maledor’s worry seemed to melt under Lilia’s reassurance. "Uncle Lilia, where’s Father?" he sniffled, rubbing at his eyes. "Everything’s scary and cold."

You blinked, looking between the two of them, feeling very much like you’d accidentally walked into someone else’s family reunion in the middle of things. "Wait, you really do know him?" you asked Lilia, carefully keeping your voice level. 

Meanwhile, Sebek had gone uncharacteristically quiet, torn between his usual outrage and a suspicion that something much bigger than an abduction was happening.

Lilia stood up. His gaze softened as he addressed Maledor. "Don’t worry, Maledor. Your father is very busy today, as are all great kings-in-training. Why don’t you stay with your-" Lilia’s eyes danced over to you, and the corners of his mouth twitched as if privately amused by some secret. "beloved caretaker for now? I’m sure they’ll keep you safe."

Sebek straightened, suspicion not quite dispelled. "Are you certain, Sir, that the Prefect has not enchanted this child into believing-"

"Sebek," Lilia interjected. "Surely you would not accuse our dear Prefect of such underhanded magic?"

Sebek’s mouth opened and closed, before he replied. "I…I would never dare suggest you are incapable of seeing through such tricks, Sir! But this situation is most unusual. We must consider the safety of Prince Malleus. And yet the Prefect is still refusing to offer a proper explanation!"

Sebek puffed out his chest but glanced uneasily at Maledor, who peeked from behind you, still clutching your jacket. Despite his horns and emerald eyes, Maledor looked anything but menacing. Nevertheless, Sebek clung to the role of vigilant sentinel.

You took a deep breath, trying not to get annoyed. "I already told you that I found Maledor in the cafeteria, scared and alone. I don’t know anything else. And anyway, if he were out to get Malleus, freezing the cafeteria wouldn’t exactly be subtle, right? And who would send a child in the first place?"

Sebek seemed ready to continue his barrage of suspicions, but Lilia only chuckled. He bent down, gently patting Maledor’s shoulder while casting a reassuring glance your way. "I think what we all need right now is some warmth and a calm mind. The hallway is no place for important discussions or guests. Why not bring our little visitor and the prefect inside? Come, let’s have tea. We can sort out facts and fancies over something sweet, hm?"

Maledor’s eyes brightened at the mention of sweets. He nodded, tugging lightly at your sleeve as if afraid you’d vanish again. 

All of you headed inside. When Lilia offered to brew the tea and bring some sweets, you immediately volunteered to do it instead. After all, the first rule to surviving a visit to Diasomnia was: Never eat or drink something Lilia made. 

"I’ll handle the tea," you say quickly before Lilia’s hand can get anywhere near the kettle. Your voice is a bit brighter than usual, and you offer a smile to Lilia that’s ninety percent nerves and ten percent sincere gratitude.

"Oh, are you sure? I was hoping to try a new blend…" Lilia said.

"I insist," you reply, perhaps more quickly than you mean to. "It’s the least I can do after all the chaos."

After returning to the lounge room with the tea and sweets, you all sit down. Maledor is quick to take a seat beside you, while Lilia has to urge Sebek to sit down as well instead of standing guard by the windows. 

Steam rose from the cups you carefully poured. Maledor watched you, swinging his little feet under the chair, his misery momentarily forgotten in anticipation of sweets.

As you sit down as well, Maledor asked. "Can I take a cookie, Mother?"

The repeated use of the title 'mother' still caught you off guard every time, as did Maledor asking you if he was allowed to eat a cookie. You nodded eventually. "Yeah, sure."

Maledor’s face lit up as you granted him permission. He snatched a cookie with both hands and promptly stuffed half of it into his mouth, crumbs dotting his cheeks as he beamed triumphantly.

"Say, Maledor," Lilia began, tone filled with curiosity. "it must have been quite an adventure to find yourself here, hm? Do you remember anything? Anything at all about how you arrived at the cafeteria, or where you were before?"

Maledor looked down, chewing his cookie with squirrel-like intensity. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he swung his legs and frowned in concentration. "I… I was in the castle. Not this one… my home. Father was teaching me magic because I wanted to be big! Like him. And then…There was this bright green light, all swirly. It was so pretty, but it got really loud and windy. I called for you." he looked up at you. "But I couldn’t find you or Father, and then I was here. It was scary. I didn’t like it. I just wanted to go home."

You picked up a napkin when you saw that Maledor had finished eating. You cleaned his chocolate-covered fingers and mouth. To which Maledor reacted with a 'Thank you, mother,' after you were done. 

Sebek, in the meantime, asked. "Who is your father? Can you say his name?"

Maledor brightened, as if relieved to be asked something simple. "My Father is Malleus! Malleus Draconia."

You barely had time to process Maledor’s answer before the tea caught in your throat, a cough sputtering out of you in disbelief. You blinked hard, as if somehow the world would flicker and correct itself. Instead, the bright-eyed boy just looked up at you, awaiting your response with absolute trust.

Lilia’s eyes sparkled with a private, knowing delight, a sly grin playing at the corners of his mouth as he watched the chaos unfold with all the satisfaction of someone who had seen the punchline coming a mile away.

Sebek, on the other hand, was completely stunned. The rigid guard posture dissolved into total shock. His mouth dropped open, then snapped shut in a series of fishlike gasps. He gripped his teacup so tightly it threatened to snap in half. He blinked, then searched Maledor’s face. His gaze darted between the delicate, unmistakable horns and those deep, green eyes. For a second, you wondered if Sebek was about to faint. "Malleus… Draconia?" he finally choked out. "Impossible! The Young Master has no offspring! There must be a mistake. Some… imposter trickery!"

"Wait, wait," you managed, gesturing rapidly between Maledor and Sebek. "Hold on, Maledor. You said your father is Malleus Draconia. You mean, the Malleus? Diasomnia’s Malleus? Tall, horns, kind of brooding, makes storms when he’s in a mood: Malleus?"

Maledor blinked up at you. His head cocked with innocent confusion, as if he couldn’t comprehend why you were asking something so obvious. "Of course, Father is Malleus Draconia!" he said, the words sounding so simple, so certain, as if you’d just asked him whether he liked cookies. "You know that, Mother… Why are you pretending?"

You sat, frozen in your seat, Maledor’s certainty striking through you more powerfully than any ice he could have summoned. Your brain scrambled wildly for any logical explanation. Was this a trick? A dream? Did the world flip upside down when you weren’t looking?

"IMPOSSIBLE!" Sebek barked, jumping up so quickly his chair almost fell. "You must be mistaken! The Young Master does not have, could not have, a child without telling his loyal knights!" He pointed a finger at you. "And you, Prefect! What have you done to this child?!"

"I swear, I’m not lying!" you answered, finally finding your voice. "I didn’t do anything to Maledor. He called me mother from the start. Before I even knew his name!"

Sebek, torn between devotion and confusion, snapped. "This cannot be! The Young Master would never keep such secrets. And…" His mind worked frantically. "The time makes no sense! My Liege and the Prefect… you… are not even married!"

You flushed, mortified and indignant. "Excuse you! We’re not anything." You glanced at Maledor, lowering your voice. "Not like that. Just friends, really."

Lilia clapped his hands softly, his voice clear and sure in the commotion. "No need for dramatics. You know, Sebek, sometimes the wind brings secrets from times yet to come. Briar Valley holds many old mysteries, does it not?"

Sebek bristled, trying to regain composure. "Sir Lilia, with all respect, how can we trust-"

Lilia cut him off with a gentle but authoritative voice. "Sebek, look at the child." Lilia turned to Maledor. "You were frightened, weren’t you? Do you remember any enchantments or trickery? Did anyone put strange ideas in your head?"

Maledor shook his head. "No. I just wanted Mother. And Father." He glanced sidewise at you, hope flickering in his green eyes. "I’m not lying. I promise."

Lilia patted his shoulder. "Of course you’re not. Sometimes things happen that even us grown-ups do not immediately understand. Time, magic, fate. I think our little prince here is simply… lost between stories."

"But what does that mean, Lilia?" you asked for clarification, not being able to wrap your head around this situation. "Is Maledor truly Malleus... And my…" You didn't finish your sentence with 'child'. It just sounded too weird. 

"Sometimes, the river of time chooses curious eddies," Lilia mused with a gentle smile. "A leaf from tomorrow might find itself drifting among the branches of today. If it’s not a trick, not a spell, and not a child’s tale, perhaps we must accept that sometimes, the world permits a riddle to live before its answer."

You stared, mouth poised between laughter and a plea for sanity. "Are you saying… he’s from the future?" The words felt ridiculous as they left your lips.

Lilia shrugged lightly. "Magic has never cared much for clocks or calendars. Wouldn’t be the first time something important arrived a little ahead of schedule."

While you were still trying to wrap your head around this, Sebek seemed to accept Lilias' words in a split second.  "My Lieges…" Sebek’s voice faltered, then swelled with fervor. "My Liege's heir! Of course! There can be no other explanation befitting Prince Malleus’s unparalleled greatness! Only Prince Malleus, scion of the glorious Draconia line, could sire such a prodigy! Such strength, such majesty, even at such a young age. Freezing the entire cafeteria! Behold, the testament of our great lord’s power!"

"You are the proof of Prince Malleus’s supremacy. Even time itself cannot contain his legacy!" he gushed. "A scion born of unmatched power and noble heritage! To think, I am in the presence of my Liege's heir -his magnificent progeny!"

"Forgive me, young prince!" He dropped to one knee before Maledor, completely ignoring you now, and offered a bow so deep it was a miracle he didn’t hit his head on the floor. "Forgive me for doubting your identity for even a second. I, Sebek Zigvolt, am at your service, just like I am at your glorious father's service!"

Sebek’s 180-degree turn gave you mental whiplash. Two minutes ago, he was about to lock you up for kidnapping a child. And now he was praising Maledor as if he was the second coming of Jesus. And anyway, where was your praise? After all, if Maledor was yours and Malleus's child, you had also contributed half to this cute little boy.

No, on a second thought, you'd rather not be the subject of Sebek’s loud and lavish praise. You were still in denial about all of this. Honestly, you were just surprised by Sebek’s sudden turn. Like, wasn’t he super concerned that Malleus and you weren’t even married a second ago? As if Sebek thinks children could only be conceived if their parents really love each other and wish for one. He was so innocent. 

"This must be announced at once! The other knights deserve to weep at this glory. Everyone in Diasomnia needs to know. No, the entire College must know. Briar Valley must be informed. And the Young Master!"

Sebek’s words left you even more mortified than the entire situation already did. You are vaguely wishing the frosted cafeteria had swallowed you whole. You couldn’t face Malleus right now. What were you supposed to say? You rather die than face that embarrassment. 

"No! We can’t tell anyone! Especially not Malleus," you interrupted in a voice that could rival Sebeks, before clearing your throat and continuing in a normal voice. "What I mean is, how are we going to explain this? Like, no one is going to believe that a child just showed up from the future, right? They will think Malleus had a secret love child or something."

"I can’t keep the Young Master in the dark about his own flesh and blood. It is my knightly duty to inform him about everything that is happening in his absence!"

Sebek, as always, did not listen, and Lilia was just enjoying the drama for now. In a burst of desperation, you grabbed a cupcake and threw it across the table at Sebek. He stood there, utterly stunned. A thick glob of icing clung to his cheek and crumbs slided down his jacket. He blinked, still processing your audacious cupcake attack. Meanwhile, Maledor, not understanding anything, laughed at that.

"Seems like you can’t go to Malleus now. You wouldn’t stand before your Liege covered in icing, right?" you said, trying to buy time.

"H-How dare you assault one of Prince Malleus’s loyal knights with pastries, human!" he barked. 

The feeling that you brought the situation under control immediately vanished when the door opened. There, calmly and tall, stood the regal figure of Malleus, as if the universe liked seeing your misery. Those sharp green eyes found you immediately and lingered for a breath before shifting to Maledor.

"Father!" Maledor’s cry rang bright and clear. His little legs scrambed down from the chair. He rushed to Malleus with unerring speed, arms stretched wide open.

Malleus knelt smoothly. His regal composure melting enough to open his arms and receive the child -his child- into a gentle embrace. "So it was you I sensed. A presence so like my own, yet unlike any I have felt before."

Heat flooded your face as the initial shock passed. Your first instinct was to bolt from sheer embarrassment. Somehow, you managed to find your voice. "You’re not surprised, Malleus?"

"Surprised?" he repeated "No, not at all. I recognized the resonance of my own magic the moment Maledor appeared." He regarded you calmly. "You seem greatly unsettled. Is it so shocking to you?"

"I mean, yeah! Everyone would be shocked," you replied honestly.

"You truly cannot feel it?" Malleus asekd. "Even now, the air shimmers with our blood intertwined. A melody only you and I could create."

You thought about his words for a moment. Putting it like that, you suppose you did feel something. Although definitely not as clear as Malleus did. "Still, shouldn’t we be more concerned?"

"Concern is natural. But you underestimate the strength of the Draconia blood. And your own as well. Our child would never be so easily lost to time without reason. He will return," Malleus said, voice absolute. "The magic that called him here is already unraveling."

"So the problem will fix itself?" you question. That sounded like better circumstances than most problems you have run into in Twisted Wonderland. "Everything will go back to normal soon?"

Malleus nodded. "Yes. This visit, while precious, is unintended. The magic that summoned him here is unstable and will not last much longer. The world has its ways of correcting itself."

Some of the tension in your chest loosened at his certainty.

Lilia, barely restraining a wide grin, chimed in. "It seems time itself favors your union, hmm?"

Your face went hot again, just as your flustered heart was about to calm down a little. "Y-You can’t just say something like that out of nowhere…!" you stuttered. Your voice sounded more like a nervous squeak. 

"But it's a wonderful thing, isn't it?" Lilia replied. Beneath his light tone, you could sense the sincerity in his eyes. Like a guardian who is relieved to see his forsterling in good hands. 

Malleus regarded Lilia for a moment, then turned back to you, his emerald gaze gentle but searching. "Does it trouble you?" he asked. "If such a future would come to pass would it be so unwelcome?"

Despite your flustered state it didn’t take long for you to shook your head. "No… It wouldn't be unwelcome."

Maledor, oblivious to the tension and simply happy to be near both his parents, studied your face. He shuffled over from Malleus’s embrace and returned to your side, hugging you tightly enough to drive the air from your lungs. "Your face is all red, Mother! When Sebek gets red he gets loud. When Mother gets red she gets quiet," he commented, which made you only more flustered. "I think ice cream makes everything better. Can we eat ice cream?"

You softly pinch Maledor's cheek. "I think someone already had enough sugar for a day with all the cookies and cupcakes."

