#without any deeper thought or reading between the lines on it

[clazberryk]

An unfair hand has been dealt: A Thread Between Heartbeats

The group have started the ritual, each thread of weave connected, coloured and shaped by them.

I jsut want to say THANK YOU TO EVERYONE that voted on my Poll, it really did help me with the Astarion Line, i truly was struggling with that. And thank you for your comments and thoughts behind chosing said line. (@sanguinesexmachine @nyx-knox @roguishcat @astarionbrainrot @starlight-rogue @asweetlovesong @satan-in-a-box @slothquisitor ) And everyone else who voted, for some reason it is not showing me everyone that voted, but it has given me the percentages, so i am sorry if i did not tag all of you. This was so cathartic and a way for me to say goodbye to Taveleigha. As you guys know play in her in my IRL DND Campaign and she sadly died a couple of weeks ago, but she went the way i always knew she would defending and protecting her friends with no care in the world for her self preservation.

I mean a level 6 Sorcerer taking 101 necrotic damage in one round, yep that'll defintely do it. Anyway without futher ado (for those that do not want to read it on AO3 , i present to you

An Unfair Hand has been Dealt, chapter 4: A Thread Between Heartbeats:

With a breath, the ritual began, Astarion’s touch lingered on Taveleigha’s head as Shadowheart stepping into the Circle, the Catalyst—the large black diamond in both palms like a piece of death turned holy. Around her, the crystals hummed in subtle resonance, pulsing in time with something too old for clocks.

Gale raised his fingers to the Weave and whispered an invocation so old it had no name—just intent braided into syllables. Energy shimmered between his hands like a gossamer net. Wyll added a chant in Infernal, tone low and reverent, each syllable a promise: Come back. You are wanted. You are loved.

Karlach moved last. Not with elegance, but with purpose. Her armoured hand pressed against her chest as if steadying something deeper than her heart. “Tavi,” she said, “if you can hear us—if there’s any part of you still fighting—I need you to reach back.”

A gust swept through the room, though no windows stood open. The flames in the sconces flickered outward drawn toward the centre of the circle, as if breath were being inhaled by something unseen.

The Catalyst ignited. Not in flame. Not in light. In feeling.

The room erupted in sense: lavender, ink, copper, blood, ash after rain. Everyone staggered under the weight of memory—not their own, but hers. A starless sky. A broken blade. The sound of her own laughter caught in someone else’s throat. Then silence. Crushing, suffocating silence.

And beneath it… a thread. The world unravelled in strands. Not torn—not broken—but re-threaded. As if reality itself were being rewritten from the edges inward. One moment, the ritual room shimmered with breath and crystal light. The next, it gave way to nothingness… and then to everything.

They stood, all of them, on a great plain of velvet night. No stars. No sky. Only endless shimmer—threads of argent light stretching into infinite darkness, swaying like slow kelp in a sea of silence. “This is…” Gale breathed, his voice swallowed by the hush, “not the Astral Plane. But close. It feels sentient.”

Shadowheart reached out toward one of the threads. It pulsed, and in a rush, she remembered—her mother’s humming, a warm cup clasped between blood-streaked fingers, the way Taveleigha had once held her gaze and said, “You are not your past. You are your intention.” Shadowheart whispered “This place, is her.”

They moved forward, not walking so much as being carried, the threads of the Weave rearranging to cradle their steps. Glimmers of memory flared at the corners of their eyes: a flash of a moonlit dance. Taveleigha’s laugh echoing through rain. A kiss exchanged mid-battle. A whispered promise, long thought lost.

The plain fractured. Gently, like dew sliding from a petal. And from the folds of light, she appeared—or something that resembled her.

Taveleigha stood in the distance, bathed in the radiance of unformed magic. But her eyes did not meet theirs. She turned in slow circles, as if searching for something just out of reach.

“Is it really her?” Astarion said, the words dragged raw from his throat.

Karlach stepped forward, one hand outstretched. “Tavi,” she called. “Hey. Hey, we’re here.” The figure paused. For a breathless moment, it tilted its head—not toward them, but toward the threads around its feet. As if listening.

“I think she doesn’t know who she is yet,” said Jaheria, voice tight with awe. “The Weave’s holding her, preserving what she meant, but herself is still in pieces.”

Shadowheart clenched her jaw. “Then we remind her.”

Gale took a step forward, raised a hand, fingers trembling, voice low but sure the light of the Weave catching in the folds of his robes, softening the lines of worry etched across his face. “You told me once that magic wasn’t about control, but relationship. A language for love. That the Weave listens when it’s spoken to with care. So, listen now, Taveleigha. You are not lost. You are called.” His gaze swept upward to the ardent threads twisting through the night. “I thought that was poetic nonsense at the time. But then, that night near the lake… you guided my hands through the smallest cantrip. No flourish. No spectacle. Just trust.” He exhaled, voice trembling. “And for the first time in ages, my magic didn’t feel like a debt. It felt like home.” The Weave pulsed where he stood, and a thread spun from his words—a ribbon of violet and gold, stretching toward her heart.

Shadowheart stepped into the circle of light next, her hand brushing against the nearest thread. It shimmered, and her voice followed. “I was unravelling,” she murmured, “held together by lies and chains from gods I no longer trusted. And you… you didn’t try to break me free. You didn’t tell me what was right.” She paused, memories tugging at her breath. “You just sat with me. On the edge of the Underdark, the crystals in the underground sparkling like stars. You asked if I wanted my hair braided, and when I couldn’t speak, you did it anyway. One strand at a time. In silence.” She looked up, eyes gleaming. “You gave me a moment to rest. And somehow… that made me want to keep going.” Another thread—woven of dusk and silver ash—looped around her feet and reached for the centre.

Karlach’s armour clanked as she strode forward, grief and grin dancing warily across her face. “You remember that fight we barely walked away from? The one with the three cursed hounds and the room full of broken promises?” She huffed out a laugh. “I cracked a rib, lost my axe, and nearly punched a wall clean through. And you—you just shoved a hunk of bread at me and said, ‘You’ll feel more like yourself when you’ve eaten.’ Gods, you were right.” Her voice faltered. “I cried, Tav. Because for the first time, no one told me to calm down. No one flinched. You just stayed. That meant everything.” The thread that spun from her sparkled with ember-orange and iron grey—gritty, warm, unbreakable.

Lae’zel stepped up slowly, posture rigid but hands open. “You questioned me.” The silence that followed crackled with tension. “Not to humiliate. Not to mock. You asked me why I obeyed my Queen. Why I believed. And I could not answer. That made me angry. But it made me think.” She clenched her fists. “You forced me to consider that I might be more than a soldier. That honour might include doubt. You untangled me. And in doing so… gave me space to rebuild.” The Weave responded with a thread of green-gold light, taut and sharp as a blade honed for truth.

Wyll’s expression was tender, his voice the hush of a secret unburdened. “Everyone thinks I stood tall because of my contract. Because of my smile. But you saw through it.” He took a breath. “That night, after I nearly lost my arm, fighting that god awful shadow in the cursed lands I was shaking so badly I spilled my wine. Everyone thought it was exhaustion. You knew it was shame. You didn’t speak. You sat next to me, our backs to the fire, and let me hold still. You let me be. And because of that, I could begin to stand again—for me.” From his heart unravelled a thread of deep red and dusk blue, like twilight hope.

Astarion stepped forward slowly, tentatively, hands empty—except for the single red thread coiled between his fingers. He didn’t look at the others. Only at her. “You made me real.” His voice cracked on the second word, but he didn’t waver. “You kissed me like I wasn’t cursed. You touched me like I wasn’t dangerous. But most of all, you saw me. All my broken teeth and rotten hunger and trembling need… and you didn’t run. You stayed.” He held out the thread, its red glow whispering like a heart trying to remember how to beat. “I’ve had centuries of silence,” he said. “But your voice is the first I ever wanted to carry forward.” The thread shivered—alive, blood-bright, and luminous.

All six threads drifted toward Taveleigha like constellations pulled by gravity, each one straining toward the woman they remembered, the woman they loved, the woman they knew still lingered in the centre of the Weave.

They did not bind her.

They invited her.

At first, the threads did not register as voices. They were warmth. Pulse. Glimmering disturbance in the stillness she had grown used to. Each one brushed past her like fingers along the hem of a forgotten cloak—familiar, but not yet named.

The first thread wound around her wrist. Violet and gold. It tingled like magic spoken gently, the way a lullaby might hum from a book long closed. It carried the scent of parchment and firelight, and the sensation of hands guiding hers—patient, respectful, unhurried. She did not recall the words exactly, only the belief beneath them: Listen. Not to me. To what wants to live in you.

She gasped. Her fingers flexed.

Then came another—ash-dusk silver, drawn tight against her spine. It was quieter, heavier. It tasted of silence beside a campfire, of cool fingers brushing tangles from her hair with careful competence. It brought back the echo of a heartbeat she hadn’t realized she missed—the quiet rhythm of someone choosing not to fix her, but to rest with her. She felt her shoulders soften.

The next struck her chest directly—heat and iron, like a forge relit. It growled and grinned as it wound through her ribs, and the memory it carried wasn’t a moment, but a presence. A bear-hug pressed tight against cracked bone. A bad joke whispered to break a sob. It said, You don’t have to be alright. Just don’t be alone.

She exhaled sharply.

Then came a thread like a blade—green and gold, tempered and taut. It coiled around her spine, not cruelly, but with certainty. It reminded her of hands that did not shake in combat, of eyes that narrowed not in contempt, but in search of truth. She tasted challenge on her tongue and a single word, whispered once across sword points: Why?

And then the dusk-red one, shy but steady—looped from somewhere low in her belly to her breath. It didn’t ask. It waited. It smelled of dew and old regret, of dry laughter and a flask passed between scarred hands. It remembered the shape of a man who listened. Who saw.

And last of all—the thread she should have expected but didn’t. Red. Bright as spilled wine. Raw as skin just healed. It didn’t wrap her. It tethered her. It plunged through every false mask she’d worn and rang straight through the quietest part of her, the part that still believed she deserved tenderness. And with it came his voice. Not loud. Not pleading. Just a murmur, soft as memory You made me real.

Her knees weakened. Not from pain. From knowing. From the ache that came with being loved in her entirety—and the possibility that she might live up to it again.

Around her, the threads pulsed in time. Not as command. Not as demand.

As invitation. To remember. To return. To begin.

The threads began to burn, wrapping around her and adding to the fire that was completely and unequivocally her. Her essence, her being. Her spell, her blood song.

Taveleigha looked towards the dawnlight road. A path of golden mist rising, pulsing with heartbeat and breath and the possibility of return. She took a step forward, harmonised with her breath, with each step she felt a warmth grow in her chest, blooming and exploding. She walked for ever, but never. Time meant nothing, but the horizon met her with a warm embrace with the promise of a future the promise of living.

"There's Courage In Being Terrified, But Still Going Forward” A step taken through the dark. Karlach

"Oh, What A Tangled Weave We Web!" Truths knotted between longing and love. Gale

"I Like Her. She Looks Like She Could Throw Me Over Her Shoulder And Carry Me To Safety." A smile blooming where grief once grew. Shadowheart

"So Much Shadow Around Us. To Think I Almost Missed The Light." A flicker—hesitant, but hers. Wyll

“Why would I bury a weapon? Is it broken?” A challenge. A choice. Lae'zel

"You twine your life around the people you love. And when they're gone, you grow around their absence instead. It is just another way they shape you." Loss rethreaded as presence. Jaheria

"Oak Father, preserve me." A breath offered to faith, and to memory. Halsin

“Easy now darling. You’ve got this. And I’ve got you” And finally—home. Astarion

Around her, the threads pulsed—not to bind, not to command, but to welcome. Not orders. Not destiny. Choice.

An invitation to remember. To return. To become.

They began to burn—softly at first, then with quiet conviction—curling around her limbs, her spine, her breath. Not consuming her but kindling her. Feeding the ember that was always there.

Spellfire. Bloodsong.

Essence. Self.

Taveleigha turned toward the golden road—a path of mist and light that pulsed like breath, like heartbeat, like hope made visible. It shimmered not with perfection, but with promise.

She stepped forward. One step. And another. Each movement in time with the rhythm newly forming in her chest—steady now, glowing. Her fire bloomed inward and outward, a quiet detonation of I am.

She walked without haste. Without fear. Time became suggestion. The horizon folded itself into her arms like an old friend returning home.

And just as her foot left the ground one final time, she heard it—not behind her, but within her.

A voice woven through memory, steady and warm: “you’ve bene dead long enough”

A pause. A breath. A presence unmistakable. “It’s time to start living again”

She didn’t smile. Not yet. But her heart answered.

Yes.

And the Weave carried her forward.

It began with sound; soft, steady, fragile.

The crystalline hum of wards unravelling. The hush of breath held too long by too many. Jaheria’s study—once cloaked in sacred stillness—shivered to life as the golden strands of the ritual faded into nothing, the weave-spun chamber settling back into wood, stone, and firelight. Bookshelves creaked, the scent of myrrh and old paper returning like a memory too shy to greet them outright.

And then a gasp. Small. Hoarse. But impossibly whole. Taveleigha drew breath.

The room froze.

Shadowheart’s hand jerked to her mouth, eyes wide. Karlach stumbled back a step, not from fear, but from the weight of the moment cracking open inside her chest. Astarion’s lips parted, but no sound came.

Jaheria, calm even when trembling, stepped forward. “She’s here,” she said, as if announcing something the world had nearly forgotten was possible. “She’s returned.”

On the cot where they’d placed her, Taveleigha lay still, body slack, hair tangled, fingertips twitching. But her chest rose. Again. And again. Not as rhythm. As claim.

Gale stepped closer, his voice a prayer wrapped in disbelief. “Do you think she remembers?”

“She doesn’t need to,” Wyll murmured. “Not yet. She just needs to be.” And then—faintly, like a match struck in snow, Taveleigha smiled.

It was broken. Brief. Crooked with exhaustion. But gods, it was hers.

Astarion dropped to his knees beside her, hands hovering inches above her face—hesitating to touch, as if the gentlest contact might undo what the Weave had just dared to restore. His voice trembled, thinner than laughter, thicker than tears. “You came back,” he whispered. “You really—” His breath hitched. “You always were a stubborn little flame.”

Shadowheart knelt at the opposite side, one hand clutching her pendant, unclasped now, no longer about faith, just… anchor. “She heard us,” she murmured, not looking at the others, eyes fixed to Taveleigha’s brow, damp with sweat. “Through everything. She chose to come back.”

Karlach couldn’t speak at first. Her jaw flexed, fists clenching and unclenching at her sides like she wanted to shout, to laugh, to scream at the ceiling in gratitude but couldn’t find a single thread to pull her breath into line. In the end, she just sat down hard beside the cot and let one big, calloused hand cover Taveleigha’s knee. “Don’t do that again, soldier” she choked. “Or at least give us more warning next time, yeah?”

Gale stepped forward, careful, cautious as if proximity alone might dissolve the miracle. His fingers twitched with latent spell energy he hadn’t realized he was still channelling. “The weave,” he said, awed, “didn’t just answer. It unfolded for her. I’ve never seen… never felt…”

“She is more than magic,” Jaheria said simply. “She is meaning.”

Wyll bowed his head. “We didn’t just call her back,” he said softly. “She showed us the road out of the dark too.”

Lae’zel stood slightly apart, arms crossed—but her gaze was locked on Taveleigha with such intensity it nearly burned. “You are changed,” she said at last. “But so are we. Because of you.” She stepped closer and, without warning, placed her palm over Taveleigha’s heart. “Still beats like a warrior’s.” A breath escaped Taveleigha then—not just a gasp, but something deeper. A sigh stitched with sound. With awareness.

Her fingers twitched. Then curled.

Astarion’s breath caught in his throat. “Tavi, my sweet” he breathed. “If you can hear me, love… I’m here.”

The fire flickered in the hearth. Outside, something shifted—a rustle of wind through late-autumn leaves. As if the world had held its breath alongside them and was only just now exhaling. Jaheria stepped back, giving space. “Let her come fully,” she said. “Her soul crossed a plane none of us can fully understand. Her return must be gentle. Willed.”

But Taveleigha’s eyelids fluttered. Her lips parted, dry, cracked—but moving. No one could hear what she said. Not at first.

“Astarion,” she rasped.

He broke. Hands reached for hers, threading fingers together like prayer beads, his forehead pressed to their entwined grip. “Yes. Yes, I’m here, love. You came back.”

She blinked slowly, and for the first time, her eyes truly saw.

Everyone held still. The air between them rang with sacred quiet. “I walked forever,” she said, her voice barely audible, “but… you waited.”

“We would’ve waited a thousand forevers,” Shadowheart whispered. Tears slipped down Gale’s cheeks in silence.

Taveleigha tried to sit up—failed—but didn’t seem to mind. “I think… I’m still fire.”

“You always were,” Wyll said gently.

“Then,” she said, letting her head rest back against the pillows, eyes closing not in sleep, but in peace, “maybe I can start again.” The hearth crackled behind them. The room breathed with her. And for the first time in far too long, no one spoke of loss. Only return. Only warmth. Only beginning.

The room buzzed quietly behind them—murmured reassurances, Karlach’s rustling as she awkwardly tried to lean against a too-small wall without crushing anything sacred, Jaheria cataloguing vigil echoes under her breath—but none of it reached them. Not really. Taveleigha lay still, her fingers curled loosely in Astarion’s, barely strong enough to hold, but full of intention. Not grasping. Trusting. Astarion’s thumb dragged absently along her knuckles, back and forth, back and forth, like a ritual he hadn’t realized he’d begun. He didn’t look at anyone else. Only her. She shifted, just enough to lean her temple into his wrist. “That long, huh?” she whispered, her voice still frayed.

His breath caught. “Seventeen hours,” he answered. “One hundred and six breaths where I thought you might not come back. And then… you did.”

A beat. Then she murmured, “You counted.”

“No,” he said, too quickly. Then quieter, “Yes. I had to. If I didn’t give the fear numbers, it would’ve turned me inside out. This whole thing gave me hope, but I also feared.”

Her eyes fluttered open, slow as snowmelt. “You weren’t afraid.”

“I was only afraid,” he said. “Terrified. Furious. Grieving in advance.”

He finally looked away then—eyes tracking some invisible regret just past her shoulder. “I thought about what I’d say to you if you didn’t return. How I’d carry your name, or if I even could. And I hated myself for already trying to let you go.”

“You didn’t,” she said gently.

“No,” he whispered, lips curving—not a smile, but something bruised and real. “Because even then, I remembered the way you held my hand. Like a promise I hadn’t made yet.”

The silence swelled around them. Not awkward. Full.

Her fingers twitched inside his. “I wasn’t sure I’d make it back with… all of me.”

Astarion turned back to her, leaning in slowly until their foreheads nearly touched. “You don’t have to be all of anything,” he said. “Just here. With me.”

Her eyes closed again, and a tear slipped sideways down her cheek into the edge of the pillow. “I think,” she breathed, voice barely audible, “I left the worst of him behind.”

“Good,” Astarion said. Then, firmer: “We’ll keep walking away from him. Together.” He bent forward—not to kiss, not yet—but to press his lips to her hair, just above her temple. A slow, reverent gesture.

“I don’t need a grand ending,” he murmured. “Just more time. With you.”

In the background, Karlach silently stood and turned her back, wiping under her eyes with the heel of her hand. Jaheria motioned for Gale and Wyll to follow her from the room. Shadowheart lingered the longest, watching them with something soft in her chest she wouldn’t name aloud—but recognised.

When the door clicked shut behind them, Astarion and Taveleigha were alone in a room lit only by the fire and the fragile miracle of now. She shifted her hand once more—and this time, he didn’t just hold it. Taveleigha shifted slightly beneath the blanket, her fingers still resting in his. “You didn’t let go,” she murmured.

Astarion shook his head. “I couldn’t,” he said. Then, softer: “I wouldn’t.”

The firelight gilded his features in copper and candle-glow, softening edges that the world had tried so hard to sharpen. His thumb brushed across her cheek, slow as moonrise. She leaned into the touch without thinking, like gravity had changed its mind and decided he was the centre now.

“You smell like ash and something sweeter,” she whispered.

“I smell like nerves,” he replied with a hoarse chuckle. “I've been sitting here praying you wouldn’t wake up just to tell me goodbye.”

“Not today,” she said, and opened her eyes—tired, storm-tossed, but clear.

There was no grand declaration. No ceremonial flourish. Just a tilt of her chin. The barest shift of his weight. And then his lips met hers. Not a reclaiming. A remembering. It tasted like everything that hadn’t been said, and everything that no longer needed saying. Gentle. Grateful. Unsteady with too much feeling and not enough time—but deeply present. She exhaled softly against his mouth, and he caught it like a blessing.

When they broke apart, his forehead stayed pressed to hers. Her hand rose, weakly, to cup his cheek. And this time, she smiled. “Still afraid?” she asked.

“Terrified,” he whispered. “But gods, I’d follow you into that fire again. Every time.”

She didn’t answer.

She just kissed him once more.

And let herself begin again.

[clamorybus]

its not fun to talk about, and i feel like such a dick talking about them like this, but it's fucking sickening how easily swayed my parents are

[bishovapls]

Our Little One - Oh, Malyshka…

Relationships: Natasha Romanoff & Wanda Maximoff & Reader

Summary: After an intense night with Wanda and Natasha, you wake feeling off, unsteady, hollow, and unsure why. You push through the day, pretending you're fine, until your roommate sees through it. Recognising the signs, she calls your Dommes in the hopes that they'll fix you before you break entirely.

Warnings: 18+, Mommy kink, Daddy kink, age difference, older WandaNat/younger reader, BDSM, Dom/sub dynamics, Sub Drop, Angst, Smut, Thigh grinding/riding, Cunnilingus, Aftercare.

A/N: This one leans a bit more into the angst, though there’s still plenty of fluff and a couple of smuttier moments too. It picks up right after the last fic, so I’d recommend reading that one first for everything to make sense. Hope you enjoy it, even if it is a bit angsty.

Word Count: 14,549

NSFW below the cut, you can also read on AO3.

You’d drifted to sleep nestled between Natasha and Wanda, their bodies pressed close on either side, wrapping around you. Their arms held you firmly, possessively, but there was safety in their strength; warmth bled into your skin with every slow, steady breath against your neck. Last night had been intense, but in all the right ways. 

For the first time, it felt like Natasha had truly let herself be there with you, not just physically, but emotionally. There had been no hesitation in her touch, no flicker of guardedness behind her eyes. Whatever barriers she’d once held between you had crumbled, and in their place was something raw and real, so achingly genuine it made your chest tighten and your pulse stumble. 

The shrill chime of the alarm cut harshly through the quiet, a jarring, mechanical intrusion that snapped the thread of stillness. You flinched at the sound, a small, startled whimper slipping past your lips before you could swallow it. 