Maledor’s smile faltered for half a second, his wide eyes shimmering with a betrayed kind of innocence that only a child could muster. Then, with all the cunning of someone who’d clearly inherited far too much of Malleus’s intelligence and dramatic tendencies, he turned slowly toward his father.

Malleus tilted his head. His expression was calm and unreadable. Maledor’s lip trembled just enough to be convincing. "Father..." he began, voice so heart-wrenchingly sweet it could’ve earned him ten free sundaes anywhere in Twisted Wonderland. "Mother said no to ice cream."

The underlying message was clear: Mother rejected me. Only you can right this cruel injustice, Father.

"A most tragic betrayal," Malleus said solemnly. "To be denied joy by one’s own mother. This is indeed a grievous matter."

"Are you siding with him?" you asked, eyes darting from dragon fae to dragon fae. "He’s a little sugar gremlin who just weaponized his cuteness!"

"I am merely acknowledging his diplomatic tact," Malleus replied with a perfectly neutral expression, though the slight twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement. He patted Maledor’s hair, then gently guided him back to your side. "A future prince must know how to plead his case with grace and strategic flair."

"Don’t encourage him," you grumbled, though your lips tugged up in spite of yourself. This entire situation defied logic and physics, maybe even sanity, but somehow... it wasn't as terrifying as it first seemed, not with the way Malleus stood beside you like an unwavering anchor in a storm, and how Maledor leaned against you like he had always belonged there.

"He encourages me," Maledor beamed up at his father.

"I do," Malleus agreed without hesitation.

"I manipulate Mother."

"You do," Malleus affirmed with serene approval.

"You are literally both saying the scheme out loud while I’m right here!" you pointed out. "You’re not supposed to straight-up say it’s manipulation!"

"Don’t worry, Father. Mother always forgives you when you hug her from behind. You do that a lot in the future," Maledor said to comfort Malleus after seeing your grumpy reaction.

Your soul nearly left your body.

Malleus blinked. Then turned to look at you intensely.

You snapped your head toward the child in horror. "Maledor!"

"What?" he asked, blinking up at you with wide, guileless eyes. "It’s true. When you get all ‘grumpy-grumbly’ and tell Father to leave you alone, Father just hugs you from behind, really slow and gentle, and you get all red and mutter something like, 'You know I can’t stay mad at you.'"

"Slow and gentle, you say," Malleus repeated. His expression was thoughtful, as if he was memorizing every word Maledor said. "Hmm. So gentle physical affection dissolves your irritation. I will need to remember that approach."

"That is not the takeaway here!" you interrupted.

"I am merely collecting useful knowledge of what pleases my future consort," Malleus responded smoothly. With almost academic intrigue. "Maledor’s insights are quite enlightening."

Sebek’s complexion was caught somewhere between ghostly pale and tomato red. "Y-Young Prince! This is hardly appropriate information to share in a public setting!"

Maledor blinked at Sebek, completely unbothered. "But Sebek, you said it’s a knight’s duty to speak the truth and uphold honor. I’m just being helpful."

"Yes, but there are degrees of helpfulness...! Some truths are best kept private, especially when discussing the... the subtle... the-" Sebek finally broke eye contact and wheezed, "hugging techniques."

"I agree! We should just stop talking about this," you agreed, hoping the embarrassment would be over now, but then something came to your mind. "No, wait. It is only fair if you also share embarrassing things about Malle- Eh, your Father, Maledor."

Sebek, still recovering from the previous exchange, audibly gasped. "Y-young prince! The Young Master is above embarrassment!"

"No, he’s not," you said flatly.

"Well, Mother says it’s fair," Maledor chirped. "So. When you’re not around, Father gets really weird."

"Weird?" Malleus repeated. His tone remained level, but one graceful brow arched inquisitively.

"Mhmm. Sometimes he just stands in the hallway. Just... standing. Staring out a window. All dramatic and sad," Maledor said before adding brightly. "Oh, and when you come back, even if it’s just from the bathroom, he teleports to your side and says 'Ah, as I suspected, the world only feels whole in your presence again.'"

Malleus remained unshaken, which somehow made it worse. "There is no shame in expressing adoration," he said. "Is it so strange, to long for the presence of the one who stirs your soul?"

Somehow, your idea backfired on you. Not only was Malleus not the least bothered by Maledor's revelations, you are even more flustered now. You didn’t even know what to say, but thankfully Maledor filled the silence again. 

"And one time. Mother kissed Father’s cheek right before a council meeting, and he smiled the whole time. The old scary ministers freaked out and thought Father was about to declare war because he never smiles like that during council."

"Alright, that's enough glimpses into the future!" you interrupted hastily, cutting off any further soul-exposing anecdotes. "Didn’t you say you wanted ice cream, Maledor?"

"Yes, ice cream!" Maledor shouted excitedly. 

"If it pleases the young prince, I shall fetch the finest ice cream the college kitchens offer," Sebek declared utterly serious, though his face was still visibly red from the "inappropriate" things Maledor revealed. 

Lilia, who looked like he was thriving in this chaos, leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head. "This might be the most entertaining thing I’ve seen in a hundred years. And I fought a manticore while wearing a tutu once."

"...Why?" you couldn’t help asking.

"There was a wager. Long story." He winked.

You just accepted what Lilia said without further questions. In a room together with your future child, that just appeared out of thin air, Lilia might still be the biggest enigma. 

You all find your seats at the table again. It didn’t take long for Sebek to arrive with the ice cream. Maledor’s eyes sparkled as he eyed the huge bowl full of brightly-colored ice cream that you placed in front of him. Despite his eagerness, he still waited quietly until you gave him permission to begin eating. Seated beside him, Malleus also seemed to enjoy his bowl of ice cream with quiet contentment. You had the suspicion that he also wanted one from the beginning. 

As you also began eating your ice cream, you began to really process what was happening. Does this encounter mean that your future was now predestined? Does this mean you will stay in Twisted Wonderland and never find a way back home to your world? Will you become the consort of one of the most powerful mages in the whole world, reigning beside him? They were all worthy, existential questions, but one in particular rose above the rest in your mind. 

"Wait. Isn’t it a thing that dragon faes hatch from eggs? So… does that mean I'm going to lay an egg someday? Or is this a seahorse type of situation, and Malleus will lay the egg?"

The room was silent for a moment, but before anyone could answer that very crucial question, Sebek raised his voice. "Seahorse? How dare you compare the Great Malleus Draconia with an unremarkable creature such as a seahorse?!"

While a new round of chaos broke out on the table, Silver probably just woke up wondering why Sebek never came to wake him up for his guard duty. And the frozen students are till waiting for help.

[bodhiscurls]

where do we go now? ( clark kent )

cause now i'm half of myself here without you. you're the best in my life and i lost you. it was one-sided hate how i hurt you. (by gracie abrams!) you don't know where he disappears to- there's always excuses: he's caught up at work, stuck in traffic, some stupid alien attack cut him up on his commute. but now more than ever when you need him to show up at a family dinner where you planned to introduce him to your parents, he still comes in pieces and enough is enough.

pairing: clark kent x fem reader (no use of yn)

themes: angst, break up, no happy ending

masterlist.

he's not coming.

you smile sheepishly at your mother who sends you a small smile and she begins to start serving the mains. you've made it past appertisers, skipped out on the drinks and small talk, catching them up on work and laughing over memories- now you're entering dangerous uncertain territory and all you could do is sit and stare at the clock as the minutes passed by.

fourty three minutes have passed by.

your father tried not to shoot you a disapproving glance- it had taken so much work to warm him up to clark. don't trust those journalists, he said with that gruff tone in the same way he had told you to keep playing a sport even after graduating university or when he had changed the tires on your car- you don't blame him for worrying. you've never brought a guy home before so the bar was low.

lower than fourty three minutes late.

"i'm sure, he just got caught up late with work," you try though the words feel stale and your mother reaches out to place a hand on yours in comfort. its eight pm, you think. should the offices be closed by now? you have no idea.

"you are more than welcome to take some back for him," and your heart soars at the kind offer. though a thank you might cement the fact that he's stood you up on your own family dinner.

"he's coming, i'm sure. in fact, i'll just ring and see where he is," you stand shakily, embarrassment creeping up on your neck as you make your way to the stairs. and just as you suspect, he does not answer like he hadn't the past four times. a sigh escapes you and you know that after tonight, you won't have to keep feeling this way.

you and clark have been dating for six months- he occupies the apartment opposite yours and that's how you met. through laundry days and dinner dates, the two of you had started something slow and sweet at the beginning. it was like having sleepovers every single night and when you'd fall asleep in his big strong arms, nothing in the world seemed to matter anymore. you probably spend more time in his than you do your own.

then the lies started to creep in; it started as an offhanded excuse for traffic, then he started "forgetting" date nights- being caught up at work. you knew nothing about the journalism world so gave him the grace he needed and it was so easy to fall back into routine, the small comfortable world you built when you weren't pushing an arguement. and the thing with clark was- he never played nasty, never said things he didn't mean in the heat of the moment. he was thoughtful, patient, let you get it all out then apologises- promising you're the centre of his attention, a sad cycle you've trapped yourself in.

the phone is warm in your hand, like a subtle burn to let you know its still there and you close your eyes. this dinner was important to you- its not often you visit your parents and tell them about the supposed love of your life to which they actually return interest. tonight they were supposed to be getting to know him, to love him the same way you had. if only he could show up.

the door knocks with heavy taps you'd know in any lifetime and you open it wearily.

"hey," comes his breathless greeting, a grin laced on his features, stretching his cheeks as he takes a step forward. he lands a kiss on your cheek sloppily and you don't find yourself leaning into it anymore. it comes and it goes as quickly as it did.

"hey," he loops a finger under your chin to bring your gaze to his. "i am so sorry, this alien attack thing redirected my route like four times- i tried to get here as soon as possible," the words come out in a hurried breath and you furrow your brows, wondering if he's rehearsed this on the way here.

"doesn't matter, thank you for coming," you speak though theres no bite or tone in your voice, just weariness and fatigue of someone who's been let down too many times.

"wait, honey," and you don't grace him an actual reply, just a faint "not here," before tugging his hand in yours as you make your way to the dining room. you've hardly interlocked his fingers in yours, emptily holding his palm and letting go of it as soo as you meet your parents again.

your parents are mid laughter when they stop and spot clark, instantly rising to their feets to greet him. clark's bigger than most humans, instantly filling up the room with his body and his heart and he charms the pants off your parents.

he talks politics with your father, plays into your mothers gossip, tells jokes like all the times he's ran away it's to play stand up comedian and you hate how it just feels so perfect. "wow" your mother mouths across the room, sending you and exaggerated swoony smile and it does make you laugh softly. as if on reaction, clark's ears perk up at the sound, sending you a gentle smile and wrapping his hand under the table around yours.

you lean into his shoulder after the meal, needing to balance the weight before deciding to help your mother clear the table. the dishes you carry are swiped clear, clark clearly a fan of your mother's food and when you land them in the sink with a gentle thud, you feel your mother's hands at your shoulders from behind you.

"darling," she murmurs and its ever so gentle that you can feel the tears gloss over your eyes. "i don't mean to judge but he seems incredible and all but," and you knew the but was coming, "what good can come from a man who loves you in pieces," her whisper cracks open your heart and lays it bare bloodied and bruised.

"mom," you whimper softly in her hold and she's instantly shushing you gently, rocking you back and forth in hug that holds you together firmly. it's not something you didn't know, it's just the first time someone has said it aloud to you and it hurts all the same

"i love him," you breathe, "and i know he loves me," you try.

"and sometimes it's not enough," she strokes your back in comfort and you look up to the ceiling, trying to force those tears back down.

"i know," you clear your throat and she lets you stay like that a little longer. when you return to the living room to find clark's heavy eyes on your figure and dinner wrapped up, you don't meet his gaze.

you kiss your mother and father on the cheek as clark shakes their hand firmly, wrapping your mother in a hug. they wave goodbye to you from the doorstep and watch you get into his car as clark shuts the door behind you.

the engine starts with a soft purr before he pulls out and starts the drive home. the quiet of the night entering your car as you both work your way around the elephant in the room.

he tells you about work to which you reply with nods and one liners and clark senses the shift like it's in the air suffocating him. he parks up on the side and you look around in confusion- this isn't the way home. you look over at him and for once in your life you don't actually know what to think about him.

"do you wanna tell me whats on your mind?" he speaks softly. too softly that it blurs the edges of the cuts he's left on you before and you almost faulter.

"nothing," you get out, because you don't actually know where to start.

"its not nothing if it's got you upset like this, baby," and when he sees you flinch at the pet name you used to adore his heart stills, missing a beat thundering in moment.

"it's you," and the beats stop entirely as he's stuck to the seat. you watch his expression, eyes begging him to just anything but he's stunned into a careful silence.

"it's me?" he asks slowly and you nod, the lump in your throat tightening your voice.

"i can't do this anymore, clark," and the first teardrop glistens in the dark as it falls. "there's only so much i can do, i've tried to hard to be patient- i, i, ah," you groan feel the rush of emotions overwhelm you, "i stretch myself to new limite to make room for all your lies and secrets and i'm breaking clark."

you look up from your lap, years wetting your lashes to face him honestly- he needs to know the damage he's done, "you don't even know what you do to me and it's unfair clark, it hurts," you try and wipe away the tears that fall but a new fresh batch that form and drop and before you know it, the mascara streaks a messy river down your face and you can't stop this.

he doesn't say anything for a moment, focusing on the heavy rise and fall of his chest. he should've known that he was breaking you apart, that he hadn't given you the trust that this relationship needs to work but he's harbouring a secret that could put you in so much more danger if you knew.

but still he tries, "honey, we can fix this," comes an honest admission of stern determination and you pull back, recoiling in anger.

"there is no we, clark," you jab a finger at his chest, "we haven't been on the same team for a while, you've left me on a one vs one each time you disappear with some lame excuse and i have to convince myself that you're not lying or hiding that it's all okay- we," you repeat back to him in a scoff, "i've tried to fix this so don't demean me and dog me down with a 'we'." there's no room for clark to carry on before you're ranting again.

"you were late to family dinner," your voice lowers an octave in defeat- letting him know that tonight was the final straw. "you know how important this was to me, you're the first guy i've brought home and you made me look stupid- then you play happy home pretend like it's nothing and you make me feel stupid too- what kind of asshole does that?" you ask him. he gave you a glimpse of what the future could've looked like if he just let you all the way in and you hate him immensely for it.

"i'll cut back on work, we can spend more time together- i can fix this," he pleads but you shake your head softly.

"i'm done, clark. i think it's time we call it," you nod to yourself more than anything.

his reply comes as quick as it is stubborn, laced with firmness and the fear of letting the best thing happen to him go, "i dont want to."

"i need to." comes your desperate whine.

"but i love you-" and you wince because on any other night it's what would've made smile, laugh and melt into his embrace. now it stands outside the cage you're trapped in, molted into the key that's so close within your grip.

"and its not enough," you counteract, "not when its also determined through actions- when it doesnt come whole- when i get bits of you when you decide to show up like youre superman saving the day," you list off your fingers and clark momentarily stumbles at your comparison. you use it ironically and it being the cause of his relationship failing pricks at his heart, he can feel the migraine coming in already- the you sized hole he's unable to fill.

"relationships arent perfect they dont-" he stumbles and its clearly the wrong thing to say when you cackle loudly in irony.

"oh god i know! ours is far from perfect!" your voice grows a little quieter and settles an air of finality, "love isnt always easy clark, but it shouldnt have to be so fucking hard."

"im calling it now, before we lose more time to this and we wake up so miserable one day suddenly i don't know ten years down the line tethering ourselves to a feeling we thought was enough and i hate both you and me for staying. i'm not happy clark and i cant live like that- i refuse to live like that," you beg and he sighs in defeat.

"im sorry," he murmurs, unsure of what he could say. nothing can change your mind. he's fucked this up and there's no way out of this for him.

"thats nice to hear," you accept, unwilling to forgive him just right now when the feelings are still raw, fresh and tug at the seams of your mind. your fingers find your temples to massage the growing aches and you face the window- looking anywhere other than your doomed lover, "please take me home."

no words are spoken for the remainder of the journey back to your apartment complex. the faint murmurs of billy joel's "piano man" hum alongside the engine and for once it feels like the universe is on your side- there's no traffic for miles, green lights ahead and you get home within minutes. clark however, still gets out the car at lightning speed before you, almost knocking you over to open your door and walks a few steps behind your pace to make sure you get up to the level of your apartments okay.

the final nail in his coffin is when you turn the key to your own apartment door instead of his like you would usually do almost every night and shut it without so much as a look behind. he stands there, pressing his forehead to the cool wooden panel of your door and breathes in heavily.

"fuck," he sighs, the feelings of tonight weighing his body down that he stays there for a couple of minutes before heaving himself up and heading into his own. he however does take one look back behind him only to find nothing changed- the door still shut on him and the sounds of light switches clicking off.

he doesn't blame you one ounce for ending things- you're stronger than he is by miles but that doesn't mean he isn't going to miss you any less.

riya saying hi: REDEEMING MYSELF AFTER THE LAST ONE GUYS ‼️ this one goes out to @velovicy here's a real break up / unhappy ending - no grovelling however because i do fear this one may be unfixable but i love me a bad ending sometimes and hope you liked it too - let me know what you all think! 💘 i love hearing what you guys have to say x

[syluspeach]

Dragon!Sylus worries about hurting you…+18(mdni)

Having a dragon as a lover was no easy feat.

Sylus was as possessive as he was loving. You were his treasure wrapped in delicate skin and a soft body. It proved itself a challenge for him to handle you with the love and care you deserved. He had to learn how to hold you without causing any scratches as he had talons instead of nimble fingers.

He would much rather have his horns chopped off if it meant you would never experience any pain.

“Sweetie, you don't know what you're asking for.”

He groaned as you settled yourself in his lap, successfully trapping him in your shared nest with your plush thighs. His hands instantly settled on your hips, talons gripping the material of your satin gown.

“Yes, I do.”

A growl rumbled deep from within his chest as you pressed your bare cunt against his clothed cock. You had to hold back a laugh at the surprised look on his face. Looking down and lifting your skirt, his eyes met your sloppy, bare folds pressed against his black slacks. You'd most definitely leave your mark.

“Where are your panties?”

With a fake pout, you said, “They were all wet and sticky. So I took them off.”

He knew he'd go looking for the pair later on once you dozed off. He’d use them to rub one out when you were out and about.

Sylus’ head fell back with a thump as he took a deep breath through his nose, his eyes zeroing in on the ceiling. The image of your cunt burned into his memory. A groan slipped from his mouth when you pressed shy kisses along his exposed neck.

“You’re walking a fine line, kitten. If you don't-” A sudden shift of your hips had him cursing. His eyes squeezed shut. “Ah shit, s-sweetie. You're not playing fair. I can't…don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I want you, Sy. Need you inside me already.”

Your lips trailed along his flushed skin. He could feel how your harden nips poked his chest from under your dress.

Pulling away, your face hovered over his, forcing him to see only you.

“You’ve slept with others and I’m sure you weren't apprehensive then.”

The sad look on your face was wiped away as he switched your positions. He was far more imposing when he hovered above you compared to when you were the one on top.

“The difference was that I didn't care about them.” Pressing his growing bulge between your slick folds, you whined as he rocked against you. His words brushed along your shoulder where he was nibbling your ripe flesh. “Would never want to hurt you but…you're making it so damn hard not to breed you right now. Imagining your tits swelling with milk to the point you’d be so damn needy. Not to worry though, I’m more than willing to have my fill.”

Your heart nearly burst at the thought of having a mini Sylus running around. Just like their father, they’d be perfect and loved by you. You know he wouldn’t stop at just one. Though patient, he was greedy, collecting pretty things. This including you.

“Want to ruin you for others. S’not like I'd let you go after I've had you creaming and crying on my cock.”

Your fingers curled around his thick biceps, tethering him to you.

“Then do it. I already belong to you; might as well stretch me out to the point that only you can fill me.”

Pulling away from you, he snuck a hand down to the apex of your thighs. He used the smooth part of his talons to spread your lips, getting a good look at your dripping hole.

Your poor pussy clenched around nothing, slick spilling out and onto the sheets. He hummed, face focused in thought.

“It's not like you'll be able to take more than the tip…”

At the sound of his zipper being undone, your toes curled. He smiled at the sound of your heartbeat picking up from excitement.

“I’m telling you this now, I don't want to hear you whining about being sore tomorrow.”

You grinned. Sylus hated to admit that the devious sparkle in your eyes made him equally nervous as intrigued.

“Guess you'll just have to fuck me again as a way of saying “I told you so”.”

Not edited

[bunbun007]

ᴏɴᴇ ʜᴇʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ᴛʀɪᴘ - ꜱᴀᴊᴀ ʙᴏʏꜱ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴏ: ꜰᴀᴍᴇ ɪꜱ ᴀ ʜᴇʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ᴅʀᴜɢ

Warnings: Mentions of demon pacts ✧ദ്ദി( ˶^ᗜ^˶ ) Word Count: 1.9k Pairings: Saja Boys x Reader Chapter sum: You have come to accept the fact that your soul belongs to a group of demons and try to coexist with them. It's hard.

<- Previous chapter || Next Chapter ->

It was moments like this that made you consider that maybe, just maybe, the one suffering from making a pact with demons was them instead of you. Honestly, it was a funny conclusion, but given the fact that they were lying on the ground weeping, it seemed like it.

“We are so doomed. Hopeless.” One of the demons whined as he ruffled his short pink hair. “You hopeless, useless human! How come you are poor?”

Classist. That’s what this group of five demons was.

Not only were they ungrateful for your soul—your precious, all-worthy soul, thank you very much—they had the nerve to complain about your living situation.

“This is some sort of joke, right? You didn’t just summon us to have us live in this… hovel.”

You gasped dramatically while clutching your shirt, throwing daggers at the blue-haired demon. “I’ll have you know that the only reason why I summoned you was so that I could get out of this situation. And yet, regardless of everything, my ‘situation’ is not that bad! I’m just a few months behind in rent!” And your diet consisted mostly of instant noodles below 1,000 won. But hey, how could they judge? They didn’t even own a home.

“Wow, you are just sad.” The demon in the middle —heavens, why was he always standing in the middle?— gave you a small smirk as he walked in front of you, his black hair being covered by a black gat that matched his hanbok. “But fear no more, human. We’re here to make it better. We’ll help you out, yeah?”

You gulped — that being the only sound in the room.

“Why me? What type of demons even are you?” Your voice cracked. It wasn’t fear, exactly. It was the growing, horrible realization that you were in over your head.

Silence.

One of the demons stretched out across your bed, yawning like a cat who owned the place. Another picked up a cracked mug on your table and sneered at it. Then, finally, a soft chuckle came from behind you.

“Why not you?” a voice purred, lilac hair draped over his eyes as he tilted his head. “You’re cute. You’re sad. And you’re clearly desperate enough to sign anything, aren’t you? Besides, it was either you or the middle schoolers who knew nothing about idols. And—” he walked closer, booping your nose softly and snickered— “they weren’t nearly as alluring.”

You took a step back. Idols?

“Idols, as in performers? What is it to you if I know about idols or not?” You stood your ground—or tried to, at least—but these creatures were weirdly enticing, as if an invisible force was pulling you toward them. The pact was getting stronger the more time you spent with them. “Is that why you all have colored hair? Must be it. Are the hanboks part of your theme too? Most demons are supposed to be scary, terrifying. But you are all… handsome.”

Finally, the last demon—who had yet to talk—walked behind you, his light pink bangs fluttering in your eyes as he held you by the shoulders and tilted your head back. “Quite. Thank you, dear. You clean up after yourself quite well.” He winked as he held you in this uncomfortable yet butterfly-inducing position.

Your stomach dropped as you pried away, holding your hands in front of your chest to keep some distance, but your shoulder hit something else.

A yelp escaped your lips as a flash of blue hair came into vision and a soft hand held the side of your waist to prevent your endangerment.

“Aye, careful there. Wouldn’t want our little human to get scratched, or hurt.” You froze, only straightening when the demon pushed your back forward so that you stood on your own.

A hand ruffled your hair as you steadied yourself.

“There, there. You look stressed. Poor thing looks ready to snap.” A sudden hand ruffled your hair messily as he fixed you a smirk, the only thing visible due to the purple locks covering his eyes.

A strong arm circled your shoulders and pulled you toward him in spite of a small sound of dissent from the one who held you before. You tilted your head to face the demon and he flashed you a smile. “Our starshine sure does. Relax, little one. We won’t hurt you—unless you want-”

“Okay, that’s enough,” the last demon called. Given the fact that the others stopped pestering you, it was a sign he was their leader. “You guys know how humans are—their little hearts can’t take it. And judging by their body language, this one is at their limit.” He walked closer. “Come here, starshine. We’ll explain everything.”

And they did.

Well, it’s not like you could do anything but listen. They were the owners of the chains you were now bound to. As their voices filled with teasing contempt, they revealed that whoever bore your contract… owned your soul.

As a visual representation of their power, they started throwing this small piece of paper around—a folded black envelope—and smirked at you. When you asked, they just laughed.

“Oh, this? This is your soul, Moonbeam. It’s ours to play with.”

⋆｡˚✩˚｡⋆

There’s a truth in sad boy literature: you don’t know how lucky you are until you miss that shine you took for granted. The magic behind being alone and at peace. But now, you were being trailed by a group of five sad-looking, handsome men.

“Why are we here…” The blue-haired demon whined. He unmistakably whined in a way that would usually be considered annoying—were it not for his handsome face. Pretty privilege. He tugged at your hair audaciously. “Hey human, this is so boring~”

You stopped in your tracks and turned around painfully slow.

“Stop being such a baby. You guys might be free from hunger, but I’m not. And if you want me to be able to promote your sad excuse of a boyband, then let me have this.” A sharp arm wrapped around your waist. You nearly dropped your basket.

“Now, Moonbeam, we wouldn’t want you to lose your cute little ability to talk back. Now, would we? If I were you, I would be nicer to us.” The light pink-haired man spoke softly in your ear, holding you more sternly as you tried to pull away.

To anyone else, it looked like a cute couple being close and shy with each other.

“Well, aren’t you a romantic…” You gritted your teeth and detached from his embrace, the hair on the back of your neck standing. “I’ll take your suggestion. Thanks.” You gave him the fakest, most obvious smile you could muster.

All that charm, and still can’t fix his attitude? Tragic.

Breathe.

“But if I were you, I’d be nicer to your manager. After all, I know how the world of entertainment works. While you…” Your gaze lingered on the black hanboks they were still wearing—pedestrians thought they were some kind of cosplayers. “…are undoubtedly lost. Face it, you guys need me.”

What you needed was power. Being your rightful owner again.

You needed them to free you.

The demon in the center smirked as he grabbed your chin and forced you to face him. “I think it’s the other way around, sweetheart. Remember your place, human—we could have you six feet under if we please.”

You saw red. But tried to breathe.

Yeah.

That didn’t work.

"You want to own my soul? Fine. But if you're going to drag me to Hell, you better do it right—because right now, you're all just dragging your feet." You snatched the man's hand away from you and pulled him dangerously closer. “If you want your little show to work, then you’ll have to hand some of the reins over. The summoning connects us both ways. Don’t think I don’t know that, demon.”

The demon froze, his eyes scanning your face as his lips fought to hide a small smile.

“Whatever you say, Polaris. But if you want to threaten me, do it by cursing my name. Jinu."

⋆｡˚✩˚｡⋆

You were being dragged to another store. Because, apparently, that’s the only way demons knew how to guide you anywhere they wanted to gaze at.

After spending the day with them, you had come up with a few nicknames for some of the demons—the ones that teased you most.

There was Baby, the smug, annoying one who kept tugging your shirt and making flirtatious comments when older women were present, making you a stuttering, ashamed mess.

There was also Romantic, which was originally just you being sarcastic—he had yet again threatened to end your life if you didn’t buy him a shiny necklace he liked.

Mysterious, who didn’t speak much, except for the small remarks he made when he thought you couldn’t hear him.

And Abby—who originally wanted to be referred to as Abs—who had a weird habit of holding your shoulders to show off his muscles.

Apart from the comic dialogue that had filled the silence in your head for most of the day, you were set on a single thought:

The demons needed clothes.

You didn’t know how you would pull off the whole boyband idea, but it was more than obvious that you wouldn’t be able to do it with them dressed like a historical Korean drama.

“I saw this exact fit on J-Dragon,” Romantic said proudly, shoving a hanger of glittery skinny jeans in your face. “Fancy, aren’t they, Moony?”

“From what year?” you asked, stepping back to admire the pair of slacks fully. You made an expression better left sealed than shown to the world. If side-eyes could kill, those pants would be long gone. “Those things are banned by Big Bang now.”

“2010, maybe?” he said.

“Exactly.”

Baby was already halfway into a pair of skin-tight pants. You didn’t know how he moved so fast—or how his bones were even intact.

“I look good,” he posed in front of the mirror like he was auditioning for a role in Twilight. “Humans will drool over me, won’t they, little star?”

You groaned. “You are so old, it’s painful to see.”