Pale light had only just begun to filter through the curtains, casting a faint silver line across the ceiling, and the noise felt like too much, too soon, like the world had rushed in before you were ready. 

Your head was heavy, wrapped in a thick, cottony haze that clung stubbornly to your thoughts. Something felt…off. Not obviously wrong, not in any concrete way, but subtly misaligned, like standing on uneven ground without realising it until your balance tipped. 

There was an ache thrumming low in your body, not the sweet, satisfying soreness you’d expected, but something heavier, almost bruised, as if your muscles had soaked up the night and were now weighed down with its remnants. It lingered just beneath the surface, as if your body was holding something it hadn’t quite processed. 

Natasha stirred beside you almost instantly, silencing the alarm with the effortless swipe of her thumb. Her hand found your shoulder a moment later, fingers brushing over your skin.

Her voice came next, low and coaxing.“Come on, Little One,” she murmured, her lips brushing your temple with featherlight affection.

You let out a soft, muffled groan, curling deeper into the bed as you pressed your face against Wanda’s bare shoulder. “Don’t wanna go…” You whispered, the words blurred by sleep and something softer, something vulnerable. Your limbs felt leaden, your body slack with fatigue. 

Natasha chuckled, warm and indulgent, her breath brushing over your ear. “You don’t get to skip college just because you decided to be a brat,” she teased, in that playfully stern tone, the one that usually made your stomach flip. 

The word brat echoed, too loud inside your skull, like it hit the wrong place and reverberated. You whimpered, more a breath than a sound, and curled tighter against Wanda, the protest slipping from your lips without thought. “But my butt hurts…” You mumbled, eyes still shut, hoping that if you stayed still enough, they might let you stay a little longer. 

Natasha laughed again, smugness threaded through her tone. “Good,” she replied lightly. “Then you’ll spend the day remembering exactly what you did wrong.” 

It was meant to be playful. It was meant to tease. But the words caught unexpectedly in your chest, snagging on something tender you hadn’t realised was raw. 

Wanda shifted beside you, still wrapped in sleep, and reached out blindly. Her fingers found your hip and rubbed soft, rhythmic circles into your skin, a touch so gentle it made your throat tighten.

“Baby… you need to go to class,” she murmured, her voice rough with sleep but soft with concern. “Just one more day, and then it’s the weekend. You can come right back here tonight, okay?” She said it like she knew, somehow, that the idea of leaving was hitting harder than it should. 

You clung to her like a lifeline, your voice a hushed plea against her skin. “Please, Wands… please just let me stay…” The words came out too bare, too real, stripped of any playful veneer. 

She shook her head slowly. “No, baby… college is important,” she said gently. Her hand pressed lightly to your side, then, easing you back a little, not forceful, not unkind, but firm. And it landed wrong. You needed closeness, not space. You needed to be held tighter, not nudged away. 

Why doesn’t she want me? The thought broke across your mind sharp and fast, instinctive. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t true. But it stuck. 

Without thinking, you moved, climbing on top of her in a single motion, guided more by instinct than clarity. Your lips found hers with a desperation that surprised even you, a hunger that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with that strange feeling flowing through you. 

Wanda responded instantly, kissing you back with a soft sound that vibrated against your lips. You heard Natasha slipping out of bed and her footsteps as she left the room, but it barely registered, not when Wanda was kissing you like this, warm and open and drowsy. 

You deepened the kiss, searching for something, anything that might anchor you. Your body still felt too sore, too sluggish, your limbs aching in a way that made movement feel effortful. 

But you didn’t care, not when Wanda’s leg shifted beneath you, slotting between yours. Instead, you ground down against her without thinking, chasing friction you hoped might quiet the unsettled feeling buzzing beneath your skin. 

Small, breathy moans escaped from your throat, Wanda groaning softly in return… but it felt off. Just slightly. Just enough to make the moment feel untethered. Still, you kept moving, chasing something you couldn’t define.

Wanda’s arms wrapped around you, slow and easy, her fingertips dragging down your spine before she kissed you again. “Mmm… needy girl,” she whispered against your mouth, affection humming beneath the words. 

You didn’t answer, just pressed closer, burying your face in the hollow of her neck as your hips moved with a growing urgency, not driven by desire, but by a deeper, restless need to feel something real, something that told you she still wanted you.

Her hands settled on your waist, neither urging nor holding back, just steady and warm against your skin. “You’re worked up this morning, aren’t you?” she whispered, nuzzling your cheek with a tenderness that almost made your heart catch. 

You nodded quickly, eyes squeezed shut, unwilling to let her see what might flicker there if you opened them. You weren’t, not really, not like that. But you weren’t about to let it show. You didn’t want questions. You just wanted to melt into her touch, to close the growing distance your mind was creating and twisting into something far larger than it had any right to be.

You kept moving, chasing a release that refused to come. Your body trembled, not from pleasure, but from effort. Each motion made your muscles burn, your thighs twitching from the strain. Your breath hitched again, chest drawing tight around something you didn’t understand, the edge of panic disguised as need. 

As if she sensed it, maybe in the sharp hitch of your breath, or the desperate edge threaded through every movement, Wanda shifted, her hands rising to cradle your face with careful tenderness, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. 

She kissed you again, slower this time, almost searching, and then drew back just enough to truly see you, her eyes scanning your face with quiet intent. Her gaze was soft, but steady. “Sweetheart,” she murmured, the words a whisper wrapped in care, “what’s going on?” 

You shook your head quickly, eyes flicking away. “N…nothing,” you mumbled, the words tripping clumsily off your tongue. “Just… wanted you.” And it was true. You did. You just didn’t know why it felt so desperate, like you needed to crawl beneath her skin just to feel close enough.

She studied you, her brow creased with concern. “You remember the rule, Little One?” she asked gently, the warmth in her voice never fading, even as her tone edged into something firmer. “You tell us when something’s bothering you.” 

“I know,” you said quickly, gaze dropping to the sheets. “I’m fine, though.” Before she could say anything else, you moved, slipping off of her with effort, your body slow to respond. “Just sore, I guess. From last night.” 

You tried to smile, something easy and dismissive, something that might make her believe you. But it felt wrong on your face, like a mask slipping.

Wanda watched you quietly, her eyes unreadable, and you could feel the silence stretch as she weighed whether or not to press. Whether to call your bluff.

You moved towards the door, but it swung open just as you reached for it, revealing Natasha fresh from the shower, a towel casually draped around her neck. Her eyes locked onto you, and the tight set of her jaw made your heart sink instantly.

“I see Wanda finally grew a backbone and told you to stop being a bad girl?” Her voice was sharp this time, no trace of teasing, only something colder. 

You flinched, lowering your gaze as the weight of her words settled heavily over you. Bad girl.  Regret twisted in your chest, you knew you deserved the reprimand, but it didn’t soften the sting.

Natasha’s brow creased deeper at your silence; she clearly expected some sort of response, but Wanda stepped in quietly, her tone steady and calm, not defensive but filled with certainty. “She stopped of her own accord,” she said softly. “She just needed me for a moment, didn’t you, baby?” 

You nodded, voice barely above a whisper, “I’m sorry. I’ll get ready quickly, we won’t be late.” Your words felt flat, strained to sound firm rather than pleading, even though every fibre of your body wanted to beg for mercy. 

Natasha huffed, then nodded briskly. “Good. Off you go.”

You padded into the bathroom, feet pressing against the cold tile that usually felt crisp and clean but now felt oddly stark beneath your soles. Your reflection blinked back at you from the mirror, eyes a little dull, lips pressed into something caught between a pout and a frown. 

Everything you needed was here. Though you usually avoided staying over the night before early lectures, on the days when your timetable allowed a later start, you’d begun staying more often. 

Of course, they’d gone out of their way to make sure you had everything you might need, and it was all top quality. They hadn’t skimped on the shampoo, body wash, or even the huge bottle of your favourite perfume.

As you looked around the bathroom, a soft smile tugged at your lips, as it always did when you were reminded of their care. Your toothbrush and skincare were lined up on your designated shelf; your hairbrush was tucked neatly in the drawer just where your fingers instinctively reached for it. The special fluffy towels, reserved only for you, were folded and waiting patiently.

After a quick freshen up, you made your way back to the bedroom to find clothes. The wardrobe in the corner was no longer just theirs; Wanda had slowly filled it with pieces just for you, clothes she’d washed, ironed, and hung with such careful attention that it made your chest ache.

It wasn’t just the space she’d carved out for you; it was the thought woven into every detail. The way your jumpers were folded exactly how you liked, the careful colour order she’d followed without ever needing to ask, the quiet understanding of your routine threaded through every inch of this small, shared world. 

You loved it. You felt wanted, cherished even, as though you were truly part of their home, even if you didn’t live there. But beneath it all, that strange, unnameable ache crept back in, stubborn and elusive. 

Your hand reached for the dark blue jumper, oversized, worn-in, familiar. You tugged it over your head and pulled the sleeves down past your wrists, hiding your hands in the fabric as if the softness might muffle the strange discomfort curling quietly inside you.

The leggings in the drawer were folded just the way you liked, another quiet gesture of care that under normal circumstances might have comforted you. But instead, the ache in your chest only tightened, as if something restless was clawing its way up from beneath your ribs. 

You couldn’t make sense of it. There was no obvious trigger, no sharp spike of anger or deep well of sadness to explain the heaviness pressing against your skin. It was as if your very shape had shifted overnight, leaving you feeling oddly out of place in your own body.

You told yourself over and over again, I’m just tired. Last night was a lot. I’m fine. But the more you tried to steady yourself, the more it slipped through your fingers. That raw, splintering weight in your chest refused to be soothed; it dug in deeper, persistent and unyielding, though you couldn’t name it or understand what it was. It clung to you with a quiet ache, an unseen weight you carried alone.

Still, you forced yourself to keep moving. Once you were ready, Natasha drove you to college, well, as close as she could without attracting too much attention. Her goodbye was quick but familiar, a soft kiss pressed to your cheek, her lips brushing your skin as she murmured with a teasing wink, “You better behave today.” 

You nodded, offering a quiet promise to see her later before slipping out of the car into the cool morning air. You walked quickly, hugging your coat a little tighter around yourself, relieved to have a few minutes alone. 

When you reached your dorm, the silence inside was a small mercy. Kate was nowhere to be seen, and you were grateful; you didn’t have the energy to explain anything, not even the good parts of last night. You just needed your bag, your routine, something simple and familiar to hold onto.

—

The morning sunlight spilled through the lecture hall windows in gentle streaks, golden and indifferent, casting lazy shadows that slid across the scuffed floor as time ambled forward. Somewhere to your left, the professor’s voice began its rhythm, rising and dipping in slow, meaningless waves. 

You reached for your pen to take notes, but your fingers fumbled with it, clumsy and slow, like your hands had forgotten how to follow through. Your movements felt dulled, as if someone had turned down the sharpness of your reflexes, muffling everything. 

The words on the page blurred slightly when you blinked, your lashes heavy, reluctant to lift again. I'm just tired, you told yourself again. You probably needed some caffeine, or maybe just time, time to settle, to find the rhythm of the day.

As time passed, the room began to sharpen around the edges, not in focus, but in pressure. Your jumper felt too heavy, the collar stiff against your neck, the sleeves too close against your skin. Heat prickled at the base of your spine, rose into your cheeks without cause or warning. 

You shifted, searching for ease, but none came. The scrape of chairs, the rustle of papers, the low whine of the fluorescent lights overhead, all of it crowded in, a thousand small things that stacked and scraped and pressed until the noise became sensation. 

You tried not to flinch when someone near you coughed. Tried not to curl further in on yourself when a chair dragged across the floor too fast.

The unease sank further into you, curling tight and unfamiliar, a pressure blooming in your chest, not quite panic, but brushing dangerously close. At some point, the air had turned thinner, harder to pull in, and your body had gone stiff without you realising, like it was bracing for something. 

Everything felt off-kilter; your skin didn’t feel like yours, your clothes hung wrong, and the world itself seemed just slightly out of alignment.

You didn't move when the lecture ended. The room emptied around you, footsteps echoing strangely in your ears, and still you sat there, staring at nothing, wondering why you couldn’t remember what the last hour had been about. 

When your body finally kicked into action, you stood too quickly, and the world wavered, edges pulsing, colours bending into something briefly unnatural. The floor seemed to tilt beneath you, a slow, sickening sway, and you barely managed to catch the edge of the desk, fingers tightening around it to keep from losing your balance. 

Your heart hammered wildly, thudding against your ribs in a rhythm that didn’t feel quite your own. Okay… so maybe not just tired. Maybe it’s a cold, you told yourself, grasping for logic, for something simple. Maybe I'm just getting sick, that would make sense. That would explain this.

Somewhere deep inside, instinct stirred, the quiet, aching urge to call Natasha. Not to follow protocol, not to report an issue like the rules said you should, but for something far softer, far more vulnerable. 

You didn’t want to inform her; you just wanted her. You wanted to hear her voice, to feel the warmth of it steadying you. She was nearby, right here on campus. You could reach her if you really needed to, and god, you did. 

You needed her to comfort you, to tell you everything was alright. You wanted her to call Wanda without you having to say a word, wanted them both to take you home. You wanted soft arms around you, a warm blanket cocooning your body, and Wanda’s quiet humming in your ear while you fell asleep safe in her arms.

But that, more than anything, unsettled you. You weren’t someone who asked for comfort, not when sick. Illness was something you handled silently, something you survived without complaint. That had always been the rule back home: don’t exaggerate, don’t draw attention. Comfort was for people who deserved it, and you never had.

So you buried the thought, forced it into the same corner as all the other things you weren’t supposed to need, and told yourself it was nothing. You adjusted your bag, pulled yourself into something that resembled upright, and stepped outside like the sun wasn’t too sharp, like the air didn’t scrape at your lungs with every inhale.

The walk between buildings felt longer than it should’ve. The path was the same, but your legs dragged as if the ground had turned to wet cement beneath your shoes. You thought the breeze might revive you, shake loose the strange weight pressing down on your spine, but it only made you more aware of how brittle everything had become. 

By the time you reached your next class, you were functioning only by momentum. You dropped into your seat, the motion more collapse than choice, and gave up any pretext of pretending. Your clothes clung wrong, your muscles ached with a fatigue that felt cellular. The background noise of the room blurred into something dull and faraway. It didn’t matter what was being said. You no longer had the room in your head to hold it.

You sat still, anchored only by the pressure of your hands against the desk. The fog in your mind was no longer something creeping; it had taken root, tangled around your thoughts until even the simplest idea felt unreachable. 

You couldn’t remember what it was to feel alert, to feel solid. You just clung to the idea of staying upright, of not giving in to the trembling that had begun to hum quietly under your skin.

And then it was over. Or maybe it wasn’t. You couldn’t tell. You stood at some point. Left, somehow. The world passed in a series of fragmented impressions, faces without meaning, voices without direction. 

Even though you already knew your timetable by heart, you checked your phone again, hoping, begging that something had been cancelled. But no. Everything was still on. Three more classes. The weight of it made your stomach twist sharply, nausea rising as panic slid in behind it. What is wrong with me? The question echoed, sharp and useless. 

Still, your feet kept moving on autopilot, and somehow, without ever really deciding to, you ended up back at your dorm. You’d meant to go to class, you were sure of that, but the moment you pushed open the door and stepped inside, you knew there was no way you were going back out. 

The dorm was quiet when you stepped inside. Kate must still have been in class, and the relief that hit was swift and biting. You hadn’t even noticed how much you’d been dreading the thought of her seeing you like this: fragile, frayed at the edges, barely holding yourself together.

Logic whispered that Kate wouldn’t judge, that she’d probably fuss over you, maybe fuss too much, but care nonetheless. Yet the weight in your chest laughed in the face of reason, already convincing you that you’d look pathetic, like a burden crumbling over nothing at all.

With a sudden, decisive tug, you yanked the curtains shut, cutting the room off from the world in one swift motion before collapsing onto the bed. The covers came up over you like armour, a barrier between you and everything that waited outside those four fragile walls.

Sleep came quickly, if it was truly sleep at all, or perhaps you just slipped into darkness, shut down for a while, but the stillness didn’t bring the usual balm. When you stirred, blinking into the dim, hushed room, the tightness in your chest had deepened, a slow constriction like ice wrapping itself tighter with every breath.

You hated this feeling; you longed for nothing more than to drift back beneath the covers and disappear from the sickness clawing at you. But beneath that desire, something colder had seeped in, darker and more relentless. Your mind was now turning against you, too.

Your thoughts spiralled back to last night, dragging you under again, the deliberate breaking of rules, the provocations, the bratty behaviour until Natasha’s anger had spilled over in the dark park. Wanda’s tired, worried face flickered in your mind, disappointment heavy in her eyes.

And then the cruellest truth wormed inside, twisting tighter than any lash: you hadn’t simply broken a rule. You’d manipulated her, pushed her too far, until Natasha had no choice but to act. You’d dragged both of them from their sleep, selfish enough to demand proof you were wanted, unwilling to wait for dawn, playing the awful part you’d always feared you were.

You folded in tighter, pressing your hands to your stomach as if you could still the relentless churn inside you. Nausea roiled like a storm, and the dull ache beneath your skin flared sharper, the memory of Natasha’s lashes now a vivid burn, her voice echoing: “Good. Then you’ll spend the day remembering what you did wrong.” Because you had done wrong, you had forced her into a moment she wasn’t ready for, something she hadn’t wanted. 

Lying beneath the covers, the weight of those words pressed heavier than any bruise or welt. Your body trembled, not just from exhaustion or pain, but from something deeper, something unravelling your very core. The tightness in your chest tightened further, constricting your breath until only shallow gasps escaped. 

Tears welled suddenly, blurring your vision, warm and unbidden as they traced slow paths down your cheeks. You tried to blink them away, to steady yourself, but the sobs slipped out anyway, soft, broken, shaking the stillness around you. Each breath caught in your throat was a silent plea for forgiveness, for relief, for anything that might quiet the gnawing ache inside.

Your muscles pulsed with aching tightness, a dull throb beneath your skin spreading in waves, relentless and insistent. The nausea returned with fresh force, twisting deep within your belly until your stomach clenched hard. You curled tighter, clutching the sheets, desperate to hold onto something solid, anything that might stop you from slipping entirely into the void.

—

Time slipped away from you like sand through trembling fingers, the hours unravelling into an indistinct blur as you lay motionless, eyes closed, breath shallow and uneven, tears silently soaking into the pillow beneath your cheek. 

The dorm room felt dim and oppressively still, every sound from the outside world muffled as if filtered through a thick fog that dulled your senses, making everything beyond your small bed seem distant and unreal. 

You barely registered the soft click of the door unlocking, only truly noticing when the harsh overhead light flicked on suddenly, stabbing through your closed eyelids like a sharp blade of cold. 

A pained groan escaped your lips as you flinched, jerking the blanket over your head in a futile attempt to shut out the brightness and the weight of the world pressing down on you.

“Uh… what are you doing here?” Kate’s voice was light but edged with surprise, her footsteps careful as they crossed the room. 

You said nothing, only letting out another low, ragged sound, curling inward on yourself, hoping she might take the hint and leave it be.

The mattress shifted beneath her as she sat beside you, and a moment later, you felt the blanket being gently tugged down, exposing your face to the dim glow of the lamp. When you didn’t resist, she chuckled softly, amusement still lacing her voice. “Are you sick?” she teased lightly, her tone affectionate, likely thinking you were just being melodramatic.

But the playful smile faded instantly when her eyes locked on your face. Her brow furrowed deeply, lips parting just slightly, voice dropping into a softer, uncertain tone. “Wait… have you been crying?”

You blinked slowly, lashes heavy and wet, your throat too tight and raw to form words, too exhausted to lie. Silence hung heavy between you, and your quietness spoke volumes.

Kate leaned in a little closer, her expression morphing from confusion to genuine concern. “What happened?” she asked gently.

You turned your head away, burying your face deeper into the pillow as if you could hide the truth in its fabric. She waited patiently, but when you remained silent, her voice grew sharper, quieter, but with an unmistakable edge. “Did things go badly last night? Did they… hurt you?” Her words were deliberate and careful. “I mean really hurt you, not in the good way.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, the sound broken and brittle. “No,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “It was good. I got what I wanted.”

Kate’s brow creased further, puzzled now. “Then… what’s wrong?”

“I think I’m just coming down with something,” you mumbled, the words barely convincing even to yourself. All you really knew was that you felt awful, heavy and off, with no clear reason why. “I’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

She studied you carefully, concern deepening in her eyes. “What kind of sick? I can get you medicine or something.”

You let out a tired sigh, the words dragging from your throat with effort. “The usual stuff. Achy, wiped out, nauseous… just really, really tired.” You hated how weak and pitiful it sounded, even to your own ears. “But it’s nothing serious. I���m not trying to complain.”

She took a measured breath, her voice soft but edged with pointed concern. “Okay… but then why are you here? You’re supposed to be with them today, aren’t you? They should be taking care of you.”

Panic bloomed in your chest, sharp and sudden. Your eyes snapped open, heart hammering as the realisation hit you hard. “Shit,” you breathed, pushing yourself up just a little, weak but urgent. “I forgot. I just… I needed to sleep.”

Kate blinked, alarm clear in her gaze. “Wait, you didn’t tell them you weren’t going?” 

You barely managed a shake of your head, the weight of guilt settling thick and suffocating in your belly, as if it had been poured in like liquid metal, slow, scorching, and impossible to shift.

She leaned forward, brows furrowing in frustration and worry. “You need to call them. They’re probably worried sick.”

Even thinking about it twisted your stomach in knots.. “Don’t wanna,” you muttered, the words barely a whisper, raw with unspoken tears.

Kate’s eyes widened at the brittle crack in your voice; the reality of your fragility hit her like a slap. Without a word, she reached over and picked up your phone from the bedside table. Her fingers moved with quiet confidence; of course, she knew your passcode. 

But her expression shifted the moment the screen lit up. Her brow creased in concern as she scrolled through the flood: unread texts, missed calls, alerts stacking one after another. She stared at it for a second, then glanced over at you, the screen still glowing in her hand. “Shit. They’ve been trying to get in touch with you all afternoon.”

You groaned, shoving your face deeper into the pillow as shame surged hot and biting. You’d silenced your phone during class and never turned it back on. Tossed it aside like it meant nothing, let yourself drift into this thick, numb fog, too tired, too overwhelmed, and now it was just another weight on your chest. First selfish. Now ignorant. Of course you’d messed it up again.

The tears came suddenly, without ceremony, hot and clumsy as they slid down your cheeks. You curled in tighter, voice cracking open like a wound. “I’m such a fucking asshole,” you choked, barely managing the words through the sobs. “I don’t deserve them. I don’t deserve any of it. I—”

“Hey. No. Stop that.” Kate’s voice sliced cleanly through the spiral, firmer now, anchored and calm. Not harsh, but grounded enough to pull you back a step from the edge. She placed your phone back on the table with a soft clunk and leaned back, her eyes steady on you, assessing without judgment. 