“No, no,” Mysterious spoke from beside you, making you jump as he appeared out of thin air. He flipped through a rack of mesh tops with a sinister kind of interest. “It’s vintage now. Retro. Cool.”

They were all going to get arrested for crimes against fashion.

“Bold of you to talk about crimes,” Jinu said, humming as he smirked your way—not understanding the definition of personal space.

…Did you say that out loud?

He tried on a leather jacket with zippers that went nowhere. You had to give it to him—he could wear a trash bag and still look good.

“Since we’re not paying for any of this.”

You froze. “What?”

They didn’t answer.

...

The alarms went off fifteen minutes later.

You walked briskly. They strolled—bags in hand, not a single receipt between them. Not even pretending to care. One of them even waved at a security guard on the way out.

“This is shoplifting!” you hissed, nearly tripping over your own feet as you tried to escape mall security. You were sweating bullets, and you weren’t even the one who committed a property crime.

“We don’t call it that,” Jinu said calmly, adjusting the lapels of his coat. “We call it… redistribution of aesthetic resources.”

“It’s theft!” you hissed again. “You could’ve gotten us caught!”

“No one saw you do anything,” Baby said, patting your head like you were a toddler who just learned object permanence. You pushed his face away as he laughed. “We handled it.”

The worst part?

They had.

Did I make everyone flirt with the reader? Yes, and I was blushing the whole way JAJAJA But then again, I don’t want to make them soft straight ahead. Because…they are demons.

ANYWAYS

Reader being nicknamed after stars bc when souls go to the demon realm, they look like shooting stars. Each character had a special nickname which will be unlocked throughout the series start.

Here are the unlocked nicknames until now:

Romantic — Moonbeam Why: “Moonbeam” feels elegant, timeless, and full of ‘gentle’ affection — perfect for someone who says “dear” like he invented the word. It's also a little melancholy, which fits “Come now, Moonbeam, don’t pout. The night would weep without your light.” Jinu — My Polaris Why: He sees you as his an anchor. The nickname reflects deep respect and connection. It’s not flirty — it’s reverent “You don’t have to prove anything, my Polaris. I’ll follow you anywhere.” Maybe, still a work in progress: When the whole nicknames are revealed, the story will break into individual routes for each character. Like otome games.

Special thanks to: @lillycore @apelepikozume @junni-berry @hornehlittleweeblet2 @crescent-z @arieslucy @enerofairy @soldmygenderforglitter

☆ ～('▽^人)

[mrs-kmikaelson]

Your Five Truths¹

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader Summary: You have five simple truths. But when your relationship and your life are put on the line, you start to question what you believe in anymore. Warnings: reader is a bau tech analyst, serious angst, aaron is being mean, big argument, mentions of haley's death, references to foyet arc, home invasion, graphic descriptions of violence Words: 3.5K

Masterlist | Part 2

a/n: there will be a part 2.

1. Aaron doesn't yell at you. 

If all else was unsure, then this was one of the five things you knew for certain. You weren't sure if he yelled at all. Maybe at work with criminals, but never with you.

This was still true.

Right now, he wasn't yelling at you. He was speaking in an even tone, but you knew him well enough to notice the difference. His voice was as cold as his rigid stance, like ice ran through his veins. His arms were crossed, and so, even if you weren't a criminal—even if you knew you were his fiancé—you sure as hell felt like one.

Standing on the other side of the kitchen island, you were in opposition of each other in every sense of the word.

You took a deep breath before speaking. "Aaron—"

He cut you off before the words could even leave your mouth. "We've had this conversation before. I've already told you how I feel about it."

You repressed the urge to take another breath, knowing he was a profiler. Knowing he could profile the discomfort all over you, regardless. But you picked up a few profiling tricks, too.

You could see the way he was staring at you. Like you were an idiot.

Maybe you agreed on that.

Idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot— 

You took the breath, anyway. "Aaron, I said I'm sorry."

You tried to step closer to him, and he didn't move away. But he didn't usher you into his arms, either.

And despite the fact that Aaron doesn't yell at you, you could tell he really wanted to.

"And I'm saying you shouldn't have to say sorry. We shouldn't be having this conversation because you shouldn't have done it," he scolded.

You took another step closer, rounding the counter like your body was trying to get him to physically understand, to remind him that you were on the same side.

"What was I supposed to do?" Your voice was desparate now, almost like you actually wanted him to answer. "You were working. I had to work. You weren't picking up the phone—"

"That's right," he cut you off again. This time, he stepped closer to you. "I was working. You weren't."

2. You have an equal relationship.

The second truth was what had you tilting your head. You were already flushed from the heat of the argument, but now you could feel yourself getting a little angry.

"What do you mean I wasn't working?" you questioned. "Yes, I was. Garcia said you called everyone in; you said to get there stat."

He was quick. "I meant everyone that was necessary. You aren't."

You could feel the cut immediately, etched deep into your skin. It didn't matter how he said it, frivolous or not—the words were sharp enough to cut you effortlessly.

You aren't necessary.

The words echoed through your head. Words you'd heard before, but never from him. Never from the man who swore to be better than everyone else who ever hurt you.

Yet, no matter how much you'd been hurt in the past, it hurt a thousand times more to come from him.

You waited for him to say something else, waiting for any sign of regret to cross his face.

Nothing did.

There were many times when you wished you had Aaron's poker face, but right now, you didn't have to try. The sadness flooding your body remained internal; the only thing that showed on your face was rage.

Your eyes narrowed. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Hotch doubled down, staring you right in the eye. "It means your job is an accessory. Garcia does the same job as you—you aren't needed."

That was a lie so blatant it made you scoff. You were a technical analyst for the BAU, and you'd proven yourself time and time again. Hotch was the one that hired you—he's the one that said he saw something in you.

Apparently not.

"I'm not needed," you echoed, sarcasm lacing your voice. "Right. So when an alert comes out that there is an active hostage situation and a potential terrorist threat, what do you expect me to do? Not come into work?" 

"Yes," he deadpanned. "Not when you're picking up my son."

You ran a hand through your hair, stuck in disbelief. "You can't be serious—"

"When you're picking up my son, what I expect is for you to take him home."

You spoke over him, countering, "I brought him to a place where I knew he'd be out of harm's way. You weren't picking up the phone. I did what I thought was best—"

"You brought him to Jessica—"

"I brought him to his aunt—"

For the first time since the conversation started, Aaron raised his voice just enough for it to stop you dead in your tracks. "You don't get to bring him to his aunt. You are not his mother!"

3. You are not Jack's mother.

You knew that. God, you knew that. You were there to see the carnage in the Hotchner household after Haley's death. The blood that splattered the walls. The boy who was too young to spell the word devastation but still felt it in his bones.

You knew you were not Jack's mother. You lived in a house with her pictures on the wall. Jack was a mirror image of her; he was her son, and you knew that. It was one of the truths you held the most conviction in.

It was the truth.

But you still recoiled, almost like Aaron had slapped you. A part of you thought maybe that would've hurt less.

All the fire you had was extinguished. You didn't have a rebuttal for that. What could you say? It didn't matter if you loved Jack like he was your own—that didn't change the fact that he wasn't.

You avoided Aaron's gaze, choosing to stare at the pattern of his tie instead and trying not to succumb to the sting in your eyes. You liked this tie; it was one of your favourites. You were close enough to him to see all its beautiful details.

But, at the same time, you'd never been further away from him.

Aaron still hadn't said anything, and out of fear that the dam would break if the silence continued, you spoke up. "I—" your voice cracked. "I know I'm not Jack's mother, and I'm not trying to be." You paused. "I was just doing what I thought was best."

You left it there, not knowing if the right words to say the right thing even existed. Saying the right thing was always Aaron's thing, not yours.

But whatever words he was going to say were cut off by the shrill pinging of a cellphone. Two cellphones.

Aaron picked up his first, sighing immediately. You didn't have to guess what it said. "We have another case." The heat in his voice was gone; he sounded like himself.

That didn't mean you felt any less burned.

"Okay, um—" you couldn't stop yourself from sniffling even if you tried. "I'll stay here and watch Jack. You go."

Another sigh left him. "Y/N—"

The sound of your name leaving his mouth almost made you cry, but you persisted, "No, you can go, it's fine." You chuckled if not just to make light of it for yourself. "I'm not needed there, anyway."

"Y/N."

"Aaron." You fingally looked up at him, and you saw it. Remorse swirling in his brown eyes. The same eyes that crinkled at the sides when you said you'd marry him. Somehow, that made it worse, knowing that it was the same person who said both of those things. Who built you up from scratch just to bring you right back to the bottom. 

You repeated yourself, "Go." The team needs you, you wanted to say. The only reason you didn't say it was because he'd already accused you of trying to be his past wife; you didn't need to prove him right.

You could practically hear the churning of his inner turmoil, torn between staying and leaving. It was pointless; you both knew what his decision would be.

When he reached for his go-bag, it was final. And in some ways, he was leaving more than just the house.

As if he could sense that, he turned around. "We'll finish this discussion when I'm back," he said. That was an anchor: telling you something about the present by talking about the future. When I'm back meant that he'd be back. Discussion meant you had something to talk about, a two-sided activity. We meant you were still one unit; you were still a we.

Maybe that's what he meant by it. If you scoured through his words and read between the lines, maybe you'd find the beginnings of an apology—in his own way, at least. But he wasn't sorry, not for what he said. If anything, he was only sorry that he said it.

You wouldn't profile him and ascribe meaning to words that didn't mean anything. We'll finish this discussion when I'm back meant you'd finish the discussion when he was back. 

When you replied, that was what you were replying to. "Okay."

You weren't okay.

This wasn't okay.

Aaron cast one last look at you before he crossed the threshold. You looked away.

And then he was out the door, leaving you in a house that no longer felt like your own.

—

"Y/N, my love, I thought I'd die without you!"

Penelope was on you as soon as you walked into the bat cave, shooting up from her chair and hugging you so tightly that you would've thought you'd been gone for ages. Really, you were only gone for a night.

You told Aaron that you wouldn't be coming in, and you were holding true to that, but you weren't gonna make Garcia work alone if she had to, even if she was perfectly capable of it.

You knew you weren't needed. Hotch was right: this ship could sail just fine without you. But you could help.

You'd just dropped Jack off at school, so now you were here, ready to work until you had to pick him up again.

You forced yourself to laugh at her words, causing her to hit your back. "No, I'm being serious! You're my oxygen—I can't live without you."

At that, you snorted. "Okay, Penelope."

She pulled back, resting her hands on your shoulders. "Seriously, though." She looked deep into your eyes, seeming to be looking for something. "Are... are you okay? I don't even think you've taken a sick day since... since forever."

You smiled at her exaggeration, even if it didn't really reach your eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine, P. I just have to leave early to go get Jack, and um... I'm gonna stay off camera today. And off the phones." You shifted your weight. "Not like it matters or anything, but I just don't really want Hotch knowing I'm here. I just want to stay in the background today, if that's okay?"

Her brows raised, but she quickly affirmed, "Yes, that's okay! Totally okay. We'll keep this 100% incognito."

It was in Garcia's nature to ask questions, so you knew she had them, but she didn't voice a single one.

You talked about work, and new bureau technology, and your next girls night, and everything but what you asked of her.

You'd never been more grateful.

—

It'd been two days since the team left, two days of bouncing back and forth between the office and back home with Jack. The son that wasn't really yours. The son that felt like yours, anyway.

If you were doing as good as you thought you were, then nobody knew you were even there. Garcia was telling the rest of them that you were sick. Your phone had been flooded with get well soon messages from everyone except the one person you really wanted one from.

Aaron hadn't spoken to you since he left. You wished it didn't hurt as badly as it did.

"Okay, Jackers! I think it's time we head to bed."

"What?" You held back a laugh at the incredulity in his voice, knowing that—for an 8 year old—this was a very serious matter. He looked at you with traces of shock, somehow looking everything and nothing like his father at the same time. "But it's only ten o'clock!"

"Ah, and yet it is still past your bed time. Mine, too."

Jack frowned—and there it was. There was that bit of Aaron you were looking for. "You say that, but you're just going to stay up after I go to sleep."

You couldn't suppress the smile on your face any longer. "No, Jack. I promise you I'm so tired, I'll be out as soon as my head hits the pillow." You ruffled his hair, your smile becoming a grin as he groaned. "Now go brush your teeth, little man."

Jack got up from the table, his little feet pitter-pattering across the floor as he made his way to the stairs. It didn't sound much like a pitter-patter anymore now that he was getting older, but he would always be the same little boy to you. So, "pitter-patter" it was.

Until suddenly, you heard a different noise.

Not pitter-patter.

The door.

Your eyes darted to Jack as he stopped in his tracks, then they darted to the door. The knob, turning lightly, gold glinting in the light. The sound of your own heart beating was just as loud as the turning. The person got impatient, the knob turning faster now, like someone was trying to pry it open.

Fuck. Fuck.

Your mind ran a mile a minute. That wasn't Hotch. You weren't expecting anyone, and whoever was at the door certainly wasn't asking for an invite in.

They were trying to force their way in.

Somebody was breaking in to the house.

With that realization, you were moving. "Jack." You caught his attention easily, spotting the fear on his face right away. More than fear. 

Familiarity.

He went through his before. Oh, your Jack. He'd been through this before, and he would know what to do. You did.

Conversations with Aaron flashed through your head, just-in-case scenarios, if then statements. Emergencies.

You knew what to do, too.

You just never thought you'd have to.

You grabbed onto Jack's shoulder, immediately feeling how his body was trembling. "Jack, I need you to listen to me." The knob got louder. You lowered your voice. "I need you to work the case, okay? Like with your dad. Do you understand me?"

His eyes went wide. "Wait, Y/N. What about you—"

"Jack. Do you understand me?" He went quiet, and then he nodded, making you sigh in relief. "Okay, take my phone. Call 911, but don't make a sound." You handed him the phone, and then you let go of him. "I love you." Your throat closed up. "Now go."

Jack ran up the stairs, and you were up automatically, trusting he'd do as you said.

It was like someone else was in your body, telling you what to do. You opened the pantry, looking where you'd never looked and typing numbers into a keypad you'd never touched.

Why do we need a safe in the kitchen? you had laughed at the time.

In case of an emergency, Aaron had said. You thanked his forward thinking.

The only way you knew that you were still there was by the violent shaking of your hands as the cool metal touched your skin. You'd only ever operated a gun once or twice. Did you even remember how to load it?

The door banged, making you jolt. You had to remember now. Come on, Y/N. Load the fucking gun. 

You thrusted the magazine into the well and then pulled back the slide. Another bang. You turned the safety off.

Hold the gun with both hands.

God, Hotch, when will I ever need to do this?

Well, I hope you never have to. But we can never be too safe.

Another bang hit the door, this time more forceful. We can never too safe. Tears flooded your eyes, and you promptly blinked them away.

Then. There was another bang, and this time, the door hit the wall.

You intook a sharp breath, hearing footsteps thump against the floor. You closed your eyes, focusing on the noise. One set of footsteps. 

Aaron's voice echoed throughout your head. Are you sure?

You screwed your eyes shut tighter, straining your ears. Yes. One person. Loud. Heavy. Male.

Okay, that's good. What else do you know?

You knew they spent a long time fiddling with the door knob before busting the door open. That could either mean they lacked physical strength or they were trying to taunt you. The second option. You knew this was a low-risk neighbourhood. You knew your car was out front. This wasn't about money. This was personal. Intentional.

You knew this was an FBI agent's house. You knew—

Wait. You strained your ears more, following the footsteps. They weren't heading for your direction. No. No, no, no, no.

Jack was upstairs.

You couldn't let this man go up there.

4. You love Jack Hotchner unconditionally.

Knowing number four makes you act fast with a determination you'd never felt before. The pantry door swung open as you left the enclosed space, instantly raising the gun in the air like it was weightless. 

You pointed it at your stairwell where a masked man stood, motionless. 

"You better stop right there, you son of a bitch," you threatened, cocking the gun like it was second nature to you.

The man raised his hands into the air slowly. He tilted his head at you as if he was trying to mock you.

And then he smiled.

Before you could even realize what was happening, he was running at you. Your eyes widened, pulling the trigger. You barely got to see if your shot made it before he was tackling you to the ground, knocking the gun out of your hands.

The back of your head hit the ground, making a sickening crack. You gasped for air, and then you were wheezing as the man's hands wrapped around your neck, squeezing tightly.

You looked up into his demented eyes, hearing not the sound of your own voice but Hotch's. Use what you see. Frantically, your eyes flew all over the unsub's body until you saw red staining black, right at his shoulder. 

Without thinking about it, you stuck your finger into the wound, hearing him scream. He was stunned enough that he loosened his grip, giving you the chance to kick him off of you.

You scrambled to your feet, searching for the gun and finding it in the middle of the living room floor. You dove for it right as he got back up, getting to you before you could try shooting again.

His hands wrapped around yours, trying to wrestle the gun from your hands. You held on like your life depended on it because it did. Your life depended on it— Jack's life depended on it. 

You fired a shot into the ground and then another into the wall as he fought you, knocking a picture frame off the mantle. You couldn't see where the gun was pointing anymore, but then, suddenly, pain radiated throughout your lower abdomen, and you knew it was pointed at you.

You gasped, looking down and seeing blood spreading through the white of your tank top.

You looked back up, seeing the asshole smile at you with his teeth. They were pearly white. So clean for a man so dirty.

You sought to make them red, too.

In a surge of energy, you twisted the gun out of his grasp and didn't think before pointing it at his head and firing.

You watched the bullet penetrate his skull before he fell to the ground. Like a domino, you followed, crumpling against the couch.

The gun slipped out of your hands and they immediately went to your wound, making you hiss in pain. You pressed down on it, feeling blood flow between your fingers like a river. 

Keep swimming. Keep your eyes open.

The fatigue hit you like a train. You blinked, trying to keep your eyes open, but they felt so heavy.

Jack. Jack was upstairs. He called the police.

He was okay.

You heard sirens in the distance. The police were coming.

You could sleep now.

And so, as you remembered your fifth truth, your eyes started to flutter closed.

5. You love Aaron Hotchner. And he loves you.

You let yourself fall into a dreamless sleep, hoping that somehow, on some plane of consciousness, he could hear you say I love you one last time.

You loved Aaron Hotchner. You knew that for certain.

You just hoped he still loved you.

[deakyjoe]

I Dream Of You Even When Awake

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Reynolds x Reader (fem)

Category: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, smut

Summary: Your gift makes sleep difficult. Luckily, Bob is there to guide you through it.

Warnings: 18+, smut, Thunderbolts* spoilers, kissing, handjob, hurt/comfort, nightmares, reader has power of feeling other's emotions, friends to lovers, sexual innuendos, talk of sex, Bob is kind of a sub but not entirely, pet name (pretty boy)

Word count: 6.8k

A/N: Lewis Pullman, my love, you have charmed me with another character of yours named Bob. We knew this was coming.

One thing that the New Avengers had in common was nightmares. You all had them. It was worse for some than others. But it was terrible for you most of all. Being able to feel other people's emotions meant that the feelings everybody experienced during their nightmares would rocket through you as well.

This caused a lot of sleepless nights for you. Laying awake in bed, sweating from the shared anxiety that would travel through the other members of your team and land in you as their final destination. At least when you were awake you could find something to distract yourself from the emotion. It pained you to know that your friends went through it every night but when you managed to sleep through it, all it would do is influence your own nightmares. You'd find yourself dreaming up your own worst fears with the horrors of your friends' lives mixed in. 

It was a particularly bad night, all of them having bad dreams which only filled your body with sadness and anxiety. You stuck headphones over your ears, music turned up loud to blast through your head in an attempt to block out some of the feelings. It only helped a little. You stared at the wall opposite your bed, trying to think of better things and trying to latch onto any sort of feeling. You were getting nothing. Either everybody was having a bad night or no positive emotions were strong enough to reach you in the moment. It sucked.

A few hours went by, your eyes blurring with exhaustion as you continued to stare. The emotions weren't dying down, only going through fluctuations where everybody's sleep cycles would circle around. There was a tugging at the side of your head, like something else was trying to get in but you couldn't quite manage to get a latch on it. You sighed and squeezed your eyes shut, only opening them when the tugging got stronger.

You squinted at your door, trying to figure out whether it was your tired brain making you see things or whether there actually was a shadow moving underneath your door. Taking a deep breath in a bid to relax, you used your gift to reach out. Then you felt it. A different type of anxiety, it was more like a quiet concern rather than fear and nerves. 

You ripped the headphones from your head and sat up straighter, surprised when there was a tentative knock on your door. "Hello?"

"Hi." The voice was timid. "It's- it's Bob."

You let out a soft sigh of relief. It was only Bob. You clambered out of bed and padded towards your door, opening it with a tired smile. "Hey, Bob. What can I help you with?"

He blinked back at you, his hair mussed up and clothes crinkled from sleep. "Your light was on."

You frowned. "Uh, yes."

"It's the middle of the night." He added on, hands twisting together into the hem of his shirt.

You realised he was worried about you and wondering why you were awake in the middle of the night. "Yeah, uh, the team dream rather restlessly. And- and I can feel it."

"Oh." He nodded, suddenly remembering what your gift entailed. "That's horrible."

You shrugged. "I'm used to it. But thank you for checking on me. That's sweet of you."

The apples of his cheeks bloomed pink, blood rushing to his face. "No- no problem. Just wanted to see if you were okay."

It was then that you realised you suddenly felt better. Bob's concern was a nicer feeling than the nightmares everyone else was going through. And when he'd blushed you felt another emotion, a warmer emotion. 

"I appreciate that, Bob. Thank you." You smiled at him, pleased when he offered a small smile back. That also improved your mood. "You're making me feel a lot better actually."

"I am?" He seemed surprised, hands dropping to his sides.

"Yes, you're a lot calmer than everyone else right now and it feels good." You paused, looking him up and down. "Can you- could you maybe stay with me for a little while?"

"Oh! Yes. Yes, of course." He shifted from foot to foot, glancing over your shoulder at your room. "Um, why?"

"Because I'm tired of feeling anxious from everyone else. We can just sit for a few minutes and then you can go back to your room. If that's okay?"

He nodded and took a step towards you. "Sure, for as long as you want."

Bob really was sweet, his awkward demeanour only the surface of how lovely he really was. It was difficult to believe that he was technically the same guy who had killed half of New York only a couple of months ago. He really wasn't that person, and never had been. Since then, he'd quickly become one of your favourite people and you didn't see that changing any time soon. He was just the kind of person you wanted to keep around, so worthy of love and protection. 

You tilted your head backwards and opened your door slightly wider. "Come on in then. We can sit on my bed."

His blue eyes widened for a moment before shuffling towards you, bare feet sliding against the floor. You shut the door behind him, gesturing towards your bed to offer him a seat when he hesitated in the middle of your room.

"It won't bite." You snorted, stopping next to him. "You can just sit on the edge if it makes you uncomfortable."

"No, it's not that. I just don't want to intrude into your space." He glanced at you from from the corner of his eye.

"I wouldn't have invited you in if you could do that." You replied, walking around the side of your bed to sit back down in the spot you had been before. You pointed at the space next to you. "I don't bite either."

A small smile graced his face as he went to the other side of the bed to sit next to you. Bob rested against the headboard, staring at the same wall you had been before he'd arrived.

"So... do we chat? Or something?" He asked, head flopping to look at you.

You resisted the urge to push his hair out of his face so you could see his sweet face in all of its glory. He really did make you feel better with his mere presence. You'd never experienced that with someone before.

"We can, if you want. Or we can just sit quietly."

He pushed his own hair out of his eyes, revealing the baby blues to you again. "What were you doing before I knocked?"

"I was listening to music. To try- to try and block it out."

"Was it working?"

"No." You shook your head. "But you're working."

He looked away from you and you panicked, scared that that had been too much. It often freaked people out when you reminded them you could feel all of their emotions. But then you felt it. Bob was happy.

You inched slightly closer to him. "Feels nice when you're happy. It's warm."

He looked back at you. "Warm?"

"And soft. Most people feel harsher when they're happy, in an excitable way. But not you. It's difficult to explain." You closed your eyes, a pleased smile on your lips. "I like the way it feels."

Bob's breathing grew heavier, his voice cracking as he spoke. "I'm glad."

You hummed lowly, your heart rate slowing the more you relaxed. You hadn't realised it had been thundering against your rib cage for the majority of the night. As you calmed down, you grew more and more fatigued. Bob's effect on you was quick and he could only watch as you started to fall asleep. He didn't want to disturb you, it was clear how exhausted you were. He'd seen the way you would move sluggishly on the days when you hadn't slept very well. It hadn't quite clicked in his head why you'd been like that but it was all adding up now. You had always been so kind to him that he hated to see you struggle. You didn't deserve that. So if all he could do to help was sit by your side so you could sleep peacefully, then he was all too happy to do that. 

When you awoke the next morning, you were startled by what greeted you when you opened your eyes. Bob was laying down beside you, mouth slightly agape and quiet snores leaving him. He really was rather lovely to look at. He had a delicate face, his features rather soft. And that was only increased by the peace that radiated off of him during his slumber.

The feeling that was trickling through you was new, and difficult to comprehend. You'd always been surrounded by people with big characters, their lives usually motivated by some sort of misery. You couldn't complain, you were the same. But it meant that the emotions that you received in response would be equally as agonising. They had their high moments, of course. Evenings the team spent together in the tower when you ate dinner, played games and watched movies were usually far more pleasant. But those were only fleeting moments. 

Bob was a breath of fresh air. He certainly wasn't the happiest person you'd ever known, especially when you first met. But because he was rather easy to please, the simplest of compliments making him practically glow, it meant that you often found yourself also feeling good around him. You tried not to take advantage of that but because he was also just kind of wonderful you found yourself enchanted by him. 

You watched him sleep, trying not to move so as not to disturb him. But he probably sensed your gaze in his slumber as it didn't take long before he stirred. He murmured something lowly as he opened his eyes, squinting against the sunlight streaming in through your windows, and stretched. When his eyes landed on you he offered a timid smile.

"Good morning." You whispered, propping your chin on your hand as you looked down at him.

"G'morning." His voice was gruff, even lower than it usually was.

"Did you stay all night?" You asked, suddenly realising that he was underneath the blankets. 

"Yeah, I hope that's okay." He turned on his side. "You fell asleep and I didn't want to disturb you if I left. Especially since everyone's emotions were getting to you."

You grinned at him. "You really are rather sweet, Bob."

He rolled away from you, groaning into the pillow beneath him. "Thank you."

You laughed and sat up as he did. "No, thank you. I appreciate this. It was nice of you."

"You don't need to thank me." He stood up and turned to look at you. "Do you want to go have breakfast? I hide the good cereal behind the pots and pans."

Affection spiralled through you, he was a great friend and you were so thankful to have him.

"Is that why I can never find it? You keep it hidden?" You started following him out of your room, grabbing your robe as you walked. 

"Yeah..." He let out a short giggle. "Alexei keeps finding it though so I have to keep changing the hiding spot."

You smiled at the back of his head as you followed him to the kitchen, ready to start your day feeling more well rested than you had in years. 

After a busy day spent with Bob doing chores around the tower and just hanging out, you were ready to go to bed. You were tired from the day's activities and needed some rest. But Bob could tell something was off. As each member of the team headed off to bed one by one, he watched as you slowly curled in on yourself where you were sat on the couch. It didn't take him long to realise what was wrong.

"Is it bad again?" He asked you, voice hushed to keep it between the two of you. He wasn't entirely sure how the super soldier serum worked on the three members of the team who had it, but if it was anything like what he'd experienced then he didn't want to risk their enhanced senses hearing him. 

"Mhmm." You nodded weakly, your head collapsing against the back of the couch.

Bob moved to sit next to you, debating whether his next offer would be too forward. But the pain on your face was unbearable for him to witness. You'd been so happy all day, the change around was horrible to see. "Would you like me to come to your room again?"

You looked up at him through your lashes, using the little energy you had to cling on to his emotions. "Yes, please."

"Okay." Bob nodded and stood up, angling his head in the direction of your room. "Let's go then."

It didn't take long for that to become the routine between you and Bob. Free days spent in the tower you'd stay by each other's sides and nights would consist of the two of you sharing your bed in order to sleep peacefully. Practically every second you spent in the tower would be with Bob. As well as being a soothing presence, he was also very funny and considerate. It took you about two days of hanging out one on one for you to decide that he was perfect in basically every way. You only hoped he enjoyed your company as much as you enjoyed his. If the emotions that radiated off of him were any indication, then he did like you. A lot. 

A new feeling had started pouring out of him, you'd noticed. One that made the back of your neck tingle and your brain feel fuzzy behind the eyes. You just couldn't quite figure out exactly what it was yet.

The rest of the team didn't fail to notice how you and Bob seemed closer. Stolen glances became a regular thing, the two of you acting as if you shared a secret. They could only watch on in somewhat confused amusement as Bob would look at you first whenever someone told a joke, to see if you were laughing, and how you had started singling out Bob by name whenever you offered to make anyone else a snack or a drink, like he was suddenly your priority. The two of you would also sit next to each other during every evening the team spent together.