For a long moment, she stayed silent, just studying you, her eyes narrowing slightly as the pieces clicked into place. She had far more experience in this world than you did, and the signs were all too familiar. 

Eventually, she let out a quiet, knowing breath and murmured, “Okay… I think I’ve figured out what’s going on.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just kept breathing like each inhale cost you something.

“I think you’re crashing,” she said gently. “Emotionally. Physically. It’s called a sub drop.”

You blinked. “A what?”

“A sub drop,” she repeated, keeping her voice soft but sure. “During scenes, your brain gets flooded with all these chemicals, and then sometimes, once it settles, your system just… drops. You feel cold, sick, exhausted, guilty, and overwhelmed. Sound familiar?”

You stared at her like she was speaking another language. “No. That’s not what this is. I’m just… tired. And sick. And I hate myself because I should.”

Kate didn’t look away. “No. Your system’s just trying to recalibrate. But while it’s doing that, it can twist things. Make you believe things that barely even make sense rationally.”

You trembled, a fresh tear sliding free before you could stop it. “It’s not in my head,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I messed up. I pushed her into something she didn’t want.”

Kate tilted her head slightly, frowning like you’d said something backwards. “She made a choice,” she said, quiet but firm. “You didn’t make her do anything. She knows her own limits; if she did something, it's because she wanted to.”

You shook your head, lips trembling. “Still doesn’t feel right. I feel like I took advantage.”

“I get that,” she murmured. “And yeah, maybe there’s stuff you’ll want to reflect on with her. But that voice in your head right now? That’s not the truth. That’s the drop talking.”

You didn’t speak. Just buried your face deeper in the pillow, trying to disappear under the weight of it all.

Kate shifted closer again, her hand rubbing slow, grounding circles between your shoulder blades. “This is a classic drop,” she said quietly. “The exhaustion. The shame spiral. The physical crash. You’re not the first to go through it, and you definitely won’t be the last.”

You let out a low, miserable sound. “So, how do I fix it? I feel disgusting. I hate this.”

“You don’t fix it on your own,” she said, warm but honest. “I can remind you that you’re not a bad person, that you are wanted, but I’m not them. They’re the ones in this dynamic with you. You need to let them in.”

Your voice came out like smoke. “I don’t know how to face them. They deserve someone better. A better sub. Someone who doesn’t ruin everything.”

Kate sighed softly, brushing a few damp strands of hair from your forehead. “They’ve been calling all day. That’s not what people do when they want someone else. That’s what people do when they care.”

You sniffled, barely audible. “I’ll be fine tomorrow, just need to sleep. The idea of hearing their voices right now? No thanks.”

Kate let out a dry, sympathetic huff. “Yeah? You think sleeping this off is gonna magically clear the fog? Babe… no.” She stood, scooping your phone up with that same quiet resolve. “I’m calling them.”

You jolted upright, eyes wide. “Kate—”

“Nope,” she interrupted, brisk but kind, eyes meeting yours without flinching. “You need them. That’s part of this dynamic, part of their role. You have to let them help.”

You dropped back into the bed with a helpless groan, but you didn’t stop her. You were too tired. And maybe… just maybe… some part of you wanted to believe she was right. That this didn’t mean the end. That somehow, this could still be okay.

—

As Kate scrolled through your phone, her thumb hovered over the screen, lingering on each message just long enough to read the tone beneath the words. It didn’t take her long to decide who to call. One of them had sent sharp, curt messages: clipped texts that started soft but had begun edging into tight, irritable lines, like she was trying not to show her frustration but couldn’t quite hold it back. 

The other person had an entirely different attitude. There were more messages, for one, far more frequent check-ins and gentle nudges, but it was the tone that did it. Every word radiated warmth, concern. Have you eaten, sweetheart? Where are you? Please just let us know you’re safe. Please, baby. Speak to me? I miss you…

She already knew who you were closer to. But this… this confirmed it. And to be honest, Kate needed that softness, too. She was scared herself. Her thumb hovered above the call button for a second longer than it should have. 

She swallowed. Her chest felt tight. She didn’t know this woman, either of them, but she was stepping into something intimate now, something private and deeply personal. And she wasn’t sure if it was okay, if she was crossing some invisible line.

But then she looked at you again, tucked in on yourself like your own bones were a cage, breathing shallow, eyes glassy and far away, and she knew it didn’t matter. Her discomfort wasn’t the point.

She hit call, and the dial tone barely had time to pulse twice before the line connected, and then a voice burst through, sharp with panic and almost tearful with relief. “Malyshka! (Little One!) Where have you been? You missed your classes, you didn’t come home, we’ve been trying to reach you all day!”

Kate went still. Her stomach flipped. The voice, there was something about it. Not just the accent, though the Eastern European cadence was distinct. It was the rich, almost melodic warmth under the fear. She knew that voice. She was sure of it. But she shoved the thought aside.

“Uh… hi,” she managed, clearing her throat and sitting up straighter as if that might help her sound older, steadier. “I’m her roommate. Kate.”

A pause, brief but heavy. Then the voice returned, quieter now, more cautious. “Kate,” the woman repeated. “She’s told us about you… Where is she? Is she okay?”

“She’s not okay,” Kate said gently. “She’s in a sub drop, it’s bad. I thought someone should know.”

There was a muttered curse in the background, sharp and low, clearly another voice. Someone calmer, more controlled. Then the first woman again, voice muffled now, like she’d turned her head to speak away from the phone. “I knew it. I knew she wasn’t right this morning.”

The calmer voice responded, firm and grounded. “Okay. Follow the plan. We’re going to get her.”

Then the phone was passed, and the new voice took over, measured, level, all business. “Hello. We’re coming to pick her up. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Kate’s entire body locked up. Now that voice wasn't just familiar; she knew it. Her jaw dropped slightly, and for a long beat, she just sat there, stunned, her mind racing to keep up with the impossible realisation.

No. No fucking way.

But there was no mistaking it. Kate’s mouth opened, but the questions caught in her throat before they could form, burning there, unspoken. Because if she was right, then that meant… well, that meant she was going to have to talk to Yelena. And soon.

Still, her voice stayed steady. “Okay.” Then the call ended.

She held the phone in her lap, staring down at the darkened screen like it might blink back with answers. The silence rang in her ears. Her heart was hammering now, not just from nerves but from the sheer implication of what had just happened. She didn’t move until the weight of the room pulled her attention back to the present, and to you.

The moment she’d said they were coming, something in you had gone taut. Locked. Like your whole body had braced for a storm.

Kate turned back to the bed and approached slowly, her steps careful, her movements gentle. She sank onto the mattress beside you again, her hand found your back, and resumed its slow, soothing motion, circling steadily like she was drawing you back from wherever your mind had gone.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, voice a low murmur, “You’re safe. They just want to help you. You’re not in trouble, I promise. You’re just hurting, and they’re coming to take care of you.”

You shook your head hard, eyes squeezed shut, lips trembling. The sob hit your throat like a physical thing, and your voice cracked open around it. “This is just going to make everything worse,” you choked out. “You’re going to see who they are, and that’s another rule I’ve broken. They’re going to hate me, Kate. They’re going to leave me.”

Kate froze. Her hand stilled on your back. She looked at you then, truly looked, her expression open and stricken and utterly unsure. “Hey…” she said quietly. “I mean… I don’t think they’d react that way. But if it helps, I can leave before they get here? I won’t lie, I don’t want to. But if that makes it easier, I’ll go. I don’t want to be the reason this is harder.”

You shook your head again, fresh panic rising. “I… I don’t want to be alone. Not yet. Just until they’re close, okay? But please, don’t be here when they arrive. I can’t…”

Kate blinked, and something in her softened even further. “That’s okay,” she said, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like, leaving her own room late at night wasn’t a big deal if it meant making you feel safer. “Anything you need, I’ve got you.”

So she stayed. For ten more minutes, she sat beside you and rubbed your back in slow, patient circles, murmuring soft comfort whenever your breathing stuttered. Her presence didn’t fix it, but it anchored you. Held you just enough to keep you from breaking apart entirely.

And when the time came, she left. She slipped out with the same care she’d shown all evening. But just before she did, she paused in the doorway, her hand on the frame, and looked back one last time. Her eyes lingered on you like she didn’t want to leave.

You didn’t look up, but you felt it. And even through the fog and the fear, you tucked it away. You held onto that warmth like a lifeline, a flicker of something kind and undeserved and real.

And you made yourself a quiet promise. You’d do something for her. Something kind. You didn’t know what yet. But you would make this up to her. Somehow.

—

They arrived five minutes after Kate had gone, the door left ajar just as she’d promised. A soft knock announced them, but they didn’t wait for a reply; they slipped inside silently, hoods up, scarves pulled high over their faces. 

They looked like they were about to rob a bank, not rescue their girlfriend, and the sight of them, so cautious, so deliberate, hit you like a punch to the chest.

That was when the guilt surged again, sharp and blinding. Natasha had no business being anywhere near this building, let alone stepping into a student dorm, and the weight of what it would mean if anyone saw her, if anyone recognised her, made your stomach twist. The fear wasn't just for yourself; it was for her career, her reputation.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, voice trembling, throat raw from crying. It was barely more than a whisper, but it shattered the quiet between you. 

Wanda was on you in an instant, arms wrapping around your crumpled form as if she could hold you together by sheer force of will. She lowered herself onto the bed, cradling you in her lap like something fragile, something she was terrified might break if she moved too fast.

“Oh, Malyshka (Little One)...” She breathed, her voice cracking around the words. She rocked you slowly, like you were a child, as your body curled inwards with a wounded whine.

Natasha hovered nearby, her movements more tentative. She didn’t reach for you immediately, didn’t force her presence into the tender space Wanda had carved out, but the turmoil on her face was impossible to miss. 

She looked like she was fighting something in herself; the desire to help, the uncertainty of her role here, the understanding that you might not want her just now, not after last night.

But she made her choice quietly, steadily. “Pass her to me, moya lyubov' (my love),” she said, her voice soft and gentle, as she held out her arms. 

Wanda didn’t hesitate. She shifted her hold on you, murmuring reassurances even as you let out a soft noise of protest at being moved again. But the second Natasha had you in her strong, steady arms, you felt something inside loosen. You curled against her instinctively, cheek pressed to her chest, drawing in the familiar scent of something that was uniquely her.

“We’re going to take you home, Printsessa (Princess),” she murmured against your hair, kissing your crown like a vow. “We’ll get you through this. I promise.”

While you clung to her, trembling and numb, Wanda moved with quiet efficiency around the room. She packed anything you might not have at their place, things that couldn’t be bought, but would be needed for a weekend of recovery, because that was her plan. 

You weren’t going anywhere until you were okay again, and she was already making sure you’d have everything you might reach for in a moment of panic, if one were to come.

When she finished, she turned to Natasha with a nod. “Let me check the corridor first.”

Natasha dipped her chin in approval and stayed still, holding you carefully, protectively, while Wanda crept to the door. She peeked out like a little scout, glancing left, then right, her body language more comical than covert. 

Any other day, the sight of her doing her best impression of a cartoon meerkat would’ve made you giggle. But you couldn’t even muster a smile.

“All clear,” Wanda said softly, beckoning you both with a quick flick of her fingers. The journey to the car felt like a covert operation. Wanda moved ahead at each hallway junction, checking for witnesses, signalling Natasha forward only when it was safe. 

Natasha carried you the entire way, her arms never faltering, her grip never loosening, not even when you twitched or whimpered or flinched from the pain in your body. Her heart thudded beneath your ear like a steady drumbeat, one of the only things still keeping you tethered to the moment.

By the time you reached the car, your head was spinning. Natasha gently eased you into the back seat, buckling your belt with slow, practised hands, then brushing her knuckles against your cheek. Wanda climbed in beside you, immediately pulling you close again, her hands smoothing over your hair, her lips pressing soft kisses to your temple.

Natasha settled into the driver’s seat, casting one last look at you through the rearview mirror. Her eyes met yours, and something passed between you, grief, guilt, something heavier than any words. Then she turned the key, and the car hummed to life.

They were taking you home. They were taking care of you. Even if you didn’t feel like you deserved it.

—

When you finally got into the house, you didn’t even notice being set down; one moment there were arms around you, and the next, you were standing in the centre of the room like you were frozen in place, like even gravity wasn’t quite sure what to do with you.

Wanda approached first, her footsteps were feather-light across the floor, her presence a warm echo rather than a demand. She reached out with one hand, her fingers grazing the crook of your elbow in the lightest touch, as if she were asking for permission through skin alone. 

“Sweetheart,” she murmured, and her voice was all breath and worry. “Is there something you need right now? Something we can do for you?”

You couldn’t answer, not at first. You just stared at her hand, at the way it rested so delicately against your arm. But all it did was highlight the ache swelling in your chest, sharp and shapeless all at once.

“I don’t know,” you whispered at last, your voice distant, thin, like it didn’t quite belong to you. “I don’t know what I want.”

Wanda only nodded, soft and slow, as she cast a glance toward Natasha, a brief flicker of silent communication between them that spoke volumes. It wasn’t harsh or calculated; it was soft, sure, as if they’d already talked about this moment, planned for it, agreed on how to support you through it. That should have comforted you. 

It should have made you feel safe, held, seen. But instead, it twisted in your chest like a knife.“I shouldn’t be here,” you said suddenly, the words forcing their way out like they had claws.

Natasha moved, her presence quiet and measured as she stopped a few feet in front of you, close enough to feel, not close enough to smother. “Where should you be, then?” she asked, her voice calm, questioning. 

You opened your mouth, trying to find the words, but all that came out was a broken exhale. Your gaze finally lifted to hers, and the moment your eyes met that soft green, something inside you recoiled like it had been caught.

“Not here,” you said again, more forcefully this time. Your voice cracked around the words. “Not with you. I don’t… I don’t deserve to be with you.”

Wanda stepped closer behind you, her hand resting lightly on your back, grounding you without pressure. “You’re exactly where you should be,” she said, her voice steady and gentle.

You shook your head, jaw tightening as you fought to contain the sting rising behind your eyes. “Can I just… can I go to bed, please?” you whispered.

There was a pause. Wanda’s silence wasn’t judgmental, only patient. Then, softly, “Have you eaten?”

You nodded automatically, a knee-jerk lie born of shame, but Wanda didn’t press. She didn’t accuse. She just raised one eyebrow, gentle but expectant, and you felt your chest cave.

Your shoulders curled in tighter. “No,” you admitted, your voice no louder than a breath. “I haven’t. I’m sorry. I know it’s just one more thing I’ve done wrong. One more rule I’ve broken. Another reason to…”

You hesitated, swallowing hard, then forced the rest out like it was something dirty. “Another reason to punish me. That’s fine. You can. Just… not right now, please. I’m sore.”

You said it so softly, almost ashamed of the boundary itself. Like you were half-expecting her to reject it, to remind you that you didn’t get kindness anymore.

Natasha was the one who responded; her voice came faster than expected, sharper with concern than anything else. “You’re sore?” she asked, her brows pulling together as she moved in slowly, like she was trying not to startle you. “Do you want lotion?”

You shook your head. Eyes fixed on the floor. “No. It’s okay. I should be sore. It’s supposed to remind me what I did.” Your throat tightened. “I broke every fucking rule you gave me today. And I—” Your voice cracked again, breath shaking. “I pushed you. I knew I wasn’t enough, and instead of waiting or talking about it, I… I forced you into something you didn't want.”

Your fists clenched at your sides, the guilt boiling over now that the dam had burst. “I manipulated you,” you whispered. “And now I’m the one who’s a wreck about it, like I’m the victim. I don’t deserve your care, or your comfort, or any of this.”

Natasha’s face twisted, like she was devastated by your words. She didn’t step back this time. Instead, she reached for you, arms slow and open, as though offering the embrace before assuming she was allowed to give it. “Oh, milaya devochka (sweet girl),” she breathed, and her voice was full of something that made your whole chest ache.

You didn’t resist when she pulled you into her arms. You just stood there, stiff and hollow, until her warmth reached you like sunlight filtering through cold glass. Then your body sagged, breath trembling as you melted into her, against every part of you that still thought you shouldn’t.

“Your head is being so cruel to you right now,” she murmured into your hair, her voice low, heartbreakingly steady. “Telling you stories that just aren’t true. You didn’t force me into anything.”

You shook your head against her shoulder, still clinging to the guilt, but her arms only tightened.

“We could’ve talked more. That’s true,” she said, her tone measured, not avoiding the truth but not wielding it like a weapon either. “You reached for me, and I let you. I was right there with you. I wanted it. I wanted you. And you were perfect. You gave us so much. Last night wasn’t a mistake. It was beautiful. You were so good for us.”

Her hand moved slowly over your spine, soothing and repetitive, like she was trying to remind your body what safety felt like. You were trembling still, barely holding yourself upright beneath the storm in your chest.

“I hurt you,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “I made you angry... I was so bad. I don’t understand why you’re being kind to me now.” Your mind was screaming that this was some kind of trap, a slow game before the inevitable fallout.

Natasha drew in a slow, steady breath before gently pulling back just enough to lift your chin with two fingers, guiding your eyes to meet hers. Her gaze held nothing but softness, quiet, patient understanding that settled deep in your chest. “I’m being kind because you deserve it. You took your punishment, didn’t you?” she murmured, voice low and steady.

You nodded, your voice barely more than a whisper, “But—” 

“No buts,” she interrupted firmly, her eyes locking onto yours with quiet strength. “You took your punishment, and you are forgiven. That’s the whole point.” She paused, letting the words settle, before continuing, “I’m holding nothing against you.”

Her thumbs glided gently over your cheeks, tenderly wiping away the tears that left quiet trails down your skin. The warmth of her touch settled deep inside you, soothing the ache in your heart. 

“It’s time to stop holding this against yourself, okay?” Her voice softened, rich with gentle compassion. “Please, let us take care of you. I know you feel like you don’t deserve it, but we want to. We choose to.” She leaned in closer, her eyes steady and unwavering. “No matter what your mind tries to tell you, you are still ours. Our good girl. Our malyshka.”

And that was what undid you. The words didn’t just break through your walls; they slipped into the cracks already there, blooming in the hollow space where shame had lived. 

The tears came harder, falling in helpless waves as your body melted against hers, your arms clinging around her middle like the only thing keeping you upright was the feel of her heartbeat against your cheek.

Wanda’s presence slipped in behind you, seamless and warm, her arms circling your waist as she pressed her body flush to your back. Her head tucked against your shoulder, and suddenly you were cradled between them, wrapped in soft voices and steady arms, held like something fragile and precious, like they’d never let you fall again.

They held you like they’d been waiting to do it all day. Held you like they needed it too. Like losing you, even to your own shame, was not an option they’d ever allow.

You’d lost track of time in their arms, the world outside narrowing to the steady rise and fall of their breathing and the quiet warmth of their hands on your skin. Nothing was asked of you, not even words. 

They just held you, swaying gently between silence and soft, grounding murmurs, and somewhere in the stillness, your breathing began to match theirs. The fog didn’t vanish, not completely, but it shifted, softened; no longer a weight dragging you down, just a haze you could float in without fear of drowning.

By the time you spoke, the words came instinctively, tucked beneath the safety they’d built around you, as natural as breathing. You didn’t even register the title until after it was out. “Daddy… can I have some lotion, please?”

Natasha’s breath caught just slightly, and she smiled. Not teasing, not smug, just soft and full of something that looked a lot like love. “Of course you can, Little One,” she said gently, already pulling back enough to get moving.

Wanda pressed a kiss to your cheek before letting go. “I’m going to make something for you to eat, okay? Nothing too heavy, I promise.” You nodded, unable to speak, but the look you gave her was enough, and she kissed your forehead one more time before disappearing into the kitchen.

Natasha guided you with her hand at the small of your back, not possessive, just there, anchoring you. Once upstairs, she helped you undress without a word. When she laid you out on the bed, her touch was reverent, as if handling something sacred.

The lotion was warm when it touched your skin, warmed by her hands first, her fingers spreading it carefully over each mark, over each welt and bruise with a tenderness that made your chest ache more than the pain ever had. 

She took her time, tracing the outline of every lash, checking for broken skin, for anything needing more care. She didn’t speak of what had happened between you. Instead, her voice flowed around you like a current, telling you bits of her day.

There was something about a girl in her seminar who kept interrupting, a passing thought about a book she’d started rereading, an annoyed comment about a faculty meeting that definitely could’ve been an email. 

You barely tracked the words, but that wasn’t the point. She wasn’t speaking to distract you or draw you out. She was simply there, weaving her voice softly into the space around you, like a blanket draped over something raw. 

She filled the quiet not to chase it away, but to keep it safe, to make it gentle. Her presence, her tone, every quiet murmur was a steady refusal to let you slip back into shame for needing her care.

And it worked. The guilt didn’t vanish, not completely, but it quieted, pushed further away by the rhythm of her hands, the warmth of her voice, and the way she kept looking at you like none of this had changed a thing. Like she still wanted you. Like you were still hers.

Eventually, Wanda returned, carrying a plate with some sandwiches and a little spread of fruit, nothing overwhelming. Natasha had just helped you into one of her baggy shirts, soft cotton, worn-in, oversized enough to make you feel hidden.

When Wanda placed the plate carefully on the bed and climbed up beside you, she opened her arms with a soft, “Come on. Daddy got her time with you; let me hold you now, hm?” But her voice was light and coaxing, but not commanding, giving you the option to choose.

You didn’t hesitate. Between Natasha’s care and her words, the haze was settling in again, but not the panicked kind; this one was warm, familiar, the kind you could sink into without fear. The kind that quieted your thoughts and left only them behind. 

You crawled forward on your knees, settling between her legs with your back against her chest, her arms wrapping around you. She tucked her chin into your shoulder, and you felt her sigh into your skin like being close to you eased something in her, too.

But Natasha didn’t drift away. She sat beside you both and picked up a sandwich, breaking off small pieces with deft fingers, holding each bite up to your lips like it was the most natural thing in the world.

This should have been embarrassing. You think it would have been, on any other day. But right now, it was everything. You needed this, needed the gentle dominance, the quiet authority wrapped in care. 

You needed them to show you, not just say, that you were still theirs. Still wanted. Still worth caring for. Of course their Little One needed feeding after a long, hard day. And of course, Daddy would tend to her, bite by bite, while Mommy wrapped her arms around you from behind, holding you steady through the storm.

You took each bite slowly, letting the flavour settle on your tongue. And every time you chewed, every time you swallowed, Wanda murmured soft praise in your ear, kissing your cheek, your temple, her hands stroking lightly up and down your arms as if her touch could soothe every raw edge inside you.

You drifted deeper, but you weren’t breaking anymore; you were floating. Held in warmth and softness, your head felt light, your limbs loose and languid, your breathing slow and steady. 

The haze curled around you like a blanket, quiet and gentle, and you let yourself surrender to it without fear. One of your hands slipped out, reaching blindly for Natasha, asking, wordlessly, for her too.

She didn’t hesitate. The empty plate was set quietly on the bedside table, and then she was there, curling up beside Wanda and pressing close, her fingers lacing with yours while her other hand began stroking slow, soothing lines along your leg. 

You sighed, utterly content, your body melting between them, a soft smile playing on your lips that you didn’t even realise was there until Wanda brushed her nose against your cheek.

“That’s it, sweetheart… good girl,” she whispered, her voice low and full of pride. “Just let us take care of you.”

Their warmth surrounded you completely, and somewhere beneath the safety of it all, Natasha and Wanda began to talk. Their voices were low, not secretive, just quiet so they wouldn’t disturb you, and for a while, you let the words wash over you, barely registering the conversation, until something shifted, and you tuned in.

“See, Nat,” Wanda said, her tone laced with something knowing and just a little smug. “Told you you could do this.”

Natasha let out a small, disbelieving chuckle. “It’s somehow easy with her. I don’t know why…”

That made your brow crease faintly, your head turning just enough to look up at her. “What is?” you asked softly, the haze slowing your words, making them gentle and curious.

Natasha reached over without missing a beat, tracing her thumb over the small furrow in your brow to smooth it away. “I didn’t think I’d be able to support you through this,” she admitted quietly. “That I wouldn’t be soft enough… or kind enough. I was talking to Wanda in the car, even suggested not coming up to the dorm. Letting her be the one to take care of you.”

Your heart gave a soft, startled jolt. “What… what made you change your mind?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, touched with the same vulnerability she’d just shown you.

“Wanda,” Natasha said, glancing over at her with something raw in her eyes. “She talked sense into me. She told me you were already dropping, and that if I wasn’t there, you’d see it as rejection.” She paused. “And I couldn’t… I couldn’t have that. Not when you needed me.”

You gave her a sleepy smile, the kind that came from your chest more than your lips. “I did. I needed you, too, Daddy.”

Her hand squeezed yours, and you felt it, the breath she caught in her throat, the emotion tightening her grip, the way her thumb stopped stroking your knuckles for just a second, like she was holding back something fragile.

Wanda’s voice returned, quiet but firm, like she was grounding the both of you. “You need to trust yourself, Nat. You are soft. You are kind and compassionate. If you weren’t…” She paused deliberately, her eyes catching Natasha’s with that familiar, pointed look, “we wouldn’t be married.”

Natasha let out a rough little laugh, clearly deflecting. “And here I thought it was because I give you great orgasms.”

“That too,” Wanda replied, a grin slipping into her tone, light and affectionate as your breath caught at the thought. 

Then, with a wicked glint in her eye, she turned her attention back to you and wiggled her fingers against your ribs. 

You let out a breathy, startled giggle, the sound slipping out before you could catch it, your body squirming instinctively against Wanda’s hold, but you didn’t pull away, not even a little. You stayed nestled in her arms, entirely hers, even as she grinned down at you with a teasing lilt.

“Little One agrees too,” she murmured, smirking as her fingers paused just shy of tickling again.

A soft whimper left your lips, muffled as you buried your face into the curve of her neck, not in protest, but in shy surrender, your cheeks warming, not just from her teasing, but from the rush of thoughts their words had stirred loose. 

Your mind drifted, too easily, to the two of them together. The way they touched you, the way they pulled you apart with such confidence and care, their voices in your ears, their hands on your skin… and then the thought twisted, deepened, what did they look like when they touched each other?

Your breath caught, lashes fluttering closed, and the image bloomed behind your eyelids. Wanda, beneath Natasha, her confidence melted into gasping pleas, her fingers clutching at the sheets or maybe at Natasha herself. You knew they'd shared that dynamic before, and now, the idea of seeing her so undone, so submissive, sent your pulse skittering.

But then came Natasha. The one who held herself together so tightly, always so measured, so quietly intense. What would she look like, coming undone? Her jaw slack, head tipped back, breath hitching, that perfectly controlled exterior fracturing as pleasure overtook her. 

You hadn’t seen that, not yet. Wanda had came for you, beautifully, her thighs trembling, your name a breathless mantra on her lips as she guided you with her hands in your hair. But Natasha… God.

The thought of it, of witnessing her fall apart, whether by Wanda’s touch or even your own, hit like a tidal wave, thick and consuming. The image unfurled inside you, slow and heavy, heat pooling low in your belly, molten and aching, like you could drown in the sheer want of it.

You whimpered again from the ache that had begun to settle deep in your core, and Wanda heard it. Her lips brushed against your temple, her arms tightening just slightly, possessive and tender all at once.

“What’s the matter, baby?” Wanda murmured, her voice a soft purr against your skin, one hand stroking idly over your stomach now, her fingers tracing slow, soothing shapes that somehow made everything worse, in the best way. 

You shook your head and stayed curled against her, your breath uneven, your body pliant in her arms, but your mind anything but calm. The images kept coming, and you whimpered once more, and Natasha’s hand on your leg stilled. 

“What’s that sound for?” she asked softly, a teasing lilt in her tone but none of the mockery you might have once expected, just affection, interest, that careful thread of dominance that pulled you closer even without touch. 

You shifted a little, turning your face enough to meet Natasha’s eyes briefly before you ducked your head again, cheeks hot, voice small. “Just… thinking about you two,” you whispered, the words nearly lost against her skin.

That made Wanda chuckle quietly, warm and pleased. “Hmm. Were you now?” she purred, her lips brushing your ear, breath making you shiver. “Thinking about what?”

You hesitated, hips twitching just a little without meaning to, and Natasha noticed. Her hand slid higher along your thigh, fingers still light but deliberate now. “Tell us, detka (babe),” she said, “What were you imagining in that pretty head of yours?”

You drew in a trembling breath, your voice so soft it barely formed words. “You… uhm…” You hesitated, swallowed, trying to find the courage to voice it. “You two…I’ve never seen it—” The confession slipped out, cut off, heat flooding your cheeks, blooming in your chest, your entire body flushed with the weight of the image you’d dared to let yourself imagine.

Wanda made a low, approving hum, slow and syrup-sweet, her tone thick with indulgent warmth. “Oh, honey,” she whispered, clearly savouring the crack in your composure, the way you squirmed under the weight of your own imagination. 

“You were picturing us? Me and Daddy…” Her lips brushed your ear, her voice a slow tease. “Was it me beneath her hands, whimpering the way you do when you’re desperate? Or maybe you were imagining Daddy on her back, trembling under my fingers, voice gone, all ragged as she cums for me?”

Your lips parted, but no words came out, just a tiny whine that said more than any sentence could have. Natasha exhaled slowly, her own breath a little uneven now as she whispered, “You really are our perfect little pervert, aren’t you?” 

You nodded slowly, shy but unable to lie, not when they held you like this, when they made the world feel so small and safe. “Yes, Daddy,” you whispered.

Wanda laughed softly, low and pleased, the sound curling around you like warm honey as she pressed another kiss to your cheek. “Good girl,” she purred against your skin, voice rich with affection and something a little darker. “So good. We love knowing what’s going on in that dirty little mind of yours. You want to tell us more?”

Your blush deepened, spreading down your neck. “No…I—” You squirmed, the words tumbling out on a breathy whine, “I wanna see…”

Wanda hummed, the sound almost sympathetic but still firm. “Not today, baby,” she said gently, her arms wrapping around you just a little tighter. “It might stir too much up again, especially if you feel left out.” Her voice was kind, soothing, but final.

“I won’t! I promise I won’t!” you protested with another whine, your thighs squeezing together at the mere thought of seeing them.

Natasha chuckled, her hand still tracing slow, maddening patterns along your thigh, deliberate and knowing. “If you’re a good girl, Printsessa (Princess), we’ll give you your show,” she drawled, her tone a promise. “But not right now.”

You let out a little huff, your bottom lip pushing into a pout. “Fine… but I demand to see you both cum when it happens. I’ve never seen Daddy, it’s only fair.”

That made them both laugh, genuine and warm, and Wanda shook her head. “Demand, hm?” she teased, arching a brow. “Is that what we’re doing now?”

You gave her your most innocent look, wide-eyed and sweet. “Okay… may I request it instead?” you offered, voice soft and sugary, your tone laced with false innocence that didn’t fool either of them.

Wanda’s smile turned indulgent.“You can request anything you like,” she said with a tilt of her head and a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “That’s much better.”

You matched her smirk with one of your own, though yours was softer, shy around the edges. “Then…Can I… request something else in the meantime?” you asked, voice delicate but laced with that familiar yearning.

Wanda arched an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but still cautious. “You can,” she allowed slowly. “Whether you get it or not… well, that’s another story.”

You hesitated only for a moment before you pushed the words out, breathy and small. “Can… one of you please touch me?”

Wanda paused, her gaze flickering over your face as her hand stilled again over your stomach, her fingers curling protectively. “I don’t know, baby,” she murmured, clearly torn. “You’ve already had a hard day… I don’t want to risk tipping you back into the drop, you seem much better now.”

But Natasha’s voice cut in, low and persuasive, a gentle challenge in her tone. “Oh, come on, Wands,” she said, shifting closer behind you. “She’s already subby, look at her. Might as well make her feel good while she’s there, hm?” Her hand found yours again, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

You nodded quickly, hopeful and eager, eyes wide with trust and heat and that soft, pleading look you knew neither of them could resist.

Wanda sighed again, but it wasn’t frustration, it was the sound of yielding, of care wrapped in quiet worry, her breath catching just a little as her hand resumed its slow descent, gliding lightly over your belly with a softness that made your whole body ache.

“Alright,” she conceded. “But you have to promise… if anything feels wrong, even a little bit, you’ll tell us. Anything at all, baby, okay?”

You nodded quickly. “I will, I promise,” you agreed, your body melting beneath her touch, tension ebbing before she’d even reached your thighs.

“Can you remind me how you tell us to stop, sweetheart?” she asked gently, her palm now resting warm and steady against your thigh.

“Traffic lights,” you breathed, your voice trembling with the growing need, “Red and yellow…”

Wanda gave a little hum of approval. “Good girl. And if you lose your voice?”

“Squeezes… or taps,” you managed, barely getting the words out before a soft whimper followed. “Please…”

You knew it had built fast, but even as it surged, there was no fear laced through it, no warning bells or sharp edges. Just need. Just the ache of too much restless energy and nowhere to place it. And as Wanda’s hand moved slowly, tenderly, you didn’t flinch or freeze; you leaned in.

Instinctively, helplessly, like your body already knew she’d catch you. You knew that this wasn’t recklessness, wasn’t you pushing through something fragile or dangerous. This was surrender, pure and full and safe. 

You were grounded, you were held, and all that charged emotion finally had somewhere to land, soft hands, warm voices, the quiet, steady knowing that they would take it from you, ease it from your limbs, guide you gently back down.

Wanda’s fingers moved inward now, slipping just slightly between your thighs, and your breath hitched, more in anticipation than surprise. She paused, waiting for any flicker of discomfort, any pullback, but there was none. 

Still she couldn’t help but check, even now. “Still okay?” she asked softly, her voice a warm tether wrapped gently around your fraying edges, holding you in the moment, anchoring you to something solid and safe.

You nodded, already breathless, your body arching slightly into her touch as you thanked the gods that Natasha had only given you a t-shirt so that Wanda had easy access. “Yes, Mommy… please,” you whispered, the word barely audible but full of need, of trust, of that quiet ache only they could soothe.

Wanda’s fingers slid slowly through your folds, her touch unhurried. “So wet already…” she murmured, her voice thick with warmth and quiet wonder. “Is all this for Mommy and Daddy?”

You nodded without hesitation, head falling back to rest against her shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as the heat in your belly twisted tighter. There was no shame, no flicker of embarrassment, just the steady hum of safety, of knowing you were exactly where you needed to be.

Her arm wrapped securely around your waist, drawing you in close, and her fingers shifted with intention, finding your clit with that same slow, careful attention that always left you breathless. She circled it gently, reading every reaction, every twitch and shift in your hips.

A quiet gasp slipped from your lips as your body started to squirm, tension building quickly beneath her touch. The need for more, for it to be deeper, fuller, was rising fast, impossible to hide. Your hand reached down blindly, fingers brushing her wrist in silent plea, and Wanda only smiled against your skin.

“Shhh, it’s okay… we’ve got you,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple before she used her free hand to tap your thigh. “Open your legs for us, baby?”

You obeyed instinctively, pliant and trusting, and Wanda gently guided your thighs apart, resting them over hers. The new position left you completely open, your legs splayed, your back still pressed tightly to her chest.

You were just catching your breath when you felt Natasha move. She slipped between your open thighs, her hands gliding over your skin. For a moment, you thought she might simply assist, maybe add her fingers to Wanda’s, but then her shoulders eased lower, and your eyes went wide.

“Wait, I…Daddy?” you breathed, shocked and breathless.

She looked up, her expression unguarded, raw in a way that stole the air from your lungs. “Shh… It’s alright, Kotenok (Kitten),” she murmured, brushing a kiss to the inside of your knee. “Daddy just wants a taste, okay?”

You blinked, stunned, not because you didn’t want it, but because it was Natasha. Only yesterday she’d been fucking you like a whore, owning you, breaking you apart with ruthless control, and now, here she was, settling herself between your thighs. A tremor ran through you as her mouth touched your inner thigh, then again, closer this time.

“You’re doing so well,” Wanda murmured against your skin, her voice like warm honey, thick with pride. “So beautiful like this… letting us take care of you.”

You couldn’t find the words, only a soft, breathy whimper as Natasha’s warm breath traced over your wet folds, her fingers sliding slowly up your trembling thighs. “Shitttt,” you gasped, your body twitching under her touch, Wanda’s steady hands holding you firm and keeping you open.

Natasha’s tongue was slow, deliberate, savouring every pass, every whimper she drew from your lips. Like Wanda, she was taking her time, devouring you like something sacred, like you were meant to be worshipped.

Wanda’s voice was still in your ear, soft and steady, a constant anchor amidst the flood of sensation. “That’s it, baby… just let it happen. You’re safe… we’ve got you.”

Natasha moaned softly into you, and the sound made your whole body jolt, your fingers clutching at Wanda’s arm where it held you tight. Every stroke of her tongue, every press of her lips sent heat pulsing through your core, the tension winding tighter and tighter in your belly.

Your hips started to move without thinking, rocking gently into her mouth, and Wanda let out the softest laugh, laced with affection. “Is Daddy making you feel good?” she teased as one hand slid up under the borrowed t-shirt, fingers toying with your nipple, tugging and rolling just enough to have your back arching into her. 

The other kept you steady, cradled tight in her lap, her hold protective but unyielding, making it impossible to escape, not that you ever would. You didn’t want to be anywhere else.

You let out a shaky breath, toes curling, your head falling back against Wanda’s shoulder as the waves of sensation threatened to drown you. “Yes. Please… please don’t stop…”

Wanda’s voice came low and sure, brushing over your skin like velvet. “We won’t, baby… not until you cum for us.” Her words made you shiver, the promise sinking into your bones as her lips found the curve of your neck, kissing slowly and deliberately, the warmth of her breath sending another flush of heat coursing through you.

And then Natasha shifted, her shoulders pressing firmer between your thighs, and her tongue plunged deeper, curling just right, dragging a loud, desperate moan from your throat. Your hips jerked, overwhelmed, but Wanda’s arm was already there, holding you still.

Wanda’s hand, which had been playing with your nipple, slipped confidently between your legs. With Natasha’s mouth now focused on your entrance, Wanda took over your clit, circling it with maddening precision. 

Your lips parted in a shaky moan as your thighs tensed again. Wanda smiled against your cheek, and her fingers pressed just a little harder, coaxing a gasp from you, a high, broken sound that made Natasha hum with satisfaction against you.

“You feel her?” Wanda murmured, her voice slow and honey-warm, like it had been steeped in affection. Her lips brushed your temple as she spoke, every word grounding you even as your body trembled in her lap. “She’s shaking for us, Nat.”

A quiet, breathy laugh hummed against your core, and Natasha’s voice followed, lower, rougher. “I feel everything,” she replied, her lips ghosting over your folds like a prayer. “She’s soaked… So wet. Fuck, she’s so soft. So warm.” Her voice dropped further, heat curling through every syllable. “I can’t stop thinking about sinking my cock into her.”

Your whole body jolted, breath catching in your throat as the words rippled through you, not just the words themselves, but the feel of them, pressed against your most sensitive parts. You whimpered, high and broken, fingers digging into Wanda’s thigh like you’d fall apart without something to hold. 

Wanda’s grip on you tightened gently, the arm wrapped around your waist drawing you in just a little closer, almost protective. Her voice was quieter now, but there was no mistaking the authority laced through it. “Not today, Nat. Just us.”

There was a pause, then Natasha exhaled a sigh, half amusement, half surrender. “Mmm… fine. Mommy knows best,” she murmured against you, her tone teasing but without resistance.

Then, without warning, her mouth returned to you, tongue sinking inside again with slow, deliberate hunger that made your thighs twitch and your breath catch. Every stroke, every curl of her tongue deep within you, was a silent vow, an unspoken promise that she would worship you until you had nothing left to give. 

“Fuck, Daddy,” you moaned, caught off guard by one particularly deep, precise curl that struck just the right spot. She responded by returning to that spot again and again, as if learning you, and she truly was.

Wanda’s lips brushed your cheek, her hand sliding up to cradle your breast again, fingers stroking lazy circles around your nipple, her touch comforting and possessive all at once. “You’re doing so well,” she whispered, her voice nearly trembling with pride. “Taking us so perfectly. You’re ours, sweetheart… You don’t have to hold anything back.”

Wanda’s words threaded through you like silk, soothing and commanding, and it was all you could do to nod against her, even as your head lolled back against her shoulder and your thighs trembled, spread wide and gently pinned open by their bodies. 

Natasha explored every flicker of your reaction with patience and devotion, her tongue moving with slow, deliberate confidence, curling and retreating, dragging heat through you like a fuse being lit inch by inch. Every pause was punctuated by a soft kiss pressed to your inner thigh or a hum vibrating against your clit.

Wanda’s fingers traced tender circles over your nipples, occasionally squeezing and tugging, but always gently, just enough to stir the sensation you craved, while her other arm held you steady.

Your hand slid to Natasha’s hair, fingers threading through the silky strands. She groaned softly, the vibration echoing through your core, then pulled back just enough to murmur, her voice husky and reverent, nearly undone by her own need. 

“Fuck, just like that, baby, hold on as tight as you want today.” Her lips brushed the crease of your thigh before nuzzling back into your slick heat. “Take it, Kotenok (Kitten), our perfect girl.”

The praise ignited a deep heat low in your belly, and you let out another helpless sound, hips twitching uncontrollably as your body betrayed how close you already were. Your muscles tensed, every fibre drawn tight like a bowstring, your chest rising and falling in quick, shallow gasps. 

Natasha’s fingers began to dance around your clit, tracing circles with perfect rhythm as her tongue pressed deep between your folds, as Wanda’s lips found your neck while her own fingers continued their gentle worship of your nipples, it became everything, perfect, overwhelming, unbearably exquisite. They were giving you exactly what you needed, in exactly the way you needed it.

You were ready, so close, but still you held yourself back, trembling with the effort, your whole body aching for release. “Fuck… mmm… so good,” you moaned, voice ragged with need. “Wanna cum, please Daddy? Please, Mommy, please?”

Your nails dug into Wanda’s thigh, lips parting in a silent, desperate plea, but you stayed, holding back, because they hadn’t told you to let go, because they hadn’t given you permission.

Wanda’s voice softened, thick with aching affection. “Oh, Malyshka (Little One), you don’t need permission today. I told you, you don’t have to hold anything back.”

She cupped your jaw gently, her thumb brushing your cheek as her gaze locked onto yours. “Be a good girl and cum for us.”

You nodded, a loud, broken moan rippling from your throat at the permission you’d craved, even though you’d never truly needed it. Your eyes flicked down to Wanda’s lips, silently asking for a kiss.

Wanda saw it and gently tilted your head, capturing your mouth in a deep, claiming kiss. Even with the difficult angle, her tongue slid in immediately, swallowing every broken whine and breathless moan spilling from you. 

You kissed her messily, sloppy and desperate, both of you panting fiercely into each other’s mouths as Wanda and Natasha continued their tender ministrations without pause. The world narrowed to nothing but the heat and pressure building inside you, until finally, with a ragged scream caught deep in your throat, you tumbled over the edge. 

Your body convulsed, shuddering with overwhelming waves of release as your breath hitched and then spilled out in ragged gasps, utterly undone beneath their touch, yet neither Wanda nor Natasha retreated. 

Wanda’s fingers continued their gentle dance over your nipples, coaxing breathy gasps and tiny shivers that rippled through you like silk. Her other hand cupped your cheek with a soft authority, planting tender kisses that sent warmth blooming through your skin. 

Natasha’s mouth moved with reverent care, cleaning up, grounding you in the moment even as your mind floated free. It wasn’t until you began to shift, your grip on Natasha’s hair loosening, that they finally eased back. 

“Too much... so sensitive,” you whispered, surprised by how delicate you felt. Usually, you could take so much more than one release, but today your body had been alight all day, and you simply couldn’t handle it. 

Wanda’s low, amused chuckle drifted over you like a soothing balm. “That’s alright, my sweet girl. We’ll take care of you now, yeah?” she murmured softly, her warm breath brushing against your cheek.

Natasha rose, standing at the foot of the bed. Her eyes were filled with something fierce and proud as she looked down at you. “You were breathtaking. Absolutely breathtaking. I can’t believe I waited so long to taste you like that,” she confessed, her voice heavy with affection and awe.

Your cheeks flamed with heat, and you barely managed a shy, “Thank you, Daddy,” your voice small but full of gratitude. 

Natasha’s warm smile lingered a moment longer before she slipped quietly away to the bathroom, leaving you cradled gently in Wanda’s arms. The steady rhythm of Wanda’s heartbeat against your back was a soothing anchor as exhaustion weighed heavily on your limbs and mind. 

When Natasha returned, she knelt beside you with a soft, damp cloth, her movements tender and deliberate. Knowing a proper shower was out of reach tonight, she took it upon herself to care for you the best way she could.

Your body tensed with a soft whimper as the fabric brushed against your overheated, tender skin, but Wanda’s low, calming voice wrapped around you like a warm blanket, easing every flicker of discomfort. 

With gentle, practised hands, they helped you out of the sweat-dampened t-shirt you’d been wearing, your skin still flushed and sensitive, and slid a fresh, oversized shirt of Wanda’s over you. It hung loose and comforting, the fabric soft against your weary body.

One by one, they changed themselves quietly, never once leaving you alone. Each time one slipped away, the other held you closer, whispering sweet reassurances about how perfectly you’d done, how proud they were, and that the other would return soon. Their voices were a soothing balm to your nerves, each word carefully chosen to calm any rising anxiety or lingering vulnerability.