They all assumed something had happened between the two of you. Just what, they didn't know. You weren't exactly acting like a couple, neither of you being flirty or touching the other anymore than usual. But the dynamic had certainly changed and was clearly developing more everyday. Whatever it was, it was clearly having a positive effect on you both. Bob seemed happier, smiling more often when you were around, and his emotions directly influenced yours, you were now a lot calmer and seemed less tense. So they just continued to observe in silence, curious to see where it would lead.

When Yelena had attempted to question Bob on it he had stuttered out that it was nothing, a clear give away that it was something. And when she'd asked you, all you had done was give her a coy smile accompanied by a shrug. She just decided to be happy for the two of you.

The thing between you and Bob was going steady for a few weeks, he'd started to open up to you more and more and you clung on to every word he decided to tell you. It was nice. But things quickly changed one night.

You'd been sleeping peacefully next to each other when you'd suddenly woken up. No clear negative emotion was travelling through you and Bob was still asleep so you assumed something else had woken you up. You listened out and heard nothing so sighed and closed your eyes in an attempt to go back to sleep. But you couldn't.

There was a tug at your lower stomach, a sudden ache further down. You shifted yourself, wondering if your position had you pressing on your organs strangely. But it didn't let up, and started getting more intense instead. And then you realised what it was. It was arousal. You were turned on. Puzzled, you flattened yourself on your back with a huff. What could possibly have you feeling like this? It was a normal night, sharing a bed with Bob with no disturbances other than the soft soundtrack of his breathing. Ever since you had started sharing a bed with him at night, you hadn't found yourself disrupted by the anxious feelings of the rest of your team. Bob's presence had been enough to soothe away the nerves and the fear and replaced it all with comfort and relaxation.

You glanced at Bob through the darkness, nothing seemed different with him. And then he made a noise. It was halfway between a content hum and a needy whimper. Your eyes widened in the dark as the pull in your tummy increased. It hit you all at once. Bob was having a sex dream and it was having an effect on you. 

You scrunched your eyes shut, willing it to go away. Not entirely sure why you were even bothering, it had never been possible to just push the feelings away, you took a shaky breath as Bob let out another sound. This one was louder, more of a whine than anything else. Your brain felt misty, you weren't convinced whether what you were feeling was all of Bob or if it was also a combination of your own arousal at the noises he was making. 

Bob was cute, you'd always thought it, but due to the circumstances through which you'd met you hadn't thought it appropriate to ever try to pursue anything. So the idea had died down and you hadn't even considered it in months. As the two of you had steadily gotten closer, you started to treasure him as a friend and nothing else. Bob was sweet, that was undeniable, and you had grown rather fond of him. And now here he was in your bed having a sex dream that was making you wet between your thighs. 

The final straw was the desperate moan that rumbled from Bob's chest and out of his mouth. You shot up in bed, switching the bedside lamp on and tapped him on the shoulder.

He didn't stir. You envied how deeply he slept.

You poked his arm, surprised when you hit solid bicep. "Bob."

He grumbled and turned his face into the pillow.

"Bob." You sighed, shaking him gently.

"Mm?" The sound was questioning but had an undertone to it that reminded you of the sounds he'd previously been making. 

"Bob, wake up." You said, louder than before. You were hoping that the feeling of being turned on would fade away as he came to but you were wrong.

As Bob's eyes slowly blinked open and landed on your face, the feeling in your core pulsed for a moment as his face turned a rosy shade of pink. 

He shuffled around until he managed to sit up next to you, looking around the room to see if there was some sort of problem. "Is something wrong?"

The sincerity in his eyes was infuriating. But only because it made your breathing go ragged as you took in his messy hair and sleepy eyes. His flushed complexion wasn't helping and you didn't fail to notice how he cautiously tugged the blanket over his lap.

You decided to be blunt with it, not being able to concentrate on anything else other than the ocean between your legs. You hadn't even known it was possible to experience the physical things the people around you were going through. You had only ever felt the emotions of others. The closest you had ever gotten to this was being able to tell when people were injured or sick - people had very distinct emotions when they were in pain. But this was a whole new thing.

"You were having a sex dream."

Bob looked away from you. "H-how... how do you know that? Did I- did I say something?"

He looked nervous, more nervous than you'd seen him in weeks, and you could feel it burning underneath the state of arousal he was still in. 

"No." You rasped, hands gripping the sheets beneath you. "I can feel it."

His head snapped in your direction, eyes going wide. "You what?"

Your chest was heaving. "I can feel it."

"What do you mean?"

You laughed lowly, unsure of how you could explain it. "I'm turned on right now because you are."

"Oh." The flush spread to his ears, his voice barely a squeak. "Sorry?"

There was a momentary ache in your chest at his apology, it was phrased like a question but his body language gave away how genuine it was. He was timid, that was for certain, and always feared he was going to do the wrong thing. Bob was scared of rejection and being abandoned. It was why he so often would tell people when he'd completed a chore or done something helpful like the laundry or the dishes. He felt the need to prove why you should all keep him around. He seemed unaware that you kept him around because you all loved him, and it wasn't conditional based on how useful he was.

You shifted towards him, hands reaching out for a second before awkwardly hovering in front of him. Maybe it wasn't the best time to be touching him. "No, no. You don't need to be sorry. At all. I just..."

Bob stared at you, waiting for you to finish your sentence.

"It's just an unusual situation. I've never felt this before."

He swallowed thickly. "You haven't? But I thought you felt everything other people felt."

You nodded. "I do. But emotions. Not physical things."

His eyes flickered up and down your body quickly. "So you're- you're more than feeling it?"

"I assume I'm experiencing the equivalent of whatever you are." You glanced at the tent in the blanket covering his lap. "Which is a physical reaction in the body."

"What you're saying is..." He didn't seem to know how to word it, fidgeting with the sleeves of his shirt.

"Yes, that's what I'm saying." You clenched your thighs together, being careful with your words since you didn't want to freak him out. "I woke you up so it wouldn't be awkward."

He seemed to deflate slightly, nodding in acceptance. "Awkward."

You smiled softly at him, dipping your head down to meet his eyes. "Not because of you. But because me being awake and horny next to you when you're asleep is... odd."

"No more odd than me having a sex dream in your bed." He mumbled, a small smile turning the corners of his mouth up.

A gentle giggle escaped you, glad he was easing up enough to joke. "It's not like you can choose when you have a sex dream. It's okay."

"I know. But I'm still sorry." He leaned towards you. "I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable."

"Bob, you could never." You mirrored him, leaning in. "I'm just wondering how we're going to solve this."

He blinked and sat up straighter. "What do you mean?"

You took a deep breath. "Well, considering I seem to be feeling whatever you are then there's a possibility that if you decide to go and... sort yourself out-" You sent a meaningful look towards his lap. "-then I will also feel it."

His eyes widened. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh." You repeated. "But I also don't want to leave either of us sexually frustrated. That's never fun. So..."

"So..." He seemed to think for a moment. "Are you suggesting that...?"

You shrugged. "Some variation."

"Variation?" Bob was full of questions, finding himself doing nothing but being confused. 

"If you don't want to actually do anything then mutual masturbation is always good."

Bob spluttered, taken aback by that answer.

"Or not." You added in, trying to determine what his real reaction was. His outward appearance seemed reluctant but your body throbbed at the prospect, which you knew reflected his feelings. That meant nothing though. If he said no then that was all that mattered. 

"No, it's-" He cut himself off, a quiet whine leaving his mouth.

You shifted, thighs clenching. "Bob, I beg of you not to make that noise."

"Sorry." He mumbled.

"If you're unsure then we can start with something slower." You suggested, easing into it.

"Like what?"

You shrugged. "Kissing."

He turned bright pink again. Affection blossomed through your chest, he was so sweet. As shy as he was, you could see the sudden sparkle in his eyes at the idea of kissing you. It made you curious about something, something you'd been suspecting since he had first woken up.

"Bob? Who were you dreaming about?" You asked and watched him grapple for an answer that seemed to evade him. "Was it about me?"

He paused his search for reasoning, turning to look at you slowly before nodding. "Yeah."

You smiled. "I'm flattered."

He rolled his eyes, almost self deprecatingly. "Yeah, okay."

You frowned. "If I wasn't flattered then I'd kick you out of this room for being a creep. But I'm not doing that, am I? No. I'm waiting for you to make a decision. Either you stay and we make out. Or you leave and I hump a pillow."

His jaw dropped open, drawing your eyes to his lips.

"Up to you, Bob." You scooted closer to him, dropping your voice down low. "I'm waiting."

Before he could respond, you flinched. Your body recoiled from the door and towards the headboard.

"What's wrong?" Bob sounded panicked.

"Someone's having a nightmare. A bad one." You groaned. "It's a weird sensation feeling their anxiety whilst also being turned on."

Bob only looked at you for a second. "Will I make it better?"

You smiled at him, thankful he'd finally seemed to have caught on to the fact that he was the only thing that managed to soothe you. "You always make me better."

He softened, whole body relaxing as his face turned red with a different emotion. That's when he seemed to make up his mind, shuffling down so he was laying down again next to you and patting the spot directly in front of him. "Turn the light off."

"You sure?" You asked, already reaching for the lamp.

He nodded, sucking in a sharp breath as you settled down in front of him. You were suddenly face to face, but only for a moment as the next second the light was off and you were plunged into darkness again.

"Bob?"

"Yeah?"

"You're cute when you blush." You eased out a hand, gently cupping his cheek.

His own hand inched towards you under the blankets, fingertips grazing the fabric of your shirt. "I think you're the only person who thinks that."

"I find that unlikely. But if so then I'm happy to keep telling you."

"You're only saying that because you're turned on." He chuckled breathlessly. "Trying to get into my pants."

"Do I have to try?"

"No." His nose nudged against yours, steadily get closer and closer but not quite closing the gap.

You realised you were going to have to take that step. "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes."

Bob was breathless before your lips met his, so when the collision finally happened it felt as if all oxygen had left him. But that didn't matter. He didn't need oxygen. All he needed was you.

You were gentle at first, testing the waters. But it only took about two seconds before Bob whined, the sound pulsing through you, so your mouth opened up like you'd lost control and your tongue swiped across his lips, teasing him. Bob's hands knotted into the front of your shirt, pulling you closer to him. His tongue curled against yours, a whimper leaving him.

You smiled into the kiss, thumb swiping over his cheek to keep it soft. You were overcome with lust but wanted the same mood that had floated between you and Bob up until this point. It didn't need to turn aggressive in any way now that you were taking it a step further. 

The hem of your shirt cut into your back as Bob's grip on it tightened, his feet pressing into yours so the two of you started playing footsie as you kissed. Bob tasted sweet, you noted, probably about as sweet as he was in general. You suckled his bottom lip into your mouth, revelling in the moan he let out. You pushed yourself closer to him, nose cramming against his cheek as his hair tickled your forehead. 

You pulled away from him to catch your breath, planting a quick kiss on his lips as he chased you. "Hm, slow down. We have time."

"Wanted this for so long." He admitted in the haze of passion that was swimming around the two of you.

The confession surprised you. "Oh, yeah?"

He backed up a little to look at you in the darkness as he gave an affirmative hum. That's when you felt it. The tingle on the back of your neck and the fuzziness behind your eyes. 

"What is that?" You asked, moving your face closer to him to get a better feel for it.

"What's what?" He sounded genuinely confused, voice kind as he asked.

"This new thing you keep feeling? Like a tingle on the back of the neck and a fuzz behind the eyes. What is it? I've never felt it before." 

The intensity you were looking at him with was amusing to Bob, how you seemed so unaware when usually it would be the other way around with the two of you. He knew exactly what you were referring to.

So he only smiled as he told you. "It's the feeling I get when I'm close to you."

Your breath got caught in your throat, eyes searching his in the dark to see how genuine he was being. When you detected nothing but honesty in his face, you dove forward and kissed him again. Despite your initial desire to keep it as relaxed as possible, you couldn't help the sudden craving you had for him. It was raw and primal, a yearning feeling.

Bob's pelvis rutted into yours, a reminder of the thing that got you into this position to begin with. He was still painfully hard and, based on the way you were feeling, that wasn't going to change any time soon. Your teeth and tongues clashed over and over, Bob making happy little noises at every press of your lips. He was insatiable, chasing you every time you decided the two of you needed to breathe. But he didn't seem to have the confidence to touch you anymore, not going any further than the vise like grip he still had on your shirt.

So you decided to make the move again. "Can I touch you?"

He nodded rapidly, his voice desperate. "Please."

The mewl of his voice was intoxicating, giving you permission to let your hand drift down the front of his torso. His abdomen was solid underneath his shirt but, as tempting as it was, you had another destination in mind. When you hit the waistband of his pants you paused, fingers toying with the strings that kept them fastened.

"Are you sure?" You asked, double checking that he was positive he wanted to take it this far.

He barely pulled away from your lips to answer. "Yes, I'm sure."

That was all you needed. You pulled on the string, undoing it, and let your hand slide into the front of his pants. You didn't have the patience to start with any over the clothes touching. Bob's size was somewhat surprising, he was big, which meant that your hand met the velvety skin of his cock pretty much as soon as you'd breached the waistline of his pants. He whimpered into your mouth at the feeling of the silky skin of your palm. 

He was keen, his body reacting immediately with a buck of his hips into your fist. You started with a slow pace, moving your hand up and down carefully to get a rhythm going. His precum worked well as a natural lubricant, making both your skin and his slick. It was only a reminder of the wetness between your own legs. But that thought escaped you pretty quickly when Bob continued to make pretty little sounds into your mouth. He throbbed in your hand, pace of his thrusts increasing when you tightened your grip. 

You kept kissing him, shivering as the feeling of his arousal travelled through you as well. An overwhelming curiosity was plaguing you as you wondered whether you'd feel it when he eventually came. That became less important when Bob's hands finally untangled from your shirt and one of them crept up the plains of your torso to start groping your chest through your shirt. You moaned into his mouth, hand momentarily stilling in place. That didn't last long when he whined into your mouth, a mumble begging for more leaving him.

Your fist pumped his cock harder and faster, drawing him closer and closer to orgasm.

"Come on, pretty boy. I know you're close."

He whimpered at the name you'd given him, the fact that he liked praise was something you quickly noted in your head. Bob kissed you harder, the desperation for closeness evident.

It didn't take much longer before he started twitching in your hand, hot ropes of cum spurting out of him and landing on the sheets between you. You pumped him a few more times, milking him for everything he was worth. A train of whimpers and moans tumbled out of mouth, filling the space between you, as his eyes scrunched shut with pleasure. You kissed him through it, wanting to keep him close as you were feeling his orgasm yourself. The feeling rocketed through you, a sense of ecstasy as it poured out of Bob and into you. Your prediction was right, you did indeed feel it when he did. This was a new development to your gift that had you curious. 