Before long, Natasha brought out the familiar lotion, its cool touch gliding over the welts from yesterday, coaxing ease and relief where your skin still ached. 

Then Wanda handed you a small, nourishing snack and a glass of water, encouraging you gently to eat and drink, knowing how important it was to restore your strength.

Finally, they eased you down into the bed, carefully tucking you between them, just where you loved to be, safe, cherished, and utterly content. Wrapped in their arms, the world outside faded, leaving only warmth, whispered promises, and the quiet certainty that you still belonged.

—

A/N: I really hope you enjoyed this one. I know angst doesn’t always go down as well, but well… I’m an angsty girl at heart. I truly appreciate all your support and love for these fics; every like, reblog, and comment genuinely means the world to me. If there’s anything specific you’d like to see, don’t hesitate to send me an ask or request!

The next part will definitely see Kate and Yelena finally uncovering who the reader’s Dommes are, one way or another. Apologies for any confusion with the order of the parts; I posted the next two sections of this series first, but they take place chronologically after this one, which makes the timeline a bit tangled. So, the “next part” I’m referring to won’t be You Make Such Pretty Sounds When You’re Sorry, which will be in its place on the masterlist until the new part is ready to be slotted in. I’ll also add it here when that happens.

I once again forgot the taglist ahhhhh. @chansawrelier, @Angelicbrats, @Brooklyn-r-dawson, @lizzieolsie216, @godhatesgoodgirls, @libbyofc,

[ticifics]

hi im so in love with your writing! I was wondering if I could request an angsty remus fic? maybe with an unrequited love theme where reader has a massive crush on him but he notices and rejects reader before they can even confess? its not that’s ok! mwah tyy <33

Unrequited Love

Remus Lupin x f!reader

Summary: It wasn’t just a crush. It was deeper, more desperate. Every day beside him was a mix of silent happiness and growing pain because, deep down, you knew he didn’t see you the same way. And yet, you clung to any shred of attention. A smile in the hallway or the sound of his name on your lips, which he always responded to with that infallible kindness. You knew you were drowning, but you couldn’t help it.

Warnings: angst

A/N: hi love, you are so kind, thank you so much for the sweet words. I hope I did something that meets your expectations - and gosh, maybe, just maybe I am a little devastated, it's two angsts in a row with my boy Remus (that said, of course I loved doing it)

Unrequited Love | part II

You couldn’t quite remember exactly when it all started, but at some point between shared classes and comfortable silences in the library, Remus Lupin started occupying every thought of yours. Maybe it was that afternoon, weeks ago, when he noticed you were struggling to understand the theory behind a complicated spell. He approached, gentle but not invading your space, and said: "Can I help? I think I have an easier way to explain this."

You accepted, of course, your face warm and words stuck in your throat. He sat beside you, his voice low and firm as he pointed to the lines of the book with a slender finger. Every time he explained something, he’d end it with a quick glance, as if he wanted to confirm you were following along. You were so captivated by the sound of his voice that the actual understanding of the spell came later, when you were alone.

That’s when you started noticing the details. The way he furrowed his brow when reading something particularly complicated, or how he smiled to the side, a subtle smile, but enough to light up your whole day. He was different. He didn’t draw attention like his friends, who were usually the center of any room, but there was something in the restrained gestures, the care in his words, that made him seem more... real.

You began seeking opportunities to be near him. Not that it was intentional at first, but you always seemed to end up at the table next to him in the library or choosing the same time to study in the empty classroom. He never seemed to mind. In fact, he always nodded or gave a polite "good afternoon" before returning to what he was doing.

There was that day, though, that stayed engraved in your mind with almost painful clarity. It was an ordinary afternoon, and you were in the library. You had mentioned, without thinking, that you loved chamomile tea because your mother used to say it had a "comforting taste." He chuckled softly, a sound that made your heart stumble in your chest. A few weeks later, while you were sitting in a class, he casually leaned in and murmured: "Did you know chamomile tea was used in Ancient Greece as medicine? Seems fitting, doesn’t it?"

Your head spun to him, surprised. He remembered. It was just a silly sentence you had said, but he remembered. The rest of the class passed in a blur as you replayed each word, each glance.

It wasn’t just a crush. It was deeper, more desperate. He seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, but you wanted so much to be the one who could ease some of that. Every day beside him was a mix of silent happiness and growing pain because, deep down, you knew he didn’t see you the same way.

And yet, you clung to any shred of attention. A smile in the hallway, a "Are you okay?" after a tough test, or the sound of his name on your lips, which he always responded to with that infallible kindness.

You knew you were drowning, but you couldn’t help it.

The weeks dragged on like a dream, but a dream that never became reality. With every encounter with Remus, you felt like you were floating, but there was always an invisible weight pulling you back to the ground. He was kind, considerate, but never crossed the line. Every gesture, every word, was filled with a cordiality that you desperately wanted to interpret as something more, but you couldn’t ignore the voice in your head whispering, "He's just being polite. It doesn’t mean anything."

It was in this tension that an idea formed. A letter. If you couldn’t say everything you felt to him in words, maybe you could put it on paper. You had already rehearsed so many times, in your mind, the perfect phrases, the declarations that could, perhaps, make him see you differently. But every time you opened your mouth, the words died before they took shape.

That night, sitting on your bed with the curtains closed around you, you held a piece of parchment. The quill trembled in your hand as you stared at the blank page. Your heart was pounding, a mix of anticipation and fear. What could you write that would capture everything you felt? How could you translate in words the impact he had on you, the way he made the world seem lighter just by being in it?

After minutes that felt like hours, you began:

"Remus, I know this might seem strange or unexpected, but I need to say something that I’ve kept to myself for so long that I can’t keep it in anymore. Since I met you, something inside me has changed. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s something in your gestures, in the way you look at the world, that makes me want to be a part of it. You’re more than kind; you’re someone who makes everything seem... possible. I don’t know how to put it any other way, so I’ll be direct: I like you. More than as a friend. And I needed to tell you. Because holding this in is starting to hurt more than having the courage to say it."

You stopped, looking at the words you had just written. Your breath was heavy, and silent tears threatened to fall. It was a relief, in a way, to see it all there on paper. But the weight of what could happen next was almost unbearable.

For a moment, you considered handing him the letter. Not that night, of course, but maybe the next morning, or during the next class. The idea gave you a spark of hope, but also brought an overwhelming fear.

What if he didn’t feel the same?

That question echoed in your mind, over and over, as you carefully folded the letter and hid it in the pocket of your coat. Your hand stayed there, feeling the weight of the parchment like a bomb about to explode.

Remus knew. He had known for some time. There was no way he couldn’t notice.

There was something in the way you looked at him, a hesitant and hopeful gleam, that didn’t go unnoticed. He noticed the moments when you got closer than necessary, like when you sat beside him in the library even when there were empty tables. He noticed how you seemed to hold your breath whenever he leaned in to explain something, or how your words sometimes faltered, as if the weight of something unspoken was too much.

He wasn’t a fool. The subtleties of the heart, however, were a territory he preferred to avoid. Especially when he knew he couldn’t return the feelings.

You were smart, dedicated, kind in a way that made people want to be near you, and you were beautiful. He genuinely liked your company, but not in that way. Not the way you seemed to desire. Remus felt a tightness in his chest every time this reality pressed upon him, because he knew what needed to be done. He knew that the longer he let things drag on, the worse it would be for you.

That’s why, after Potions class that afternoon, he waited for you to finish gathering your things. He didn’t know exactly what he would say, but the words had been weighing on his throat for days.

“Do you have a minute?” His voice was calm, but there was something in his expression, the way he avoided eye contact for a second longer than usual, that made your heart stop.

“Of course.” Your response was automatic, but the nervousness crept into your voice. He was serious, more serious than you’d ever seen him before, and that sent a chill through your stomach.

As you walked beside him, the hallways seemed longer, quieter. You noticed he didn’t look directly at you, and that only made the nervousness grow.

He stopped next to an empty window, where the late afternoon light fell in soft angles. You held your books to your chest, as if they were armor, while he finally turned to face you.

“I... I think we need to talk.”

Your heart seemed to beat too fast, as if trying to prepare itself for whatever might come out of his mouth. You knew he wouldn’t say this lightly. “We need to talk” was never a casual introduction, it never preceded something good. Still, you tried to hold on to the faint hope, that quiet voice in the back of your mind whispering: Maybe he feels something too. Maybe he wants to say he noticed...

“I... I need to be honest with you,” Remus began, his voice low and serious, his words carefully chosen, but they still fell like stones upon you. “I don’t think it would be fair to let this continue without saying anything.”

Your fingers tightened around your books against your chest. Without saying what? Anxiety ran like fire through your veins, and you couldn’t look away from him, even though part of you wanted to run.

“I’ve noticed that...” He paused, biting his lower lip slightly, as if the words were hard to form. He ran a hand through his hair nervously, looking away for a brief moment before meeting your eyes again. “You’ve been... very kind to me, and I appreciate that. Truly. But I... I don’t want you to think that... there’s something here that isn’t.”

The world seemed to silence around you. Only his words echoed in your mind: “Something that isn’t.” It was as if he had ripped the ground out from under you with a single sentence.

“I don’t understand.” Your voice came out quieter than you expected, almost a whisper. You knew what he was trying to say, but at the same time, you refused to believe it. It couldn’t be this. It couldn’t end like this.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He took a step closer, his gaze filled with something that seemed like guilt. “But I think you feel something for me. Something more than friendship.”

You felt your face burn, your chest tightening as if being compressed by an impossible weight. He knew. All this time, he knew.

“I...” You tried to deny it, tried to find some word that could save you from the abyss opening up, but your voice failed.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he interrupted, his voice softer now, but somehow, that only made it hurt more. “I just... I don’t want you to get hurt. You’re amazing. You’re kind, you’re smart, and anyone would be lucky to have your attention.” He sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly, as if the weight of the situation affected him too. “But I’m not that person. I can’t... see you that way.”

It was as if he had pulled the air from your lungs. Every word felt like a blade, cutting slowly but deeply. You felt tears burning in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not in front of him.

“You’re saying that...” You stopped, swallowing hard, your throat too tight to continue.

“I don’t want you to have hopes where there’s no space for them,” he said softly, as if trying to minimize the impact, but the pain was already there, overwhelming and absolute.

You didn’t know what to say, how to respond. All you could feel was the crushing rejection, the weight of knowing he would never look at you the same way. It was worse than you had imagined, because he wasn’t being cruel. He was being honest, and his honesty hurt more than any cruelty ever could.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, almost in a whisper, and those words were the final stone that fell upon your heart already in ruins.

You nodded quickly, unable to trust your own voice, and took a step back. You wanted to say something, wanted to pretend you were fine, but there was nothing that could be said. So, you just turned and left, feeling his eyes on your back but not looking back.

The first tear fell before you even turned the corner.

Each step echoed like a drum in your ears, blending with the disordered sound of your thoughts. You pressed the books to your chest so tightly that your fingers began to ache, but it was better to focus on the physical pain than the agony that was boiling inside you.

The students around you laughed, talked, ran. The castle was alive, pulsing with the energy of carefree teenagers, but everything felt muffled, distant, as if you were walking through a bad dream.

You turned down a random hallway, not even knowing where you were going, just needing to get away from everything and everyone. Your heart pounded in your chest, and the knot in your throat seemed to tighten with every passing moment, as if it were impossible to swallow the weight that kept building there.

Finally, you found an empty corner, behind a worn tapestry that no one seemed to notice. It was a temporary hiding spot, but it was all you needed. You threw yourself against the cold wall, sliding to the floor, the books falling from your hands as the tears you had held back for so long finally overflowed.

They came hot and relentless, streaming down your face mercilessly. You tried to stifle the sobs, biting your fist, but it was useless. The pain felt like its own entity, growing and spreading inside you.

Your chest ached, a physical sensation of emptiness and tightness that almost made you gasp for air. Your hands trembled, gripping your knees as if they were your only anchor. He knew. Those words echoed repeatedly in your mind. He had known all along.

Worse yet, not only did he know, but he had decided to tell you in such a careful, gentle way that the rejection became even more painful. He hadn't looked down on you, hadn't mocked you, but that only made it crueler. He had looked directly at you and said, without hesitation, that there was no space for you in his heart.

You closed your eyes, trying to breathe deeply, but all you could see was his face. The calm expression, the soft tone. The contrast between his kindness and the brutality of what he was saying was unbearable.

What had you done wrong? The question burned like fire, consuming everything around you. You replayed every interaction, every glance, every word spoken. There was no way to erase the moments when your heart raced for something he said or did. There was no way to turn back time and rip the feelings from yourself that you knew he would never return.

In the distance, you could hear other students passing by, carefree voices, laughter filling the hallways. Life continued as if nothing had happened, as if your world hadn't ended in that moment. The contrast was suffocating, a reminder that your pain was yours alone.

You hugged your knees, trying to diminish the feeling of falling apart. All you wanted was to disappear, to become invisible. Maybe, if no one saw you, no one would know how broken you were.

Time seemed to drag on, but it also slipped through your fingers like sand. You couldn’t tell how much time had passed since that conversation. Days? Weeks? Every unavoidable encounter with him felt like tearing the scab off a wound that hadn't even started to heal.

Classes became a kind of silent torture. He was always there, just a few meters away, and you could feel his presence like an electric current pulsing in the air. Sometimes, your eyes would meet for a brief moment, and he’d smile hesitantly, almost as if he were trying to offer some form of comfort.

But there was no comfort to be found.

You started changing seats in classes, picking places farther away. You walked through the hallways with your eyes on the floor, avoiding any chance of crossing paths with him. When he was with James or Sirius, laughing and talking loudly, you found some excuse to leave. Seeing that smile, hearing that laugh, felt like a cruel reminder that his life was going on without interruption while yours was in ruins.

You knew he noticed. Remus Lupin was perceptive, perhaps more than anyone you knew. And that’s why, on an ordinary afternoon, he came over.

The hallway was empty, and you were organizing the books in your bag with slightly trembling hands. When his shadow fell over you, your stomach tightened instinctively.

“Hey,” he began, his voice low and cautious, as if he were walking on glass. “Can I talk to you?”

You didn’t want to. You wanted to turn and run, wanted to scream for him to leave you alone. But instead, you just nodded, because running now seemed useless.

He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “I... noticed you’ve been avoiding me.” He ran a hand through his hair, a habit you knew all too well. “I don’t want things to be like this between us.”

The bitter laugh almost escaped your lips, but you swallowed it. “Like what?” Your voice came out harsher than you intended, but your heart was pounding so hard that it was hard to control.

“Distant.” He took a step closer, but stopped when he saw you recoil, even if it was just a little. “I... hope we’re still friends.”

The word pierced like a sharp blade. Friends. Of course. That was what he wanted from you. What he always wanted. And hearing it, said so gently and sincerely, made it hurt even more.

You wrapped your arms around your body as if that could contain the emptiness spreading inside you. “Friends,” you repeated, testing the word on your lips. It felt strange, bitter, as if it didn’t belong there.

“Yes.” He gave a small, hopeful smile. “I really... I’m so sorry, you know? For everything. I never meant for you to feel like this.”

“I know.” Your response was barely audible. You knew he didn’t want to hurt you. That made it all worse.

There was an uncomfortable silence between you. He seemed to be waiting for something, maybe a confirmation that everything was okay. But you couldn’t give him that. Not now.

“I... I need to go,” you finally said, your voice trembling as you slung the bag over your shoulder.

“Of course,” he replied, a little hurriedly. “But... we’re okay, right? I just want you to know, if you need me, I’m here.”

You closed your eyes for a brief moment, trying to breathe, trying to stop the pain from overflowing once more. When you opened them, you forced a small smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine, Remus. Thank you.”

Before he could respond, you turned and walked quickly, feeling the tears threatening to fall.

As you turned the corner, you leaned against the wall for a moment, your eyes burning and your breath heavy. He wasn’t cruel. He would never be. And maybe that was exactly what made it all so unbearable.

Night had fallen over Hogwarts, and the castle was immersed in a heavy silence. You were in the farthest corner of the common room, where no one seemed to notice your presence. The only company was the fireplace, its flames flickering irregularly, casting shadows that danced across the walls.

In your hands, the letter you wrote weeks ago trembled slightly. The parchment was crumpled and worn at the edges, as if it had been handled countless times but never read by anyone other than you.

You remembered exactly the moment when you wrote it, the words flowing like a confession from your heart. It was everything you wanted to say to him. All the feelings that had been growing, gaining strength and life of their own. You had poured out every thought, every heartbeat, with the naive hope that he might feel the same.

But now, all that remained was a useless piece of paper.

You smoothed the parchment carefully, your fingers tracing the words written in your hesitant handwriting. Each sentence seemed to mock you now, like a cruel reminder of everything you felt and everything that would never be returned.

The flame of the fireplace seemed to call to you, its warmth offering a final solution to the weight you carried. With a trembling sigh, you stood up, feeling your heart tighten in your chest.

You hesitated for a moment, the letter still firmly held in your hands. Part of you wanted to keep it, hold onto it as a reminder of something that once mattered. But another part of you knew you needed to let go, even if it meant releasing something you never truly had.

"I could never be enough for you, could I?" you whispered to no one, your voice barely above a thread.

Finally, you brought the parchment closer to the flame, and it began to burn slowly. The edges darkened and curled, the fire consuming the words that once seemed so important. You watched each line disappear, one after another, until all that remained was ash and embers.

The pain in your chest was unbearable, but you stood there, motionless, watching as the last particles of the letter were carried away by the wind from the fire. It felt like watching the end of something that never had the chance to begin.

You sat on the floor, pulling your knees to your chest, the tears finally falling freely. They burned, hot and relentless, as you wondered how it was possible to feel so much for someone who would never look at you the same way.

Despite everything, you knew you still loved him. That was the cruelest part of all. Even after all the pain, all the rejection, you couldn’t simply turn off your feelings. He was still the one who made your heart race, who inhabited your dreams, who carried the weight of your hopes and fears.

But he would never be yours.

[prythiansprincess]

agora hills.

pairing: lorenzo berkshire x reader.

song inspiration: agora hills by doja cat.

author's note: as always, this unhinged fic idea started in chlo and i's endless chats about these pesky men. enzo has a special place in my heart because he's so golden retriever sunshine (don't be fooled by that face though he's filthy).

Enzo Berkshire was your best friend. 

Despite what your friends seemed to think, the relationship between you two had always been strictly platonic. Perhaps it was easy to misinterpret your actions as romantic. After all, you and Enzo were very touchy and affectionate people. It was typical of you two to hold hands in the halls, cuddle in the common room, and even share the occasional cheek or forehead kiss, which you deemed completely normal. This type of behavior has been the standard since you were eleven years old. 

Still, you weren’t blind. You knew your best friend was attractive. Enzo had always been handsome in your eyes, but then fourth year rolled around and everyone else started to notice it too. To be fair, he had grown at least a foot over the summer and quidditch definitely helped him pack on lean muscle. Needless to say, girls flocked to him like a swarm of bees to honey, but he never really seemed interested in any of them. Not that you were paying attention. It was a natural thing to notice when you spent every waking moment with someone. 

The point of the matter was that you had absolutely no romantic feelings for Enzo whatsoever. Or so you thought. Until the bloody dream that flipped your friendship on its head. 

It was a normal day. You and Enzo were studying in your dorm like you usually did after class. Enzo was sprawled out on the rug scribbling away for his assignment on Ancient Runes. You were on your bed reading up on History of Magic. You knew you should be focusing since there would be a test tomorrow, but the chapter was boring and you were absolutely knackered from attending classes all day. 

Before you knew it, you were fully knocked out. A part of you was aware that you were dreaming, but the surreality of it blurred the lines of reality. 

In your dreams, you were still in your room studying with Enzo. Except your best friend was no longer hunched over his homework on your rug. Now Enzo was standing at the edge of your bed, blocking out the afternoon sun. You stared up in confusion as he took the book from your hands. 

“Enz? What are you doing?” 

Enzo stared intently at you, his soft hazel eyes flickering down to your lips. It was a little like being hit with a beam of sunshine. Your heart stuttered in your chest as he ran his thumb across your bottom lip. 

“I want to try something.”

You held your breath as Enzo leaned over. The bed dipped from his weight as you sat frozen in place. He rubbed soothing circles along your wrist, causing you to melt into his touch. It was a familiar sensation, one that always calmed you down but right at that moment, you felt anything but. The beat of your heart echoed so loudly that you were sure he could hear it. 

Enzo leaned in close, his face mere inches away from yours. He stroked your cheek gently. “I want to kiss you,” he murmured, the low whisper of his voice conjuring goosebumps along your arms. “Can I?”

You blinked, swallowing thickly. He was so close that you could smell the woodsy smell of his cologne, combined with a hint of fresh laundry and citrus. 

“Yes,” you responded breathily. 

Before you could think better of it, Enzo was kissing you. It was soft and sweet, his kisses gentle while he tested the waters. The quick little pecks soon evolved into deeper kisses as your body responded to his touch. Your hands moved outside of your own volition, fingers tangling in Enzo’s hair as you pulled him closer. He groaned and tilted your head back for a better angle, your bodies pressed close together and radiating heat underneath your clothes. 

Enzo scooted back on the headboard and pulled you into his lap without breaking the kiss. You gasped when his hands roamed underneath your skirt, gripping your thighs so that you were fully settled over his length. What started as a sweet innocent kiss escalated into a full on heated makeout session. Kissing till your lips were swollen. Moaning into each other’s mouths. Grasping at every inch of skin the two of you could reach. 

When you felt him grind his hardness against your backside, you gasped. Enzo took the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, swirling and sucking until you were panting above him. 

“Y/N,” he grunted huskily. “I need you.”

The desperation in Enzo’s voice made you shudder. You didn’t even think twice before unbuckling his belt and tugging his boxers down. Enzo groaned as he stroked himself, pulling your panties to the side. You whimpered as he teased his tip at your entrance. 

“I want you so fucking bad.”

“I want you too, Enzo.”

Friendship be damned, Enzo gripped your hips and watched as you sank into him. His eyes rolled back when he felt your warmth and wetness hug around his cock. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, resting his head in the crook of your neck. “Gods, you feel so fucking good. Better than I imagined.”

You clenched at his words and he inhaled sharply before rolling your hips to set the pace. Once you established a steady rhythm, Enzo pinned you with his lust blown gaze and watched as you rode him. He lavished you with sloppy kisses, stopping every now and then to moan into your mouth while you continued rolling your hips against him. 

“That’s it, princess. Feels good, yeah? Keep rolling your hips just like that,” Enzo said, thrusting upwards to fuck into you. “Wanna feel you cum on my cock, pretty girl.”

The filthy words sent you over the edge. Just as Enzo hit that perfect spot, your eyes flew open. 

You were startled to find yourself back in your dorm, warm, sweaty, and alone in bed. You nearly fell off altogether when you found Enzo still sitting on the rug below you. While you were dreaming about doing filthy things with him, Enzo was completely oblivious and focused on studying. Like you should’ve been. 

Enzo perked up, concern written all over his face when he saw how flushed you were. He immediately rushed over to your side. Your cheeks were so red that he thinks you might be running a fever. Enzo pressed the back of his hand against your forehead and you bit down on your bottom lip to keep yourself from moaning. 

“You’re burning up, Y/N.” Enzo sounded genuinely worried. If only he knew the reason why you currently shared the same temperature as the common room fireplace. “Maybe I should walk you over to the infirmary?” 

“No!” Your voice echoed shrilly in your dorm, causing you to wince. “I’m fine. I just…I just need fresh air.”

“Oh good, I’ll come walk with you.”

“No,” you said rather harshly. Enzo frowned. “I, uh, I think I should go alone.”

Now Enzo was truly perturbed. He pouted at your refusal. Why didn’t you want him to come? You always walked around the Black Lake together. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Y/N?” 

He squinted at you, hoping to catch your gaze. You completely avoided looking him in the eyes before scrambling out of bed. 

“I’m fine, really. I’ll see you later, Enz.”

You were out the door before Enzo even had a chance to respond. 

You were acting like a bloody idiot. 

After that unfortunate afternoon, you spent the next few days avoiding Enzo. The dream had completely flustered you. It was impossible to be in the same room as your best friend. You couldn’t even look Enzo in the eyes without thinking of him being inside of you.  

More than that, it was making you rethink your entire friendship. You adored Enzo. He had been a constant in your life since first year. The two of you were inseparable and he was pretty much the most important person in your life. You had never once thought about him in a sexual manner, but obviously you were attracted to him given the filthy thoughts that flooded your mind like a plague. 

You were praying to Merlin that this stupid little lapse of yours would pass and take all the hormone addled aftereffects with it. Perhaps it was just lack of physical affection that was causing you to think this way. After all, you had broken up with your last boyfriend months ago. There was the casual hookup every now and then, but those never really satisfied you in the way that you wanted. It certainly wasn’t anything like how Enzo had been in your dream. 

As you cataloged and compared your most recent stints, the intrusive thought slipped in without warning. There were no secrets between you and Enzo, so you knew that it had been awhile since he hooked up with anyone else too. Come to think of it, except for a couple flings here and there, Enzo has never really had a serious relationship. 

You never really thought much about it. It wasn’t like you were running headfirst into commitment either, but now you couldn’t help but wonder why Enzo had never had a girlfriend. Were relationships just not his cup of tea? If so, why the bloody hell not?

By the time you had unraveled that string, Pansy was snapping her fingers in front of your face. You shook your head and rejoined the present. Before your little spiral, you and Pansy had been discussing the homework for Charms. 

Your friend narrowed her eyes on you. “Alright, spill,” Pansy said. “There’s clearly something on your mind.”

You peered around the common room. For the most part, it was empty. Only a few of the other Slytherins lingered in your midst, but one could never be too careful in the viper’s nest. 

Once you were sure the coast was clear, you leaned closer to Pansy and spoke in a low voice. “Have you ever had a dream about one of the guys?”

Pansy leaned back on the velvet emerald couch with an expression of intrigue. “What kind of dream?”

“You know,” you urged, picking at the cushion in your lap. “The sexual kind.”

She shook her head, her glossy bob shimmering in the faint light. “No, I can’t say that I have.” 

“I have!” Theo said cheerfully as he plopped down between you. His presence startled you, but he looked utterly unperturbed as he butted into the conversation. “About both of you, actually.”

You wrinkled your nose and smacked him on the arm. “Gross, Theo.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Pansy said with a look of disgust.

Theo was deeply offended by it all. “What? I’ll have you know that I was very loving and gentle,” you groaned and made a gagging sound. “I also had one about Reg and that one wasn’t as gentle, if you know what I mean.”

He grinned cheekily, which only made you lament further. Pansy shook her head in disbelief. “Really, Regulus? He’s the human equivalent of a grumpy black cat. All the first years are terrified of him.”

Theo shrugged. “What can I say? I’m into that. All that surliness and those curls, y’know…”

It was Pansy’s turn to smack him. “For Salazar’s fucking sake, shut it, Theodore. I want to know who Y/N had a dream about.”

“Was it Riddle?” Theo prompted.

“Which one?”

“Mattheo, obviously. Tom looks like he hasn’t had a woman’s touch in years.”

“That’s mean!” you cut in. “I’m telling Tom you said that.”

“Please don’t. I value my life, thank you very much.”

Pansy scoffed. “It’s not either one of the Riddles then.”

“Was it me?” asked Theo. 

“Gods, no.”

He rolled his eyes in response. “It can’t be Blaise because him and Pans are shagging on the daily.” Theo’s eyes widened. “Don’t tell me it’s Malfoy.” 

“Absolutely not.”

“But he’s close, right?” Pansy said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. You nodded weakly. She gasped. “Oh my god, Berkshire? Really?”

You buried your face in your hands. You were truly going to die of embarrassment. Pansy continued with her assessment. “Well, you two are practically attached at the hip, so it makes sense. Still, I truly didn’t expect it to be Enzo. He’s so sweet, I just can’t see him that way.”

The shit-eating grin on Theo’s face made you cringe. “Was it good? It had to be, right? Is that why you’ve been avoiding him all week?” 

“What? I haven’t been avoiding him.”

“Sure you have,” declared Theo. “Berkshire’s all broken up about it. Thinks he’s done something to upset you. The whole time you’ve been nursing filthy little fantasies about sweet baby boy Enzo. Oh, I can’t wait to tell the guys about this.”

Panic seized you and Theo yelped as you held his arm in a death grip. “You can’t say a fucking word, Theo. Do you hear me? It’s already humiliating enough to have a sex dream about my best friend. I will literally murder you if you tell any of the boys.”

Theo sighed. “Fine, I won’t tell. Now let go of me, woman.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Pansy. “You can’t keep avoiding Enzo forever.”

You sighed. You were completely and utterly at a loss. Pansy was right. Enzo was already starting to suspect something and you felt bad that he thought he’d done something to upset you when you were the one in the wrong. How could you possibly act normal after all of this?

“Maybe you should ask him if he’s ever thought about you that way,” Theo suggested. “That way the ball’s in his court.” 

You scoffed. “I’m supposed to just come up to him and casually ask, Hey Enz, have you ever had a sex dream about me that was so filthy that you couldn’t make eye contact for days after?” 

“I guarantee you the answer will be yes.”

As you chided Theo for being his usual ridiculous self, Pansy discretely nudged you. Enzo rounded the corner and waved at the three of you. Theo and Pansy shared a look before leaving you to your own devices. Bloody traitors. 

Enzo was unbothered by their sudden departure. “Hi, love. I haven’t seen you all week. You haven’t been avoiding me, have you?” 

His tone was light and playful, but it still made you nervous as all hell. “No, not at all,” you internally cringed at the forced cheeriness in your voice. “I’ve just been…busy. Yeah, that’s it. No other reason.”

For Salazar’s fucking sake. You were horrible at this. Lying to Enzo wasn’t something you were used to. 

Enzo nodded. “Okay, well we’re still on for movie night, right?” 

“Oh, yeah, about that—“

“It shouldn't be a problem,” he added thoughtfully, shooting you a cheeky grin. “Unless you’re actually avoiding me.”

Fuck. Your mind was screaming at you to say no. To make up some lame excuse. To do something other than gape at Enzo. 

Unfortunately, your brain decided to stop working as soon as those dimples of his made an appearance. Merlin’s bloody beard, you truly needed to get a grip. 

You forced yourself to smile back so he wouldn’t think anything was amiss. “”I was just going to ask what snacks you wanted.”

“Just you,” Enzo said, his grin growing wider. Did his voice suddenly sound deeper than it had a few seconds ago? No, it was likely just your delusion. “That’s all I need.”

Later that night, Enzo arrived with the projector and a handful of movie choices. You spent the entire afternoon pacing and working yourself into a fit. He was entirely unaware of the cloud of anxiety hanging over you as he loaded up your favorite movie. 

Your dorm had never felt as cramped as it did at this moment. Enzo plopped down on your bed. The scene of the crime. You climbed in on the other end and resigned yourself to sitting perfectly upright and rigid while he made himself comfortable. Enzo looked at you strangely. Usually, the two of you would be cuddling. 

“What are you doing all the way over there?” Enzo asked, spreading his arms out. “Come cuddle.”

You sighed internally. This felt like tempting fate, but what could you do? If you refused, Enzo would definitely know that something was up. As slow as a snail, you scooted closer to his side. He took one look at you and shook his head before hauling you over to him. Besides being manhandled, the position was quite familiar. You tucked against his side, head resting on his shoulder while he nuzzled his cheek against your hair. 

Enzo pressed play and you started to relax while the movie unfolded. The peace didn’t last for long. As the opening scene played, Enzo absentmindedly tugged at the hem of your shirt. Again, his affectionate nature wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Yet you couldn’t help but hold your breath as he rubbed soothing circles against your hip. While the gesture usually comforted you, it had the opposite effect now. 

“You’re so tense, love,” Enzo murmured. His voice sounded so deep and delicious.

“It’s been a stressful week.”

“I bet.” 

You shuddered as he trailed his fingers over your spine, drawing patterns along your skin. Temptation wasn’t knocking at your door. It was kicking it down altogether. Enzo shifted, brushing his knuckles just below the hook of your bra. 

“This can’t be comfortable,” he said, hooking a finger around the band. “Maybe you’ll feel more relaxed with it off. Don’t you think so, sweetheart?” 

There was no time to analyze what the fuck was going on. All of your efforts were spent solely on fighting the urge to moan. Enzo toyed with the band, waiting for your answer. 

“Yeah,” you said breathily. “I think—I think you’re right.”

“Course I am. Let me take it off for you then, yeah?” 

“Okay.” 

Enzo unhooked your bra with a flick of his fingers. Almost like he had long mastered the art and this was merely just child’s play. He helped you shrug out of your bra and carelessly tossed it to the side. You sighed softly as Enzo switched to long, purposeful strokes. He started at your hips, then your stomach, gradually moving up until he was barely an inch away from the underside of your breasts. Your eyes fluttered close, completely lost to his touch. They opened again when Enzo nuzzled his nose against yours. 

“Hi,” he said with a smile. 

“Hi,” you whispered. “What are we doing, Enzo?” 

“Nothing that I haven’t thought about a million times over.”

“You’ve thought about me like this?” 

“I’m always thinking about you,” Enzo admitted. “Sometimes it’s just cuddling or holding hands. Just sweet stuff cause I love touching you like this, but other times…other times I dream about you like you dreamt about me.”

Your breath hitched. “You know about my dream?” 

“I heard you in the common room earlier.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I don’t know what came over me. That’s why I haven’t talked to you much this week. I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

Enzo took your hand and slid it down the front of his gray sweatpants. You gasped when you felt how hard he was against your palm. “Do I feel uncomfortable to you, sweetheart?”

You shook your head, biting down on your lip. You didn’t trust yourself with words at the moment. Enzo nuzzled against you, littering soft little kisses in his wake. He pecked and nipped at your neck, your collarbone, your jaw. 

“You drive me fucking mad, you know that? I want you so badly I’d literally get on my knees and beg if you asked.”

The tension was too much for you to bear. You pulled him in by the front of his shirt and pressed your lips against his. Enzo groaned into your mouth. The hand underneath your shirt crawled up until he was cupping your tits, rubbing his thumb over your nipples. Enzo tried to keep the kisses soft. He intended to savor it, but every ounce of self control went out the window the second he heard you moan. 

Enzo flipped you over so that you were straddling his lap. He looked down and realized that you were wearing one of his old shirts and the sight of it made him even harder. The tiny shorts you were wearing was a pesky little barrier, but it didn’t stop him from grinding his hardness against your ass. He tugged at the hem of your shirt. 

“Take this off, right now. I need to feel you, pretty girl.”

He watched as you peeled off the shirt. Enzo did the same, tossing both articles of clothing over the side of your bed. He groaned at the skin to skin contact. Enzo smiled as he drank it all in. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

“You’re not bad to look at either, Enz.”

Enzo chuckled. “Cheeky girl. Come on, then. Shorts off too.”

You took off your shorts as Enzo slipped out of his sweatpants and boxers. He kissed you again, sloppy, filthy, and downright obscene. There was plenty of panting and groping as the two of you explored each other’s bodies. Enzo practically purred into your ear as you rubbed over his shaft. He felt like velvet in your hands. When you flicked your thumb to spread the bead of precum over his tip, Enzo released an animalistic growl. 

“Oh fuck,” he whimpered. “Gods, I need to be inside of you right fucking now or I’ll die.”

There was no time to slide off your panties. Enzo merely yanked it to the side and guided you over him. He kept his eyes on you as you sank down slowly, taking him inch by inch. Enzo groaned, digging his fingers into your hips while you adjusted to his size.

“Goddamn, you’re so wet and so fucking tight.” 

You had no idea that such filthy words could sound like music in your ears. Enzo may have been sweet as sugar, but you knew that he wasn’t innocent. He was far too cheeky to be anything but downright dirty in bed. 

Enzo was also extremely responsive. He made sure to praise and worship like your body was an altar and he was the most pious believer. 

“Enz, gods,” you moaned as he flicked his tongue over your nipple. “You’re really good at that.” 

“Yeah?” He asked cheekily. “You think so?” 

You chuckled. It was such an Enzo comment. If you weren’t actively losing your mind, you might’ve rolled your eyes at him. Whatever fantasy your mind has conjured paled in comparison to reality. Sex with Enzo was easy. You knew him and you trusted him. It was like breathing air. 

Every moan and whimper only helped you grow more and more attuned with each other’s bodies. The sounds you made were a special language of its own, one that only you and Enzo understood.

“That’s it, princess. You’re taking me so well.” 

“Like that?” you asked, rolling your hips. 

Enzo groaned in response, which made you smirk in satisfaction. He chuckled and kissed you deeply. “Ride me harder, sweetheart. Fuck…yeah just like that.” 

He moaned into your mouth, meeting the roll of your hips with thrusts of his own. Enzo pressed his forehead against your, his long lashes kissing the tops of your cheekbones while he pressed you closer. The deep angle in which he drove into you had you clawing at his back. 

“Oh gods, oh fuck. I can feel you clenching around me, pretty girl. You’re gonna cum for me like a good girl, yeah?”

“I’m so close.” Enzo flipped you onto your back and fucked you into the mattress. The tension uncoiled in your core until you were panting, chasing after that sweet release. “Oh—oh gods, Enzo.”

The orgasm knocked the very breath from your lungs. It was a total out of body experience. Your back arched, your toes curled, and you screamed his name, but none of it registered past the pleasure of coming. As soon as Enzo felt you creaming him from base to tip, he came too. 

It was strangely beautiful to watch. Enzo was mesmerizing. With his sweat slicked skin and swollen lips, strands of his dark hair clinging onto his flushed cheeks. You’ve never seen such a pretty sight. 

The two of you stayed curled up into each other. Enzo slowly pulled out and placed a tender kiss on your temple. This time, there wasn’t a single hint of hesitation as you cuddled up against his side. He was warm and comfortable, lulling you into sleep as he tangled his long legs with yours. 

You didn’t know how long you drifted off. It only felt like a few seconds later when you found yourself on your stomach, blinking sleepily up at Enzo. He smiled, kissing along your spine as he pried your legs apart. You groaned into the pillow as he thrusted lazily from behind. 

It was dark as night outside when you were finally done. You couldn’t even remember how many times he made you cum. All you knew was that you were in complete bliss as you and Enzo sprawled out on your sheets. 

You looked up at Enzo. He looked down at you. The two of you burst into a nervous fit of giggles.

“Shit. Did we just—“

He nodded, curling a strand of your hair through his fingers. “Yeah, we definitely did. Two. Three. Four times? I honestly lost count.” 

You chuckled softly. There was a moment of silence as you collected yourself. Enzo lowered himself down so that you were facing each other. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asked, nudging your cheek with his nose. “Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours, pretty girl.” 

Despite your steamy activities, you had never felt more shy than when he brushed his lips across your knuckles. 

“I care about you, Enzo and I know you care about me too. Tonight was….fuck. Tonight was great. I just want to make sure this doesn’t change our friendship.”

“Of course it’s going to change things,” Enzo said matter-of-factly. “You think I can stay just friends with you after that?” 

You swallowed thickly. “I don’t want you to feel obligated. I know you don’t really date. I mean, half the school’s asked you out and you’ve turned them all down, so I’m not expecting to be the exception. It’s alright if you just want this to be casual.”

“I don’t. I’ve said no to everyone because I’ve been waiting for you. You are the exception, Y/N. It’s always been you.” 

“Really?” you whispered, biting back a smile. “You mean that?” 

Enzo nodded and kissed your fingertips. “Sweetheart, you’ve had me in the palm of your hands since we were eleven. Of course I mean it.” 

You didn’t try to hide your smile. You were absolutely beaming. “So you don’t want things to be casual?”

“There’s nothing casual about what I feel for you.” 

“Okay,” you said, processing his revelation. “I don’t want things to be casual either. It might be selfish, but I think I want you all to myself, Enzo.” 

He released a sigh of relief. “Oh thank fucking Merlin. I want you all to myself too, Y/N.”

[vagabond-umlaut]

you kiss the back of my legs and i want to cry

only the sun has come this close, only the sun

gojo satoru x wife!reader; tooth-rotting domestic fluff; gojo LOVERBOY™️ satoru; you aren't any better than him [but less poetic abt the predicament]; tw: pregnancy, 1 tiny mention of throwing up; satoru calls you 'cookie'; and he redefines the word besotted here; his thoughts are also a little yandere-ish but tht's cute, methinks; 2.3k wc; i just wish satoru was real and in my arms rn T-T

belongs to the series 'you make my heart flutter and fibrillate' but can be read as a stand-alone fic if you wanna

the fic title and summary don't rly hv a very strong connection to the fic plot— except the fact they fit both satoru's & reader's characters in this series to a tee ^_^

fic title and summary from 'gps' by shauna barbosa // header frm pinterest // divider by @/benkeibear // jjk isn't mine

you are clingy.

always have been, in fact, now that gojo thinks about it. long before the two of you were married. long before you were engaged. quite a long time before the two of you were anything apart from friends at best, acquaintances at worst.

yet now, as he feels a pair of arms squeeze tighter around his middle, not really still very much squeezing the air out of him— your husband reckons you've grown loads clingier now—

and he loves you for this. loving you even more when he feels kisses being pressed into the space between his shoulder blades.

soft lips, a tad chapped. not without the shy grazing of your teeth.

just how he likes it.

very much how he adores you.

affection, settled deeper than should be feasible into the hollow of his chest, flutters a little when you nuzzle into his back; that pleased little hum of yours quick to follow it. smiling, gojo turns his head a touch to catch a glimpse of you. it takes a beat before you remove your face to lock eyes with him, before returning your face to his back.

he huffs a chuckle, sounding incredibly fond all the same. his feelings for you can never be suppressed anyway. time has proved this to him enough number of times.

he runs a finger down the length of your arm, relishing how it leaves a line of goosebumps in its wake—

"you wanna tell me something, cookie?" your husband finally asks.

your reply doesn't come immediately. and when it does, it is nothing more than a noncommittal noise. too spoiled. too stubborn. a bit too satisfied as well, the emotion further expressed when you nuzzle his back yet again.

gojo's smile grows bigger. his cheeks hurt a little.

he thinks he can live forever with this kind of pain, not even a sigh of complaint ever leaving him.

"aha—" he exclaims loudly, still soft enough to keep the quiet of this sweet bubble you've pulled you both into, "so it's just my irresistible charm that's making you so clingy tonight, hm?"

another beat passes.

and just when he thinks he might have to do with another one of your indistinct sounds for an answer, you speak. to be more precise, whine and grumble, everything so sweet in your adorable voice.

"it's not me being clingy, 'toru— it's the baby— the baby is making me so clingy. making me feel as if i can't live even for one second without squishing you like thisss!!!"

the first reaction your tightening grasp brings out is the wind getting knocked out of his lungs— the second reaction being all that oxygen, nitrogen and carbon dioxide being replaced by a feeling so fierce and so tender— the strongest thinks his knees would have buckled under its weight had he not been lying down but standing—

not that he really minds that, though.

for you, he's always on his knees. whether you ask it of him or not. the only light in this world he is willing to bow his eyes before.

it takes him not too much effort but gojo makes a point of struggling whilst he shifts in your hold. and grins when he finally comes face-to-face with you, drinking in the way your brows are puckered and lips a little parted in an incredulous expression.

his grin simmers down however, when his six eyes notice the spark in your tummy. so tiny. so blinding. so priceless— to him and you both— he knows this, surer than he is of the scars on his palms.

thumbing the hem of your t-shirt, he hums, dragging his eyes back to be drowned in yours, "how many weeks along are you, wifey?"

"satoru," you start, voice turning sharper and just as skeptical as your face was, still is— only to be shushed by a finger to your lips. the man addressed feels his heart skip a beat at your confused big scowl— it's got to be a crime to be as cute as you— really!!!

he pinches your cheek lightly.

"it isn't like i don't remember that, cookie. i just wanted you to say it— c'mon, tell me quickly!" he presses, noting then utilising the moment your face begins to lose its cynical hue over his words.

the scowl lingers there however, twisting your delectably pretty lips—

"nine weeks," you say, hooking a leg over his waist to pull him closer. can he be any closer to you, though? your answer is always a yes, he knows you well enough to know this.

"thirty-one weeks more before we meet our baby."

it's not exactly thirty-one weeks; it's thirty weeks and five days before either of you can meet the baby, but gojo decides not to point out the error. you always hate it when he points out your tiny errors and make a point of snarking about it every time he opens his mouth to speak a word next— the man is wary not to upset his wife, yes, thank you very much.

he offers a sage "hm" in response, one he observes you accept slowly. the scowl lifts itself into a curve so fond— gojo thinks once before he vaults his next query your way. not wanting to see that smile vanish in front of him—

the ask won't cause anything so. but he can never be too sure. he has read too many books and articles to not grasp how fragile pregnancy hormones can make one be.

he tucks a strand of hair behind the shell of your ear.

fingers tarrying there when he sees you lean into his touch— not akin a moth to a bright flame, no. he can never hurt you. not even for once in his wildest dreams—

but how the north pole of a magnet hurries towards the south pole of another magnet. so different in their nature, a perfect pair of opposite crafted by the nature— maybe that's why nothing can ever stop them from rushing to each other once they're proximated, the lines of their mutual attraction existing even when thousands of miles apart.

just like you and him.

contrasting, complementing, completing each other every instant, in every facet of life.

he lets his fingers dance through the tangles in your hair, unravelling the knots in there. that pleased little hum of yours reaches him once again.

stowing the sound away, later to be placed on a pedestal in an ornate glass case as the most valuable praise ever given to him for his effort, he runs a gentle hand, nails scratching your scalp carefully.