Once he'd calmed down from the high, Bob's eyes blinked open again as he looked at you. "I'm- I'm sorry."

You frowned. "Why are you sorry?"

"Because I- and you didn't-" He cut himself off, distressed. "I thought we were going to-"

You eyed the mess on the sheets between you. "Believe me, what just happened is not an issue."

"Are you still... feeling it?"

"Kind of. Less so now that you've come. But I'm still horny. Especially after that." You sighed. "Can we keep kissing?"

Bob wasn't sure why you'd even asked. It wasn't like there was any scenario where he'd say no to that. So he nodded at you, assuming that your eyes had adjusted enough to the dark to see him. He was right. You manoeuvred yourself over the mess on the sheets and hovered yourself over him.

He looked up at you, the sparkle from before twinkling in his eyes. He finally allowed himself to touch you, not realising that he'd groped you in the heat of the moment before, and placed his hands on your hips before letting them skate up your waist, then your rib cage, before going over your shoulders and letting them land on either side of your face. Then he pulled you down to kiss him. 

You weren't sure how long that went on for exactly, only really aware of anything other than Bob existing when he'd asked whether you wanted to change your bed sheets. You'd only told him it could wait until the morning and that the two of you would just have to stick to his side of the bed. At some point his hands had drifted below your waistline, drawing your own orgasm from you. It surprised you how adept he was at it, but you figured he had a past long before you'd even met him. 

What surprised you both was Bob had moaned as you did, blinking in shock as you came.

"I felt that." He stated, mouth hanging open.

"What do you mean?" You asked, still breathless from the orgasm. 

"I felt that." He repeated.

A frown wrinkled your brows. "You mean... like how I feel things?"

"I think so."

That was another thing that had never happened until Bob.

"I didn't know that was possible." You thought about it for a second before shrugging. "Another thing for tomorrow."

And then you kept kissing him. That went on for a while until the two of you grew sleepy, eventually drifting off in each other's arms.

When you woke up the next morning you found yourself intertwined with Bob, limbs tangled together. You hummed happily and snuggled closer to him. 

"G'morning." He grumbled into your ear.

You smiled at the sound of his voice and turned your head to look at him. "Good morning. You're awake before me."

"Shocking, I know." He huffed, hand stroking up and down the length of your arm.

"What's the time?"

"A little after nine."

Your eyes widened and you shot out of bed, scrambling to find your robe. "Shit, it's late."

Bob followed you out of bed, feeling bad that he'd let you sleep in. But you had just looked so peaceful. "Sorry, I should've woken you."

"No, don't apologise." You beamed at him. "Shouldn't apologise for the way I slept."

He watched you slide a pair of socks on. "How'd you sleep?"

"Good." You grinned. "The best. You?"

"Good too."

You huffed. "You always sleep good."

There was a moment of silence before Bob seemed to decide what he was going to say.

"Do you want to know why I sleep so easily?"

You nodded, always just figuring the amnesia that came with what happened to him meant that he just didn't have bad dreams. 

"Because I dream about you." He confessed quietly. "Even when I'm not having sex dreams."

Your shoulders hunched as your skin prickled with the burn of self-consciousness. There was no way he was telling the truth. "Really?"

"I spend my days thinking about you and my nights dreaming about you." He chuckled shakily. "Even though we spend every second of every day together, I can think of nothing but you. It consumes me. You consume me."

Tears welled in your eyes. "For how long?"

"For as long as I've known you pretty much." He shrugged. "It's been very difficult sleeping next to you for these past few weeks and not telling you."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because you needed me to sleep. And I was scared that you didn't feel the same way so you'd- you'd push me away and go back to restless nights." His hands started wringing together, a telltale sign of his nerves.

You choked out a teary laugh. "How could you ever think I didn't feel the same? Why do you think I spend so much time with you? Why I can't sleep unless I'm next to you?"

"My emotions calm you."

You shook your head. "You make me calm. There's something about you. There always has been. You make me feel things that nobody else ever has. I've experienced new emotions with you. As well as more feelings."

He smiled at the reference to what the two of you had done the night before. "So, what now?"

"What now?" You chortled as you repeated his words back to him. "Now you kiss me and we never stop."

Bob didn't need to be told twice.

The team noticed the moment the switch in yours and Bob's relationship flipped. All it took was one simple gesture. The group of you had been in the kitchen together, chatting about nothing in particular and Bob had been looking at you with a gooey look in his eyes as usual. But then you'd reached up, brushing a lock of hair away from his eyes. 

They all knew then that you'd finally taken the step towards being officially more than friends. None of them pointed it out, exchanging nothing but pleased looks with each other and enjoying the fact that neither you nor Bob seemed to be aware that the rest of them now all knew about the two of you. They weren't entirely sure that either of you cared if they knew.

And when later that evening you rested your head on Bob's shoulder during movie night, and he not very subtly grabbed your hand, they realised that the two of you definitely didn't care if they knew. You only seemed to care about each other in that moment.

[jaysbaefie]

noona | sjy (2/2)

synopsis: in which your little brothers best friend can’t keep his feelings and true intentions a secret anymore.

genre: brothers best friend to lovers

pairing: little brothers best friendljake x older afab reader

warnings: sad!jake, petty!jake, degrading, light dubcon, light fondling, manhandling, oral (m.rec and f.rec), unprotected p in v, forced confession of feelings, choking, jake eats his own cum…overstimulation, fingering, pussy slapping, creampie, almost getting caught (again). that’s it….i think.

wc: 5.1k

read part 1 part 2

a/n: i didn’t think id pop out w a part 2 for this fic but here i am… i was procrastinating w my other ones so i decided to do smth w little to no plot and just filth. anyways.. hope u enjoy! notes reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

──── ୨୧ ────

weeks went by and you'd had enough.

the guilt was eating you alive, and every time jake touched you when sunghoon was nearby, your heart nearly stopped. it was reckless, dangerous and completely insane.

your heart ached whenever you saw jake and sunghoon hang out, seeing their friendship. you wondered how sunghoon would react if he found out that his best friend was fooling around with his older sister.

you couldn't bear the thought of your brother looking at you differently, so you made a decision.

that night jake was over, as he always was. you watched the two boys play games on the living room couch, standing afar as your cleaned up in the kitchen.

your parents had bid their goodnights, heading upstairs to go to sleep leaving you, sunghoon and jake alone downstairs.

"hey! you said you'd cover me!" sunghoon grunts, his eyebrows furrowed as he squints his eyes—focusing on the screen ahead.

"i was getting attacked! i had to protect myself!"

"and your ass still died. what was the point of that."

the two argued playfully amongst each other, the thought of them not being friends because of you ached you.

time passes by, you loiter in the kitchen—pretending to do work on your laptop.

"noona, you can go to sleep you know. i know you're bored," you heard sunghoon say to you, peering back to see you sitting at one of the barstools in the kitchen.

you give him a soft smile, shaking your head. "it's no big deal, i have to stay up anyways. have to finish off these papers."

he nods, adjusting his head set. jake looks over, your eyes widening when he smirks at you—biting at his bottom lip. you quickly avert your eyes, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered.

jake had gotten much bolder with his actions, however, nothing too intimate had happened ever since the kitchen scene a few weeks ago.

he wasn't as touchy, but his words had gotten bolder.

he always found ways to lean in too close, his breath warm against your ear as he murmured things that made your face burn. "you smell good today, noona." or "you know, i have dreams about you. wanna know what they're about?" and when you pushed him away, he only chuckled, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

if you dropped something, he'd pick it up and hold it out—only to yank it back when you reached for it. "use your manners, noona. say please."

"please?"

his smirk widens, "good girl, noona."

if you were cooking, he'd stand behind you, arms caging you in as he reached for something. "careful, wouldn't want to burn yourself." he'd rub himself up against your butt, letting you feel how hard he was for you. but he never did more than brushing up against you or the occasional lingering touches.

it was almost like he was riling you up, teasing you so you'd snap.

when sunghoon was in his room with his headphones on, you pulled jake aside into the hallway. sunghoon had said goodnight, insisting that jake stay over since it was past midnight. jake had agreed, a dark smile on his face as his eyes raked up and down your figure—tongue jutting out to quickly swipe over his lips.

his usual cocky smirk was already forming, like he knew exactly why you wanted to talk.

"jake, we have to stop."

he blinked at you, amused. "stop what, noona?"

you swallowed, your stomach twisting. "this. whatever this is. it's wrong."

his smirk faltered for a second before his expression darkened. he stepped closer, forcing you back against the wall, trapping you between his arms. you tried not to shiver when you felt his breath against your skin.

"you think you can just cut me off like that?" he murmured, voice low and dangerous. "like i'm some bad habit you need to quit?"

you turned your face away, refusing to meet his gaze. "i—jake, i mean it. this is over."

he scoffed. "bullshit."

your eyes snapped back to him, widening as his fingers trailed along your arm. "i know you, noona. i know how you sound when you're turned on. i know how you taste when you're falling apart under me. and i definitely know how you look when you're pretending you don't want me." his hand suddenly slid between your thighs, over your shorts, pressing just enough to make your breath hitch.

you gasped, pushing at his chest. "j-jake, stop—sunghoon is upstairs!"

his smirk returned, but this time it was cruel. "exactly. so why haven't you screamed for him yet?"

you froze.

your mouth opened, but no words came out.

his grip tightened on your hip. "you could call him right now. tell him everything. tell him what a perv i am, how i've been touching you when he's not looking, how i licked your pretty cunt until you were shaking in the kitchen." he leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. "but you won't, will you?"

your breathing was ragged. "jake—"

"because you like it, noona." his fingers pressed harder, making your legs clench involuntarily. "you like how dirty this is. how wrong it feels. you say we need to stop, but your body?" he chuckled, sliding his knee between your thighs. "your body says otherwise."

he squeezes your hip, pushing you down so you grinded against his knee. you held in a moan, pursing your lips as you feel jake get tougher with his actions.

tears pricked at your eyes. whether it was from frustration, guilt, or something else entirely, you didn't know. "this isn't fair," you whispered.

jake pulled back slightly, tilting his head as he studied you. then, to your horror, his smirk completely disappeared. for the first time, he looked... genuinely hurt.

"you think this was just a game to me?" his voice was quiet, almost disappointed. "you think i did all this just to fuck around and piss you off?"

jake was hurt, he felt like you didn't even know him. he was never the type of guy that fooled around with girls, and you knew that. he thought he had made it clear how much he liked you, and only you.

you didn't know how to answer, standing there speechless.

jake clenched his jaw, his hands dropping from your body. his warmth disappeared, replaced by an unsettling emptiness.

"fine," he muttered, stepping back. "if that's what you want."

you felt like you could finally breathe again. but the victory was short-lived.

because the very next day, everything changed.

jake ignored you completely. no teasing touches. no lingering glances. no stolen moments in the hallway. it should've felt like relief, but instead, it felt like loss.

and the worst part? he was still around.

he still showed up at your house every day, still hung out with sunghoon like nothing had happened—but now, he acted like you didn't exist. and it was killing you.

although you hate to admit that you missed him and his advances, you were thankful that it had ended.

but just when you thought you were free, just when you started convincing yourself that maybe this was for the best.

jake reminds you why you could never escape him.

it happened late one night. a week had gone by since jake had pretended as if you didn't exist, you were slowly coming to terms with it.

you were in the kitchen alone, getting a glass of water, when suddenly, the room darkened. the air shifted, and before you could turn around—a familiar voice whispered against the shell of your ear.

"miss me yet, noona?"

your heart stopped.

and that was when you realized. this wasn't over. not even close. and in fact, it'll never be over.

your breath hitched as jake's hands found your waist, his grip firm, possessive—like he had every right to touch you.

"j-jake," you whispered breathlessly, your fingers tightening around the glass in your hand. you should push him away, should scream for sunghoon, should do anything but melt into him like you seemed to be doing.

but your body betrayed you.

he chuckled darkly, his nose grazing the side of your neck making you shiver in delight. "you thought i was done with you?" his fingers slid down to the hem of your shirt, teasingly brushing against your skin. "you think you can ignore this?"

his free hand covered yours, plucking the glass from your grip and setting it aside on the counter. the moment it left your grasp, he spun you around, pressing your back against the cool marble of the counters.

you mind races with flashbacks from weeks ago, when jake had his head between your legs and his tongue in you—making you writhe in pleasure. your chest heaved as you finally met his gaze—dark, hungry, filled with something dangerous.

"i was trying to be nice," he murmured, dragging his fingers down the dip of your throat, over your collarbone, down to the top button of your pajama shirt. "but you don't want nice, do you, noona?"

you looked up at him with pleading eyes, "you're a lot stronger than i thought you were, noona," he starts, his hand grabbing a hold of your breast making you whine. "i thought you'd break in a few days, but seems like you were getting used to my absence. can't have that now, can we?"

you swallowed hard, eyes darting to the doorway. "s-sunghoon is upstairs," you reminded him, voice barely above a breath.

jake smirked, popping the first button open. "then you better be quiet."

your stomach twisted as another button came undone, then another, his fingers deliberately slow, teasing.

"jake," you tried again, but suddenly, his lips were on yours—hot, demanding, stealing the breath from your lungs.

your hands instinctively flew to his shoulders, but whether to push him away or pull him closer, you weren't sure. it didn't matter. he took the decision from you, his hands gripping your hips as he pressed himself against you, letting you feel just how much he wanted this.

a muffled whimper escaped your throat when he rolled his hips into you, your core throbbing at the friction.

"fuck," he groaned against your lips, one hand slipping under your shirt to splay across your bare waist. "you have no idea how much i missed this."

"we—we can't," you breathed, even as your fingers found their way into his hair, tugging him closer.

"we already are," he murmured, teeth grazing your jaw before trailing down to your neck. you gasped when he sucked at the sensitive spot just below your ear, your body arching into his as heat coiled deep in your stomach.

"so sensitive," he mused, his lips curving against your skin. "you missed me too, didn't you, noona?"

you hated that he was right. hated that you had missed this—his touch, his voice, the way he made you feel alive.

but before you could admit it, before you could even think of responding, his hand was dipping lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts.

your breath hitched.

"jake," you gasped, your knees nearly giving out when his fingers brushed against your clothed heat. he groans at the dampness he found, his other hand gripping your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"look at you," he murmured, eyes dark with need. "so fucking wet for me." you let out a soft whimper, and that was all it took for his restraint to snap.

"you're going to be a good girl, right noona?" he pants softly, his hand slipping out of your shorts. you almost whine at the loss, missing his touch where you need it the most.

you nod mindlessly, looking up at him to catch the dark look in his eyes. his lips pull into an almost evil smirk, "then you're going to have to apologize to me, noona. you hurt my feelings," he fake pouts.

you gape at him, your mouth opening to apologize only for jake to slip in two of his fingers past your lips. you gag around his fingers, not adjusting to the sudden intrusion in your mouth.

he stares down at you, his breath hitching when he pumps his fingers slowly into your mouth.