"and at nine weeks old, just how big might our baby be?"

"i think there is a chart comparing our baby's size to fruits..." syllables unhurried and a pinch mumbled, you press your heel to draw him in a little more. "i did not really read that too attentively— oh. but. yeah!" a grin forms on your features, sleepy still twinkling in excitement.

"shoko sent me a link to this website earlier today— any ideas, 'toru, what it might be about?"

gojo does have an idea. he has a very, very good idea.

but he chooses not to say that aloud. you look so extremely adorable when you are being this excited. he would hate nothing more than to see your amped up self getting interrupted by him.

he shakes his head. your grin brightens. eyes crinkling with a glint, he can tell even without looking, is knowing.

the tips of your fingers caress his bare back, softer than a breath. "it's about when our baby forms which organs— our baby's eyes are being formed now!!! isn't that too cute, 'toru?"

"it is, cookie," he hums without any hesitation, six eyes activating one more time to zero in on that teeny-tiny spark. then deactivating when he looks back up to your sleepy eyes. a terribly tickled, equally wicked glimmer creeps into his grin. "so our baby is just like a tiny ball of cells with two big blue eyes, huh? they must look so scary, heh— ouch!"

your pinch did not really pain him, but gojo does his best to mimic an awfully wounded puppy, sogging wet from the rain and waiting at the doorstep with his moving blue eyes— it takes less than three seconds before you let go of your glare with a sigh.

you massaging the sore spot on his arm, your husband watches you give yet another sigh.

"first of all, there's no guarantee our baby will have your eye color and not mine, 'toru," you explain, pinning him under your drowsy stare, "it is very difficult to predict that for sure— and secondly: i'll punch you if you ever call our baby scary— sure, they don't really look like a human in this moment, but they'll slowly get there in forty weeks— as per the website, their face, hands and feet are forming in the ninth—"

"okay, alright!! i get your point, my insanely smart, insanely beautiful, insanely sexy wife," gojo cuts in, smiling while warning bells chime in his head at the faintest gloss in your eyes—

but maybe they weren't noisy enough. that is why he doesn't bite his tongue, rather continuing, "but you weren't actually blaming our poor human-ey baby for your clinginess, were you? it's not like they have a telepathic communication set up with you— hell, maybe they haven't even started forming their brain!"

"the baby's brain starts forming by the fifth week, satoru," your quiet reply reaches him exactly when he gets his last giggle out. the moist sheen in your eyes grows more prominent.

and his insides begin to twist—

one-third helpless. two-thirds contrite.

you don't stop talking, tone lower than he has heard you use in nearly forever, "and you better not comment on my bond with our baby— i'll punch you twice if you—"

"i wasn't doing that and i promise to never make you feel that way, my cutie-pie cookie," gojo interrupts, voice far gentler than earlier, just as low as yours, "but feel free to throw me out the house if i ever do that, even accidentally. okay?"

you're not okay.

you never are, when it comes to you being actually harsh to him, even when he's the one asking you to be— shakespeare once called love to be blind— your husband doesn't think you're blind, however. it is your well-contemplated decision to see his mistakes and see each of them as excusable, perfectly pardonable, no matter how silly or serious the world might regard them to be—

you make a noise. somewhat annoyed. unhappy too, yeah. before you push your face into the crook of his neck, nose nuzzling into the flesh there.

you would have bitten him by now. but he reckons you might be a bit too tired for all that. you couldn't even finish your dinner before facing the urge to throw up tonight, yet again.

feeling sorry, almost, gojo resumes his ministrations to your hair, half because you need to fall asleep now; the hands on the clock are close to striking midnight. the other half because he just loves playing with your hair— only to still when you suddenly pull your head back.

brows furrowed as you peer at him, eyes big and earnest.

"you don't really mind when i hug you like this, do you, 'toru?"

"no, cookie!! of course not!!" the man wastes not even a breath before he rushes to explain— because seriously, what!??

sure, he wasn't the first one to fall between you two. but ever since he did fall, he has never not expressed how every second away from you, every fraction of an instant away from you, causes him pain.

and yeah, he might have been a tad too dramatic whilst doing so, but you've always been so good at reading him— then why on earth can't you read him now? why don't you read, he loves it when you seek him out, he loves you more than anyone and anything else??

"good," your satisfied little chirp gives him a light shove away from his frantic thoughts. something tells him he should be put on alert by the way your lips curve into a smug smile next.

but gojo finds himself uncaring. just immensely relieved as he trails his fingers from the back of your head to your chin. thumb reaching out to brush the corner of your infectious smile. you continue.

"but even if you did mind, sorry not sorry— you were the one who put the ring on my finger, so you have to deal with everything i'm, mister!! no refunds nor complaints can be filed here, gojo-san~"

and neither refunds nor complaints he wishes to file, satoru muses to himself as he cups your cheek in one hand. bending down to steal the taste of your beam, your tease, your love for him on his tongue—

not when he has received the world in exchange for letting go of that poor splintered mess of a heart, he used to call his, but is now yours.

and will always stay yours—

"hey 'toru— what will you do if i chomp on your fingers right now, like really hard? will you yell? or will you be the freak that you're and enjoy it, huh?"

gojo pauses.

and wonders.

is there any binding vow one can make to secure oneself to another in every lifetime, for all eternity?

he hopes there is.

your husband really, seriously hopes there is—

'cause no way in heaven, earth or hell, does gojo satoru want to let go of you— and he will not let go of you.

this idea was ROTTING in my brain for ages, but wht gave me the spark– the boost to write this was the wonderful sukuna fic written by ari @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat ❤️❤️❤️ i seriously love u & ur writings sm, babes 🥹🥹 everyone pls go check their masterlist out. it's studded w diamonds and pearls 😌😌🥰

and this is also for my sweet & sour bestie mimi @avatarofstars 🤭🤭— u 🤝 me in being clingy af towards our fictional hubbies 😂😂🥰

hope this was an enjoyable read! pls don't plagiarise, translate or repost this ❤️❤️

masterlist

[ellieputellas]

pretend | alexia putellas x reader

Alexia contemplates her feelings as you pretend a drunken kiss between you two never happened.

contains: angst, some making out, barçafemeni!reader, avoidant!reader, just a lot of angst tbh | word count: 2k+

a/n: not proofread, just wrote this cause i couldnt sleep and was listening to lizzy mcalpine's hate to be lame which gave me this idea

it's always on the tip of my tongue but i stop myself from saying it tell myself it's not the right time or something dumb

The last night of the Champion's League celebration was supposed to be just like any other victory party—loud, drunk, messy. On nights like this, it was natural to make a fool of yourself.

Alexia was never immune to the drunken stupidity — the typical drunken dancing and singing, foolish antics that got the team laughing. (In one victory party, Alexia found herself dancing with someone else's sports bra wrapped around on her head.)

But on that particular night, her drunken act of stupidity wasn't just loud karaoke or making a fool of herself. No, it was way different.

At some point, during the night, you two had gotten drunk and began grinding on each other at the dance floor. It was normal for teammates to get a bit touchy during parties so no one bat an eye but Alexia knew this thing happening between you two was different.

It started with playful dancing then you somehow found a way to plant a few kisses on her neck. It didn’t take long until you two ended up stumbling into the vacant restroom, kissing each other desperately.

Some kind of tension has always lingered between the two of you before but Alexia always chalked it up to the two of you being newly single. She always brushed it off, thinking it might just be her reading into things. Afer all, you have always been her type and she figured she might be interpreting your dynamic through wishful thinking.

But that night, that small tension she felt burst into something more, and she understood that this meant it wasn't just her who felt attraction towards the other.

She felt your hands desperately cling onto her as you locked lips. Your tongue glided on her bottom lip before ultimately finding its way into her mouth. You took turns pinning each other against the flimsy walls of the cramped stall.

Alexia's hand has found it way to your neck, gently tilting your head up with it before pressing her mouth against your neck to kiss, lick, and bite at you. You gasped in satisfaction as the taller girl kissed your neck.

You grabbed her face again to kiss her deeper, more intensely. Alexia felt that this was the type of kiss that could lead to something more; the likelihood of you crossing that line increasing with every minute that passed.

You gently pushed her off of you, as you tried to catch a breath. Your eyes remained locked as you stayed within close proximity. After a while, you noticed the hunger in Alexia's eyes simmer down into something more... soft and intimate.

This time, Alexia gently touched your face and moved to capture your lips again but this time, you looked away and avoided her kiss. You sighed before hurriedly unlocking the stall, walking out the restroom, and leaving Alexia all alone without even a goodbye.

Alexia felt dumbfounded. She thought that this kiss was your way of addressing the tension, a way of telling her that maybe you felt attracted to her too. But with the sudden exit, she began to doubt herself.

She wanted to talk to you about it the next time you saw each other but it became immediately evident to her that you were set on pretending like nothing happened.

You still joked with her in training, still bantered with her, tell stories like normal. You acted exactly like you did before; it was as if she dreamt up the kiss.

She played along like nothing had shifted, like your kiss had been meaningless. She even laughed at your jokes during training. But every word felt like a lie, every shared laughter felt like a stab.

In her mind, she wished you'd at least act different. She would rather you hated her or avoided her, something—anything to confirm that there was something real, something more.

But you acted like it was nothing.

She felt like she was going crazy, even doubting her own sanity at some point. She spent the past few months trying to forget it ever happened. But the more she tried, the more it hurt her. Because how could you pretend that all of that was nothing... when it felt like everything for her.

But then you kiss me like you do And we're right back where we started from

It was Pina’s birthday.

Alexia initially didn't want to go. It was in the middle of the season and she knew that the team captain being there meant everyone would be too hesitant and shy to drink, knowing she was around.

But she knew how Pina was, and she knew Pina would pester her endlessly if she didn't at least make an appearance.

So, she did. She went to the place late and much to her surprise, most of the team was behaving. A few of the players were nursing a bottle of beer but nothing excessive. She figured she must have done something right for her teammates to be so well-disciplined even without her hovering around them.

Well... she thought that until she saw you.

Of course, she's drunk. She thought to herself.

You were already tipsy, practically glowing, and laughing too loudly. The sight of you sent a jolt of something unfamiliar through her.

You had your arms wrapped around Caro, who was trying too hard to help you sober up by making you drink from a bottle of water. Alexia sighed and made her way to save Caro from your drunkenness.

Caro gave her a thankful look as she took over in aiding to you. She let you drape your arms around her as she wiped the stray hairs that stuck to your face.

"In the middle of the season?" She asked you in a stern voice. "Really?"

You frowned at her. "You wouldn't get it."

Alexia just sighed as she continued what Caro was doing, desperately trying to get you to sober up. "Did something happen?"

You stayed silent but you were too easy to read when you were drunk. Your glazed expression gave away that you were going through something. You still had an arm wrapped around Alexia, as if to keep yourself balanced, but you were also trying to avert your gaze away from her.

Alexia sighed. "I should take you home."

You bit your lip but you nodded. Alexia sighed and held your waist as you kept an arm around her; she was afraid if she let go, you'd fall over.

The car ride was silent. She wanted to talk to you about why you were getting irresponsibly drunk, why you seemed upset and... why you acted like your kiss never happened. But instead, she stayed silent, and as did you.

Alexia pulled up to your apartment building. After she parked, you unclasped your seatbelts but neither of you made a move to exit the car.

Alexia sighed. "Do you wanna talk... about anything?"

You shifted your gaze towards her, taking in how pretty she looked tonight. She was wearing a leather jacket on top of a cropped shirt, revealing a sliver of her abdomen. Your eyes now fluttered to her face. You took in her warm eyes, her nose, her lips. She looked so besutiful even under the dim lighting. You thought, fuck, why does she have to be so gorgeous?

You hummed. "I'm sorry I took you away from the party... especially since you look so good tonight."

Alexia started growing anxious as you said those words. "Well, I didn't really plan on going anyway..." Alexia said.

Drunkenly, you reached out to cup her face and guiding it upward so she'd meet your gaze. You stayed that way for a bit, just looking at each other's eyes. Until finally, you couldn't take it.

You leaned in and captured her lips in a kiss. It was more gentle than before, more intentional. As you pulled away, you studied her expression but Alexia just looked pained.

She sighed and looked away, causing your hand on her cheek to drop. She took a deep breath as she gripped the steering wheel with her hands and rested her head on top of it.

Emotions were overwhelming her. This was the long overdue confirmation she wanted from you so bad yet... it felt so wrong.

After a minute, Alexia finally spoke. "Why?"

"Huh? Why what?" You asked back.

She lifted her head slightly and locked eyes with you again. "Just... why?"

You sighed. "I don't know... I just want to kiss you."

Alexia looked exasperated. She took a moment to think. Do you remember last time? Why did you act like it never happened? Why do you want to kiss me now? Why do you only want to kiss me when you're drunk? Do I mean something? Do the kisses mean something? Do you... like me like I like you?

She had a million questions flying around her head but she settled on one. "Tell me honestly. Do you remember the last time we kissed?" She locked eyes with you and this time, you could see pain behind them. She tried to be firm with the way she asked but the vulnerability seeped through.

You blinked at her. “I think about it all the time,” you admitted before you could even consider lying; your inebriation made you too honest.

Alexia chest tightened as she felt hurt by the admission. Am I not supposed to be happy... that she thinks about it too like I do?

Before she could react, you were trying to lean in again as your face cupped her cheek, trying to kiss her. And that's when Alexia snapped into clarity.

No. You were drunk. This wasn’t... healthy. She couldn’t let herself do this again, not when everything between you was so confusing, so undefined.

“No,” Alexia whispered, gently pushing you away, though her hands shook with the desire to do exactly the opposite.

You looked at her with an expression that could only read as upset to Alexia but she tried to ignore it as she unlocked your car door. "I think you should go."

You stayed steady for a minute, twiddling your thumbs then staring at her but she kept her head low, trying so hard not to look at you until you finally stepped out without another word.

Hate to admit but it might be true Hate to admit but I think you knew Hate to be lame but I might love you

After that night, as expected, you didn't acknowledge the kiss. But this time, you started acting cold.

No more joking around. No more banter. You'd be laughing it up with the other Barça girls but as soon as Alexia came over, you'd bail and make an excuse to avoid her.

It was killing her, just being like this. Mapi had taken notice and pulled Alexia aside to ask if she was alright, which Alexia just hesitantly nodded.

Mapi didn't believe it for a moment. "Is it because of..." Mapi trailed off as she discreetly turned her gaze towards you as you were busy on your phone in the locker room.

Alexia sighed and said nothing but that was enough confirmation for Mapi. She sighed. "You need to talk it out," She said. "It's kinda affecting your dynamic on and off the pitch."

Alexia knew Mapi was right. Not only was it taking a toll on her emotions to be dealing with this awkward tension and silent avoidance, it wasn't long before shit gets worse and the team performance is affected. If it was only affecting her, she would have dropped the whole issue but she knew this was beyond you and her.

She caught you before training the next day, her voice sharp but shaking as she confronted you. "Can we talk?"

You sighed and nodded. "Yeah, Capi?"

She winced at the nickname, knowing that it was your tactic to distance yourself from her. Just another subtle way of deflecting.

“I know you feel the same way,” Alexia blurted it out, her words tumbling out too quickly. She regretted being so outright but she also no longer wanted to waste time. She had to do what she had to do.

Alexia sighed as she ran her hand through her hair. “And... it hurt when you acted like nothing happened. Like it didn’t matter.” Her chest heaved with the weight of everything she hadn’t said.

You stayed silent which just forced Alexia into doing all the talking. "I don't know what's going on with you but... why me? Why are you roping me into this?"

"It's nothing." You muttered.

Alexia grew frustrated. "Bullshit."

"What do you want me to do, Alexia?" Your eyes finally met hers.

"I don't know." She groaned. "Admit you like me too... or even just admit you kissed me. Tell me why you did. Tell me if it mattered. Fuck, I'd settle with you telling me it was a mistake. I just... need to hear from you that..."

"Nothing happened,” you said firmly, almost as if to convince yourself as much as her.

Alexia’s heart sank. She was there just begging for you to admit it did, even if you say it was a mistake; she just needed to hear it from you. Instead, you denied her again.

“But—”

“Drop it,” you snapped, turning quickly, rushing away before she could say anything more.

She watched you go, her hands shaking at her sides. There was nothing more she could do. She was left standing there, confused and hurt, unable to understand why it hurt so much. How could you pretend it meant nothing when everything inside her screamed that it meant everything?

Do I love her? Do I need her? Do I want her? Do I care enough to say That I love her, that I need her? 'Cause I don't but I wanna feel okay

Days turned into weeks and weeks into months and Alexia still couldn't forget what happened.

Your dynamic on the pitch suffered for a bit but it recovered. And pretty soon, you were acting normal again around her.

As if nothing, nothing at all, had happened.

For a while, Alexia had convinced herself she had moved on from it. It was just two kisses, she told herself on multiple occasions. You don't even like her that much.

But there were nights when she couldn't help but be consumed with confusion and frustration. She hated how it happened—how you treated her, how you pretended nothing was real.

On most days, she hated you. She acted normal around you, sure, but there was an added layer now. Everything was more guarded. Even if she asked you often how you were and laughed at your jokes, your relationship was hurt and it could never go back to how it was.

And even if she did despise you for what you did... she still couldn’t stop the way her heart raced when she saw you. She couldn’t shut off the part of her that still hoped that maybe, one day, you'd admit to her that it did happen and maybe that you feel a certain softness for her too.

But she knew it wasn't happening any time soon and now, all she can do is what you do best — pretend.

[woniwontons]

dead end - CHAPTER FOUR

bob reynolds x therapist!reader

summary: after being assigned to monitor bob reynolds’ recovery inside the new avengers tower, you try to keep your fears hidden. but between quiet training sessions and unsettling therapy logs, you start to realize he’s watching you more than he should—and that something inside him never stops whispering.

w.c: 4.2k

warnings: psychological thriller, inaccurately depicted mental illness, emotional manipulation (by void), nightmares, slow burn, possessive themes, combat violence, unreliable realities, hallucinations, murder, domestic bob, gore/bloody void, like a lot of blood & violence, running away in the woods

chapter nav: one | two | three | four | five | six

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°｡⋆

Your calendar had no color-coded blocks. No assignments. No meetings. Just one blank space stamped across the interface: DAY OFF.

It didn’t feel like relief though, just a boring day ahead of you.

You made breakfast and sat in the lounge with a coffee you barely tasted. Read the same paragraph in your data log five times without processing a single word.

Still, you could focus on nothing but the questions in your mind.

By noon, you were moving on instinct, feet carrying you to the gym without direction. You knew who would be there at this time.

You found Bucky where you usually saw him: stretching in the corner, his hoodie peeled down to his waist and gloves half-fastened. His expression didn’t shift when he saw you.

“You’re off today,” he said simply, gesturing to your plain clothes.

“So are you.”

“Not really,” he muttered, going back to the resistance band in his hands.

You sat on the bench across from him, watching the line of his shoulders tense and relax with each pull. A few beats passed in comfortable silence before you spoke.

“Can I ask you something?”

His hands paused mid-stretch. “You just did.”

You offered a dry smile. “About the people who worked with Bob before me.”

He exhaled through his nose. “What about them?”

You hesitated. “They didn’t last long.”

He rolled his wrists. “That happens.”

“What kind of happens?”

He looked at you then—flatly. “The kind that gets people reassigned. Burnout. Not getting along with him. The usual.”

You tilted your head slightly. “You and the team haven't ever experienced that around him, have you?”

“I’m not an empath,” he said, almost too easily. “I don’t absorb what I don’t need to.”

You watched him carefully, waiting for the twitch, some flicker of discomfort. But Bucky Barnes was good at hiding his emotions for everything. Better than good.

“You don’t think there’s something unusual about it?” you asked.

“No more than usual.”

He clipped the band back to the wall and stood, wiping his hands with a towel.

“Sometimes things don’t work out,” he said, voice neutral. “Doesn’t mean there’s a conspiracy.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re not curious?”

He shrugged. “Not really.”

But he didn’t meet your gaze.

And when he turned to grab his water bottle. "Please just don't go looking for trouble, y/n," he added quietly, "for your own good."

It hung in the air longer than it should have, with a surprising level of concern and care.

You stood a moment later, nodding like the conversation had satisfied something. Like you were any closer to the truth.

You walked away with your jaw tight and your throat dry.

No one was going to tell you anything.

You weren’t trying to go anywhere.

That’s what you told yourself, anyway, as you walked the endless hallways of the tower. No destination. No objective. Your shoes padding across the floor. Doors passing on either side like silent, judgmental witnesses.

Maybe it was just your nerves. Maybe it was the way your own thoughts had started to echo louder than sound. You’d been craving something you were unsure of. A reason to feel more. But the deeper you wandered, the more hollow everything seemed.

At some point, your footsteps slowed.

And when you looked up, you realized where you’d stopped.

The hallway was empty. The lights overhead flickered once. And in front of you—just a few feet away—was his door.

You hadn’t been here since that first night, and you froze.

The panel glowed the same:

SECURITY OVERRIDE IN PLACE — MONITORED ACCESS ONLY

But again, no guards or cameras.

And for a moment, you felt it—the pull. Not from the Void. From something subtler. Like gravity. Like muscle memory.

You stepped closer.

Your hand hovered just inches from the lock pad, like you already knew the passcode to enter.

You didn’t even know why. You just—

CLICK.

The lock disengaged.

The door hissed slightly, then opened.

And standing there, backlit in soft white light, brown hair tousled, expression still -- was Bob.

Neither of you spoke, but he didn’t look surprised to see you. If anything, he looked relieved.

"You came," he said quietly.

You let your hand drop from the lock pad. “I didn’t mean to.”

He smiled faintly, stepping past the threshold and into the hallway with you. “Doesn’t matter. You still did.”

The door sealed shut behind him.

Silence stretched between you, but it didn’t feel cold. Just cautious.

You both stood there a long moment before Bob leaned against the wall beside you, folding his arms. "Did you speak with Bucky or Yelena?"

"I spoke to Bucky, but all I got was a whole lot of nothing," you huffed in frustration.

Bob nodded, "So back to square one? Maybe there's a different explanation for all of this."

"I'm confident about what I saw," you stressed, "Do you think it has something to do with the nightmares?"

Bob's jaw tensed slightly. "The nightmares, you're still having them?"

You swallowed, his response throwing you off. "You don't remember them?"

He paused.

"No."

You turned your head. "The Void takes all of your memories?"

His voice was quieter now. “There are gaps. Long ones. I know I’ve said things I don’t remember saying. Felt things I can’t explain. I used to think it was the Void blocking things out.”

"How can I stop him from," you started, before being cut off.

"You can't stop it, none of us can once it starts," he said sadly, "I'm sorry."