"nu uh, noona. that's not how i want my apology," he begins, his mouth pulled into a lazy smirk. he slowly pulls his fingers out, a trail of saliva connecting your mouth and his digits. he rubs his spit covered fingers over your lips messily, his face pulled into a pained look as he holds in a moan. "you don't need to use your mouth, but your going to let me use your mouth. yeah?"

your eyes widen at his words, swallowing harshly before you're nodding your head. it felt as if you didn't have control over your own actions.

he grins at your obedience, his hands tangling it into your hair before he's pushing you down to your knees slowly.

you sink down, coming face to face with jake's crotch—your eyes widening when you see the large tent in his pants. jake smirks, tilting your chin up.

"c'mon, take it out."

your hands fumble with his pajama pants, pulling them down along with his briefs. you gasp when his cock springs free, thick, flushed, already leaking. your eyes flick up to meet his, but he doesn't give you time to marvel or breathe—his hand is already fisting in your hair again, pulling your head closer.

"open," he mutters, and when you hesitate, he tightens his grip, yanking your head back. "don't make me ask again, noona."

your lips part, and jake doesn't wait. he slides his cock into your mouth with one slow, brutal thrust, groaning low in his throat when he hits the back of it. your hands fly to his thighs, nails digging in, but he doesn't ease up—he rolls his hips, feeding more of himself into your throat until you're gagging, tears stinging your eyes.

"this is what you wanted?" he grits out, in pure bliss that the woman he had wanted for half of his life was taking him in to her mouth. "just my cock, right? that's all i was to you, yeah?"

you try to shake your head, try to speak around him, but he just holds you there, his other hand coming down to cup your jaw, thumb smearing at the tears running down your cheeks.

"don't lie now," he growls. "you said it yourself. you thought i didn't give a fuck about you. you thought i was just using you."

he pulls out just enough for you to suck in a shaky breath before slamming back in, your moan muffled, choked, sinful.

"you're older than me, right?" he spits, voice bitter. "supposed to be the mature one. then why the fuck are you acting like a scared little girl?"

you look up at him, ruined. your jaw aching, drool trailing down your chin—and jake just smiles. not soft. cruel.

he could feel the familiar coil in his stomach tighten, but this wasn't the way he wanted to cum for you.

"you hurt me, noona," he whispers, finally pulling out completely. you gasp, throat sore, but he doesn't let you rest. he grabs you by the arms and yanks you to your feet, pushing you hard against the counter.

"bend over."

"jake—" you choke, blinking through the fog of tears and lust. "we shouldn't—sunghoon—"

"you think i give a fuck about sunghoon right now?" he hisses, dragging your shorts down roughly, letting them pool around your ankles. "you think he'd care about protecting his slutty sister who lies about what we have?"

you flinch, but you don't stop him—not when he kicks your legs apart, not when he presses the head of his cock right against your dripping entrance.

"say it," he snaps, one hand gripping your hip while the other holds your hair in a tight, punishing fist. "say i'm not just a fuck. beg me to forgive you." you hold in a mewl as his grip on your hair gets tighter, the crown of your head touching his chest.

you bite your lip, shame and heat colliding in your chest, but you say it anyway—voice trembling, broken.

"you're not just a fuck," you whisper. "i'm sorry, jake—please, i didn't mean it. i thought you didn't care...i was scared."

he goes still for a beat, his grip on you relaxing before his chest presses against your back. you hear the shift in his breath.

and then he thrusts into you so hard the air is knocked out of your lungs.

"you should be scared," he hisses against your ear. "scared of how much i fucking want you. scared of what i'll do when you try to run again."

you cry out, biting your own wrist to keep quiet as he starts to pound into you, fast, rough, relentless. you could feel yourself convulse around his girth, your velvety walls sucking him in like a suction.

"mine," he growls with every thrust, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. "mine. you hear me?"

you nod, gasping his name, body trembling from the intensity. it's overwhelming—the pace, the anger, the feeling behind every snap of his hips.

"say it," he demands again, thrusting particularly hard.

"i'm yours," you sob, gripping the edge of the counter like your life depends on it. "jake, i'm yours, i swear—"

"damn right you are."

he grabs your throat from behind, turning your face just enough so he can kiss you—deep, messy, almost violent with how badly he wants to consume you.

"no more ignoring me," he pants against your lips. "no more pretending this isn't real. you understand?" you nod frantically, unable to speak, unable to think—just feel.

and when his hand slides between your thighs, rubbing fast, precise circles over your clit, your whole body locks up. you could feel that familiar feeling tighten up in your lower stomach, your body shaking with every thrust he delivers.

"cum for me, noona," he whispers. "make a mess. and don't you dare try to hide it."

"jake—jake, i—" your voice breaks into a whimper, hips jerking as his fingers circle tighter, rougher.

"go on," he pants, cock driving into you so deep you can't breathe. "cum all over my cock like the slut you said you weren't."

you sob into your arm, your entire body tightening as the knot in your stomach finally snaps. pleasure crashes over you like a wave—sharp, hot, almost unbearable. you clench around him, trembling as you come hard, your release soaking the base of his cock, dripping down your thighs, coating his fingers.

jake lets out a strangled groan at the feeling, his hips stuttering. "fuck, fuck—you feel that?" he growls, voice cracking. "so fucking tight when you cum for me. you were made for this."

his rhythm falters, becoming erratic. you know he's close—the grip on your hips turns bruising, his breath uneven as he drives into you with punishing force.

"where?" he growls, leaning over you, his chest flush against your back. "tell me where, noona. say it. beg for it."

you turn your head slightly, eyes glassy as you whisper, "inside. jake, please—want you to cum inside me."

he curses under his breath, his hands shaking as he fucks you harder—desperate now, his control gone.

"say it again," he snarls, voice wrecked.

"come inside me," you cry, your knees threatening to give out. "need you, jake. need to feel you."

that's all it takes.

with a guttural groan, he slams in deep one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside you. his entire body shudders as he comes, filling you up with thick, hot spurts that you swear you can feel leaking out even before he's pulled out.

he stays buried in you, breathing hard, one hand gripping your hip, the other fisted in your hair as he presses his forehead against the back of your shoulder. you're both shaking, sweat-slicked and ruined, your legs barely able to hold you up.

but jake doesn't move—not for a long moment. when he finally does, it's slow, careful, like he's afraid of letting go. he pulls out with a hiss, watching the way his cum spills from your swollen cunt, dripping down your thighs onto the kitchen floor.

his jaw clenches.

he gently turns you around, lifts you up onto the counter, and cups your face between his hands—his voice lower, quieter, but still rough with leftover anger.

"you really think i didn't care?" he murmurs, brows furrowed as he looks into your eyes. "you think i could fuck you like that and not be in love with you?"

your breath catches at his sudden confession.

"you ignored me," you whisper, still dazed.

"because i was hurt," he growls. "because hearing you call yourself a toy—saying i was just using you—fucked me up, noona. i've been in love with you, and you thought it was just my dick talking."

he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours.

"you're mine," he whispers, softer now. "and i'm yours. whether sunghoon likes it or not."

you swallow hard, your hand rising to rest on his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart.

"...i didn't mean it," you whisper. "i was scared. you're younger, and—i thought i was making a mistake."

he kisses you—slow, breathless, a stark contrast to how he'd fucked you minutes ago. and when he pulls away, he's smirking again, cocky and flushed and still so mad.

"you did make a mistake," he says. "and you're going to make it up to me." his hands slip beneath your thighs, dragging you toward the edge of the counter again.

"starting now."

his hands are already back on you before you can breathe—dragging you down the counter, legs parted, chest heaving. he doesn't even give you a moment to recover. you're still dripping with his cum when he spreads you open, gaze locked on your wrecked, swollen pussy.

"look at this mess," he growls, thumb smearing the mix of your release and his across your folds. "you look better like this. ruined. mine."

you gasp, hips jerking at the overstimulation, but he just chuckles darkly, grabbing your thighs to yank you closer until your ass is barely on the counter.

"you made me wait," he sneers, his tone dropping. "you ran your mouth. called me a kid. said i was just using you. and now look at you."

you try to respond, but he presses two fingers to your lips again, "no. you don't get to talk right now. just sit there and take it."

then he's dropping to his knees between your legs, and you barely manage to get a word out before his tongue replaces his fingers—licking up every drop of his cum that's still leaking out of you. he moans like he's starved, eating you out through the overstimulation, not stopping even when your legs tremble around his head.

"fuck—jake, too much—" you sob, fisting his hair, but he just growls into your cunt, locking his arms around your thighs to keep you in place. his tongue runs up and down your slit, flattening it where you need it most.

"this pussy's mine," he mutters against your clit, slapping it lightly with his tongue, making you cry out. "mine to ruin. mine to clean up. you don't get to tell me when i'm done." he continues the pattern, licking figure 8s on your clit as his fingers pry into you slowly—teasing you.

and he doesn't stop until you're falling apart again, legs shaking, tears streaking your cheeks as you cum a second time with a broken scream, biting down on your hand to muffle it—sunghoon still upstairs.

he stands up slowly, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, eyes wild. his cock is hard again, flushed and angry-looking, already twitching against his stomach.

"turn around," he orders, his eyes wild as he stares down at you with hunger.

you hesitate—wrecked, overstimulated—but he grabs your hips and flips you over himself, bending you back over the counter like you weigh nothing.

"you wanted rough?" he pants, lining himself up again. "you wanted to act like i was just some horny little kid with a crush?"

you try to speak but scream instead when he slams into you in one brutal thrust.

"jake—"

he wraps his hand around your throat from behind, yanking you upright against his chest. you gasp at the feeling, his grip on your throat now bruising as you struggle for air. 

"say it again," he hisses in your ear. "say my name like that again."

"j-jake," you sob, your voice breaking as he fucks into you with punishing force.

he leans down, biting your shoulder hard enough to bruise. "you're never calling me a kid again. i'm the only one who fucks you like this. the only one who makes you this dumb."

his other hand slides down, slapping your clit repeatedly without mercy, and your whole body jolts.

"gonna cum again, noona?" he pants. "fucking pathetic. creaming around my cock again when you said we couldn't. when you said i didn't mean it." your body trembles as jake forces your third high out of you, your cunt convulsing around him pathetically.

you cry out, tears falling freely now, your body on fire, collapsing in on itself with every thrust.

"beg for it," he growls. "beg me to fill you up again."

"jake, please—" you gasp, clawing at the marble. "fill me up. need it. need you."

"yeah?" he groans, his rhythm faltering as you tighten around him again. "say you're mine. say you love this."

"i'm yours," you cry, so close to breaking. "i love it—love when you fuck me like this—i'm yours, jake, only yours."

he lets out a low, desperate moan, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. "that's right. my noona. my pussy. mine."

his hips slam into you once, twice more—and then he's spilling inside you again, groaning through gritted teeth, his entire body curling over yours like he's trying to bury himself so deep you'll never forget.

you collapse against the counter, boneless and shaking, his cum dripping out of you all over again as you relish in the feeling of your third high.

he leans down, kissing your shoulder softly now—contrasting the bite he left minutes ago—and whispers, "never again. don't you ever say i don't mean it."

he pulls you back up into his arms, pressing soft kisses behind your ear now, your body still trembling.

"...you okay?" he finally asks, quieter now. "too much?" you nod slowly, clinging to him. "no. not too much."

just jake. your jake. four years younger and somehow still the only one who's ever made you feel like this. you don't know how long you stood there, pressed against jake's chest, his arms tight around you as if he couldn't bear to let go.

your legs barely worked, still trembling from the aftermath, and you knew you looked wrecked—shirt open, hair tangled, neck littered with blooming marks. you were both soaked in sweat, your thighs sticky, his cum dripping slowly down your leg.

jake kissed your temple softly, breath still ragged. "i should clean you up," he murmured. "but if i touch you again, i'm not gonna stop."

you leaned your head back against his shoulder, exhausted. "don't think i can take another round anyway."

he chuckled, but it was laced with something darker—possessiveness still simmering just beneath the surface. "you'll take what i give you next time. and you'll say thank you."

you didn't get the chance to respond because that's when you heard it.

a door creaking open upstairs.

both of you froze.

footsteps.

"shit," you breathed, panic setting in as the reality of your situation crashed down.

sunghoon.

your little brother.

he was awake and if he came down and saw this you two would be screwed.

"move," jake whispered harshly, grabbing a dishtowel from the counter and tossing it over the wet mess you'd left behind. "go to the bathroom. now."

you scrambled to button your shirt, tugging your shorts up with shaking hands, nearly falling in the process. jake tucked himself away quickly, grabbing his hoodie from the kitchen chair and pulling it over his head just as the stairs creaked again.

you slipped down the hallway barefoot, heart pounding in your throat, ducking into the bathroom and locking the door with a soft click.

two seconds later, you heard sunghoon's voice from the kitchen.

"jake?"

"yo," jake replied, voice smooth—so effortlessly casual you wanted to scream.

"what are you doing down here?"

"water," jake said, cracking open the fridge to grab a bottle "couldn't sleep."

sunghoon hummed, still half asleep, "you good?"

jake laughed, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. "never better, hyung." you covered your mouth to keep from making a sound.

"you coming back up?" sunghoon asked, voice groggy with sleep as he reaches for the bottle of water that jake had offered him.

"in a bit."

they stood there in silence for a moment before you heard the footsteps retreat. the stairs creaked again. the door shut.

you waited a beat longer—just to be safe—before cracking the door open. jake was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, head tilted slightly.

his eyes met yours. slow. hungry.

you looked like hell—still flushed, lips swollen, hair a mess.

and jake?

jake looked like he'd do it all over again if he had five more minutes alone with you.

"you okay?" he asked, voice quiet now—sincere. you nodded, stepping closer, until he reached out and tugged you into his arms.

"you scared the shit out of me," you mumbled into his chest.

"you scare me every time you act like this is something i'm not serious about."

you froze.

jake pulled back slightly, his hands gentle now as he cupped your jaw. "i'm not just fucking you, noona. i've never just been fucking you."

your chest ached at the truth in his voice. raw and exposed.

"i know," you whispered, finally. "i believe you." he smiled—small, but genuine. "good. because next time you call me a kid, i'll fuck you and fill you so you have mine."

your breath hitched, but this time it wasn't from fear or shame—just need. you kissed him—soft, slow, the kind of kiss that promised this wasn't over.

because now you knew, it would never be over.

and god help you, you didn't want it to be.

— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!