You exhale a breath you didn't realize you were holding before nodding slowly, taking in his response. He stared down at you then, his eyes scanning over your facial features, over every tick of non-verbal response. The guilt eating at him, making him feel so useless.

"It isn't your fault, I'm sorry for involving you."

He scoffed before suddenly picking up your hands, clasping them in-between your own. "Don't apologize. I've never felt bad for listening to you, please, if you have anything to get off your chest. I'm here for you."

You gazed up at him, feeling your heart rate speed up. Brows furrowed in confusion, you bobbed your head in agreeance. "I appreciate that."

"I appreciate you."

You told yourself you were just passing by.

That your feet brought you here again out of habit. A wrong turn. An aimless loop through the admin level. But as you stood just around the corner from Dr. Harding’s office, that lie grew too heavy to hold.

The hall was quiet.

Her door, like always, was closed. But the lockpad light was green. Not red. Not yellow. Green.

Unlocked.

Your heart stuttered.

You glanced both ways. Empty.

You stepped forward—slowly, cautiously—reaching for the panel.

It chirped softly under your touch.

One press. That’s all it would take to slide the door open and—

“Hey.”

You jerked so fast your elbow banged the wall behind you.

An intern—probably no older than twenty-two—stood at the other end of the corridor, holding a datapad and a cup of coffee. Her brows knit together.

“You lost?”

Your mouth went dry. “I—uh—no. I was looking for… the sensory deprivation room.”

The girl blinked. “Sensory deprivation is two floors down.”

You forced a smile. “Right. I must’ve hit the wrong button in the elevator.”

She didn’t move. Just stood there, watching you.

A long pause stretched before she gave a tight, practiced smile and turned on her heel.

“Have a good one.”

You nodded, then retreated in the opposite direction at a normal, casual, totally-not-panicked pace. It wasn’t until you rounded the next corner and pressed your back to the wall that you let yourself breathe.

You almost got caught doing something horrendously stupid.

No—worse.

That light on Harding’s door hadn’t been green by mistake.

What if you were being tested?.

Tested.

And you failed.

In Your Nightmares, In the Maze

You opened your eyes and the world was wrong.

The floor beneath your feet was cold concrete, cracked and damp, covered in grime that had soaked into its pores. The air reeked of mildew and rust, thick with dust that scratched the back of your throat. Made you feel sticky, dirty.

You didn’t know how long you’d been standing.

Only that you had no memory of getting here. And your feet ached.

The hallway stretched in both directions—long, narrow, and dimly lit by broken fluorescent tubes overhead. One of them buzzed in a stuttering rhythm, flickering so violently you couldn’t tell if it was about to go out or explode.

You turned in a slow circle, arms folded tightly across your chest.

The walls were tiled, but discolored. Yellowed, cracked, and tagged with smeared fingerprints like someone had clawed at them over and over again. Shattered mirrors were mounted in uneven rows, jagged corners jutting out like teeth.

You caught your reflection in one of them.

And froze.

It was you. But not exactly.

The reflection stood too still. Her arms weren’t crossed. Her head tilted slightly to the side, eyes wide and expressionless. She blinked—but too slow. Like a puppet learning how to mimic human movement. Then her lips moved.

You took a step back, heart hammering.

No sound.

Another mirror—this one lower, shattered into shards across the floor. The sharp edges caught the flickering light, reflecting your face in fractured pieces.

You crouched, trembling, reaching toward one of the shards.

It wasn’t curiosity. It was like you had to see, you had to know if this was real.

The moment your fingers touched it, you flinched.

A thin line of blood opened across your palm, bright and stinging.

“Ah—”

You dropped the glass with a suck of your teeth.

It clattered against the floor with a sound too loud, too final.

And from somewhere behind you—

A whisper.

You spun around, heart in your throat.

No one.

Nothing.

But the hall behind you looked... different.

You hadn’t turned around, but now there were more doors. More mirrors. And the mirror where your reflection had been was gone.

Your blood dripped onto the floor, each drop loud in the silence.

You stumbled backward, away from the glass, away from the mirrors, clutching your hand.

And that’s when you heard it.

Breathing.

Not yours.

Slow. Steady. Too close.

You ran.

Your footsteps echoed down the hall, too loud, too fast. The breathing behind you had stopped, but only because it was closer now. You could feel it. Like hot breath against your neck, even though nothing touched you.

You turned a corner—

and another

another

—until your shoulder hit a doorframe and you stumbled sideways into a room.

The door shut behind you on its own in a violent slam.

You whirled around, heart pounding, but the knob was gone. Hell, the door was gone. Replaced with cracked tiles and a bloodstained seam.

The light in the room was a single bulb hanging from a frayed cord in the ceiling. It swung gently, casting warped shadows against the walls.

But you weren’t alone.

There was someone else here, and this room felt horrifically familiar.

At first, you only saw her back; hunched over, gasping softly, her arms trembling at her sides. The room was small, just a few paces wide. The tile beneath her knees was slick, and something thick and dark glistened across the floor.

You took one step closer.

Her head lifted slightly. Then her arm.

And she slammed something down.

A wet, sickening crack echoed through the room.

You jolted back, mouth open, but the scream got stuck behind your tongue. Her hand lifted again.

Another, crack.

You couldn’t see who she was hurting. The body beneath her was just shadow. Faceless, formless, made of blood and bone and the sound of something breaking.

Crack, again.

Again and again.

You stared in horror until she finally slowed, breathing hard, hand shaking in the air.

And then she turned.

It was you again.

Your face—spattered in red, eyes empty, chest heaving.

Her gaze met yours across the room, tears streaming down her bloody, sunken face.

You screamed. The bulb burst above you, showering the floor in sparks and blackened glass.

The floor dropped out beneath you.

In one blink, you were standing. The next, you were falling.

There was no wind. No scream. Just the sickening weightless feeling of your own body surrendering.

You hit something hard, your bones crushing with pain as they protested against all movement.

The world bent around you—walls folding like wet paper, corners bleeding into one another. Your knees struck concrete. Your palm, still bleeding from the earlier cut, left a smear across the warped ground beneath you.

Your breath came ragged, your head spinning.

You crawled forward, but the walls spun in circles around you. Lights blurred into trails. The air stung your eyes.

“Where am I?” you whispered aloud.

No answer.

Only a low hum in the distance. Like the power grid of a dead city flickering back to life.

You tried to stand, but your legs gave out.

You reached for a wall that wasn’t there anymore.

The floor cracked open.

And you dropped once more.

In the Nightmare, In the Maze

Your vision cleared all at once.

Flashing red and white lights pulsed in your peripheral.

Siren tones wailed in the distance, but muffled, like they were underwater. The air was cold now. It smelled of metal, antiseptic, and the copper tang of blood.

You were standing on the edge of an open ambulance bay. Night stretched beyond the parking lot like a black ocean, with figures moving just at the edge of the darkness. Too far to see, too distorted to name.

Inside the ambulance, the doors were open.

You stepped forward, and saw her.

Yourself.

Again.

This time she sat on the gurney, knees drawn to her chest, face streaked with blood. Though, none of it looked fresh. Her skin was pale and blotchy; eyes glassy and swollen. Her hands trembled around a disposable shock blanket, still clutched tightly around her shoulders like armor.

She wasn’t speaking. She just stared down at her lap, jaw tight, fingers twitching.

A paramedic stood off to the side, whispering to someone you couldn’t see.

“She wouldn’t stop screaming. Had to sedate her. We think it was self-defense… but the scene was brutal.”

Another murmured reply: unintelligible to you.

You took a step closer.

And then she glanced

Just barely—her gaze lifting enough to meet yours as her lips moved.

But no sound of a woman came out, but something akin to that of the void himself.

"Ever my ś̸̡t̸̨͛r̶̤͝o̴̻̓n̶͉̔ǵ̴̘ ̴͙͆g̴̭̈́ȉ̷̡r̴͕̿l̴͔̽."

The scene around you began to shake, like the ambulance bay itself was coming apart. The sirens slowed. Then stretched. Then distorted.

"Not everyone could, but ÿ̴̫́ò̸̤ǘ̴̮ ̶̳͑m̸̢̊a̸̧̿d̴̬̆e̶͈͆ ̶͎͊i̶̻̒t̴̤̑ ̵̰̂ò̷͙ů̶͜t̸͎̄. Didn’t you, little liar?"

You clutched your ears as the air seemed to pulse against your skull.

And the ambulance doors slammed shut in your face.

You blinked.

Open, Close, Open.

And the world changed again.

Gone were the lights, the pavement, the sirens.

Now there were trees. Towering silhouettes pressed in around you, black against a gray sky smeared with faint clouds. Their branches clawed overhead like bones, creaking faintly with every whisper of wind.

The ground beneath your feet was mud and moss and broken roots.

It was dark.

But not silent.

Snap.

A branch cracked behind you.

You spun around, chest rising sharply, but saw nothing. Just more trees. More endless darkness.

Your breath came faster now, eyes darting to every shadow, every movement of wind-tossed leaves. You took a step—

Crack.

Another behind you. Heavier this time.

Then—

Breathing. Fast and angry, barely contained.

You ran.

Your legs burned, your lungs screaming with every intake of cold air. Branches sliced across your arms. Something wet ran down your face; blood or rain, you didn’t know.

The breathing followed.

Always just behind you.

You didn’t dare scream. The sounds around you were too loud already. The woods echoed everything. Your heartbeat, the dead leaves crunching, and...

his voice.

"You've run faster than that."

You stumbled, but caught yourself. Feeling the bark of the tree imprint itself into the skin of your palm.

You couldn’t tell where it came from, but it was close.

So close that you pumped your legs faster, ignoring the pain of your bare feet hitting the forest floor.

Something grabbed your sleeve and snatched you backwards —no, just a branch.

You tugged roughly and broke free, but your breathing was slowing you down now. Your chest willing itself to explode as your lungs stretched for oxygen.

The trees grew tighter. Narrower. Like the forest itself was closing in to crush you. The breathing behind you accelerated.

It was laughing at you now. Not just with joy, but with certainty that it would catch you.

"They might have carved it out, but I remember. I always remember."

You saw a shape ahead—barely visible.

A black door. Standing hauntingly alone in the woods.

You didn’t think, only sprinted towards it. Heaving now, your lungs threatened to rise from the bottom of your throat. It pained you horribly, but nothing else mattered except escape.

Mud flew from your heels. Your vision blurred with tears.

"You were never meant to be happy, y/n."

Your hand hit the door handle, slipping on its sleek handle with the slick of blood that coated your palm.

"You're meant to be with me here."

You yanked it open—

And fell inside.

In the Nightmare, Outside of the Maze

The door vanished behind you.

The ground was… nothing. A space with no walls, no ceiling, no shape. Just pressure and the oppressive weight of silence.

You were alone.

Until you weren’t.

He emerged from the dark without warning; no footsteps, no sound. It was just there, like he’d always been waiting.

The Void. A silhouette carved from everything the world wasn’t meant to touch. His skin absorbed the light instead of reflecting it, black as rotted stars. His hair curled weightlessly like smoke.

Your legs gave out and you collapsed forward into his body, wrapping your arms around his legs in terror. The coldness of his body comforting to the exhausted heat being expelled from your own.

And then he was lowering himself to meet you on the ground. Arms slowly coiling around your back.

He held you like you were fragile, digging his fingertips into the sides of your waist as he held you upright.

You cried harder.

Not just from fear, not just from exhaustion, but from the horrible, gut-wrenching feeling that this was the first time you felt like yourself in so long. Broken, hurting, and miserable, such a familiar feeling to you.

"There she is," he whispered into your hair. His hand moved to cradle the back of your head, fingers impossibly gentle. He pressed your body to his like he could bury you in his chest.

His breath brushed your ear. Your throat. Your skin.

"It's no wonder you always come back to me, and every time, we end up here."

You tried to speak, but your voice was shattered glass in your throat.

He lifted your chin with a single finger. His gold eyes burned straight through you. "No need to speak, just think. Know that I remember, no matter what they take from you, I will always remember.”

You shook your head, but he only smiled. A reverent, broken thing.

"Let me keep you. Just like this. Broken, bleeding, and mine."

His lips ghosted over your forehead, slow and steady, like a temptation. "You don't have to run from it anymore."

And then—

You gasped awake.

The scream didn't make it out properly—lodged deep in your chest like a stone, but your body snapped upright. Drenched in sweat, your sheets tangled like restraints around your legs.

Your throat burned. A heartbeat galloped in your ears, loud enough to drown everything else.

Your eyes darted across the room, searching corners, shadows, the cracks beneath the door, expecting to see blackness leaking from the walls, gold eyes waiting in front of you

But instead:

He was sitting there.

Bob.

Near the edge of your room. In the dark. His form barely outlined in the weak glow from the hall’s emergency light.

Not moving, and certainly not speaking. Just watching.

Your breath hitched.

"Jesus—” You scrambled backward on the bed until your shoulders hit the headboard. “What the hell, how did you get in here?”

He didn’t rise or even answer at first. Just studied you, head tilted, brow furrowed. Quiet concern etched into every line of his face.

"I heard you," he said finally. Voice low and careful. "Screaming through the door, but... you were asleep."

You stared at him, heart still slamming in your chest.

You couldn’t even remember doing it. Only the maze. The blood. The gold eyes that felt too close to forget.

"I didn't want to scare you," Bob said softly. "I just didn't want you to wake up alone. It looked terrifying."

That cracked something inside you.

Because it meant he hadn't come here with any ulterior motive but to just make sure you weren't alone, having night terrors in the dark.

You wiped at your sweaty face, breath still uneven.

"I don't even know when I fell asleep," you murmured.

Bob’s voice was impossibly gentler now. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head, but after a moment you spoke anyway, "I was in a maze," you whispered. "And something was chasing me. I think."

Bob exhaled, slowly, "Do you remember who was chasing you?"

You looked up. "No, I don't, I never looked back."

"That's good," he hesitated, "did it feel like a dream or a memory?"

"Both."

The room fell quiet again. You noticed then that his hands were clasped in his lap. Knuckles white. Like either he wasn’t sure if he should come closer, or he was terrified of your response.

"They're not just dreams anymore," he said. "Are they?"

Your hands trembled in your lap, and you fought to answer him honestly. "No."

Bob stood slowly, careful not to make a sound too sharp or sudden. He looked like he was trying to give you space, even as his eyes lingered on the sight of you trembling in your bed. "I'll let you rest," he said carefully. "I shouldn't have come in. I just wanted to be sure you were okay."

He turned toward the door, but for some reason, your panic spiked.

"Wait—" You reached out and caught his wrist, hand tremoring. He stopped to listen, and your voice was barely more than a breath, "Can you stay... please?"

He turned back toward you slowly. “You sure?”

You nodded, pulling on his arm, just enough to guide him back. "Please," you whispered again, tugging him towards your bed.

He hesitated only a moment longer. Then sat on the edge of the bed, uncertain.

You didn’t wait.

You shifted beneath the covers and pulled him with you, tugging gently at his wrist until he followed. His weight dipped the mattress, and then he was lying beside you. He was awkward at first, stiff from uncertainty.

You curled toward him, face pressed to his chest.

And only then did he move.

His arms came around you, gentle and hesitant, like you were made of glass. One hand stroked your back; the other came up slowly to comb through your hair.

The moment his fingers threaded through the strands, something deep inside you twisted.

It was… familiar.

Your heart stuttered, but you didn’t pull away.

"You're okay," Bob murmured into your hair. "You're still safe here."

Your eyes burned. "I don't feel safe," you confessed. "I don't even feel like myself anymore, I don't know what I'm supposed to feel. I can't understand any of these emotions inside me."

His fingers brushed behind your ear. "Like a phantom emotion?" he asked, voice low but firm.

You pressed your face tighter against his chest, trying to keep your breath steady. But you couldn’t. The tears came quietly at first, then stronger. "I'm scared to fall asleep," you whispered.

Bob didn’t flinch. He just held you tighter, one hand never leaving your hair. "Then be scared," he said softly. "Feel everything. Cry if you need to, but don't ever think you have to do any of it alone."

You cried harder. You didn’t know if it was the nightmare, the silence, or the way his voice made the grief inside you finally feel seen.

But for the first time in what felt like so long, you let it out. And he didn’t let go.

His thumb brushed soft circles across your shoulder as your tears soaked through his shirt. His heart beat slow and steady beneath your ear. "You're not alone," he whispered, "I promise."

You weren’t sure when you stopped crying. Only that at some point, the world grew still again, and you stayed there, curled against him. And yet, it felt as though this had happened before, as if you were experiencing deja-vu for this very moment and couldn't fathom any reason for it.

His breath moved softly against the top of your head.

And sleep, when it finally came, did not take you kicking and screaming.

It came wrapped in warmth and wool.

Alright friends, I'm sure you're very confused as to what the heck is going on. I added a lot more hints in this one, in hopes that maybe some of you will catch on ;). Answers will come, to be revealed in the next chapter, followed by a full Bob Point-Of-View in part six. We are at our halfway point now since I'm thinking of eight parts total for this. If that changes, I'll be sure to edit this and update you in future notes. Thank you for all your love on this story, it motivates me to write more everyday, and I appreciate you. xoxo -woni

ALSO: if you are not currently on the taglist, please comment down below if you want to be! if you already commented on previous chapters, don't worry because i've already added you :)

continue to part five

[silksandcravats]

Hitting the books - Dean x Reader

When it comes to research duties, you and Dean are equally (ir)responsible. Contents: Dean x fem!reader, piv sex, poor sammy hearing more than he would like, slight dom!dean x sub!reader undertones, reader and dean having zero self restraint

In Sam's opinion, the two of you shouldn't have been allowed to do the research in the first place. The case had dragged along longer than expected, you'd misidentified the creature tormenting the town, and now more fieldwork and research were required.

When Dean proposed that he return to the motel with you while Sammy poked around and interviewed a few more locals, he'd been met with one hell of an eye roll. You thought it was a great idea, Sam, not so much. Probably because he knew you'd end up in this exact position.

True, Dean was at the motel desk, and there was an old lore book cracked open on the table, but it was hard to read with your naked body bent directly over it.

Not to mention your warm, perfect little cunt swallowing him whole, little whines and pants slipping from your mouth as your hips tried to push back to meet his thrusts. Somehow, his tip seemed to be knocking deeper in you with each thrust, brushing against your cervix.

Fatigue and want battled for control of your body, the muscles in your thighs burned, your hips were bruising from slamming against the edge of the desk, and your pelvis ached from where it met his again and again, but it just felt so damn good.

Your forehead dropped against the cool wood of the desk, and you panted, gripping tightly to the edge the way he’d told you to when he first bent you over the surface.

You felt him shift, leaning over you, his hard, solid front pressing against your back. He left a line of sloppy, open mouth kisses along your shoulder before he spoke.

"You gonna touch that pretty little clit or should I?" He murmured, turning to nose against your temple.

"No, too much," you shook your head against the table. He tsked in disagreement.

You were already completely consumed by the feeling of him fucking you, the desk had you at the perfect angle, allowing him to rock even deeper into you than normal. The pleasure of it all was plenty, you didn’t need anything else, couldn’t take anything else.

But he didn’t seem to think so as hand slipped between your bodies. There was barely enough room for his fingers to brush against your swollen bundle of nerves, but Dean had a talent when it came to touching.

You gasped at the contact, you would've launched yourself forward if there was anywhere at all for you to go.

"Getting ready to come for me now, aren't you?"

You didn't have to see his face to know he was grinning, you were giving him the perfect view and he was absolutely eating up how you were crumbling beneath him.

"Mhmm," was all the response you could manage, practically cockdrunk.

Suddenly, his phone on the desk buzzed, both your heads snapping toward the interruption. Dean's hand left your waist, slowing his thrusts as he reached for the offending distraction.

He swore as he recognized the caller ID, looking around the room quickly.

Conveniently, his boxers had ended up on the desk. He grabbed them, balled them up loosely, and shoved them between your slightly parted lips before you could even register what was happening.

You made a noise of protest against the fabric, eyes wide.

Before you could try to spit the makeshift gag out, his hand clamped over your mouth firmly.

“That comes out you’ll be sorry.”

It was ridiculous if you asked him. You'd greedily take his whole cock in your mouth any time of day without complaint, but the fabric that it touched was where you drew the line?

"Not a damn sound, understand?" He warned, moving his hand away slowly.

You made another muffled noise of dissatisfaction but nodded as he flipped open the phone and pressed it to his ear.

"Hey Sammy, what'd you find?" His voice suddenly perfectly casual as he answered the phone.

He cocked his shoulder upward, allowing him to hold the device secured between his ear and his shoulder. With both hands now free, he grasped your hips, pulling you back from the desk slightly before resuming his previous pace, rocking into you again without warning.

You squeaked loudly against the fabric, earning a rough pinch to the side of your thigh in reprimand.

"Uh-huh, right, " he answered, carrying on a full-blown conversation as he continued to fuck you against the desk.

One part of you felt mortified about how much more aroused the current circumstances were making you feel. Dean speaking so casually with his brother, who had no idea you were getting fucked right below him. It was fucking hot.

Another part of you felt it was unfair that you were practically falling apart while he remained calm and collected.

Deciding to play dirty, you grinded back against him, trying to take charge of the speed. However, this was easily thwarted as his grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging harshly into your skin and stalling your movements.

You pressed yourself up slightly, turning to look back at him innocently, batting your lashes. He shot you a hard glare, shaking his head at you in response.

Not willing to give up, you changed tactics, waiting until he was fully sheathed inside you, then clenching tightly around him.

"Shit," he hissed directly into the phone, unable to stop himself. He grasped the back of your neck, shoving your face down against the wood in response.

His voice was almost even when he spoke again, giving some half-ass excuse to his brother as he began pistoning in and out of you faster.

You let out a broken moan, struggling to adjust to his quickened pace.

The desk was creaking beneath you with every thrust now. You squirmed slightly, you weren't even touching yourself, but you didn't have to, you were going to come just like this.

Dean, who knew you body better than anyone, could tell you were close, and just when you thought he couldn't possibly fuck you any deeper he lifted your hips slightly, dragging you up to your tiptoes so he had you at just the right angle.

From the new position he could knock just the right spot inside of you, hitting so deep you could practically feel him in your throat.

Moments later you were coming, the balled up boxers you were now basically drooling around doing a terrible job of muting your screams of bliss.

As your orgasm finished rolling through you, he lowered you down, allowing your feet to rest flat on the floor again, his thrusts slowed but didn't stop. Your head was already feeling hazy, but you knew that wouldn't be your last orgasm of the night.

What you didn't hear above you was Sam's tired voice scoff into the phone.

"Dude, next time you're fucking your girlfriend just don't answer, I can hear everything,"

Dean offered some insincere apology in response before ending the call quickly and tossing his phone back on the desk. He grasped the back of your hair and pulled you to stand against him.

"Well, I hope you're happy sweetheart, you traumatized Sammy."

[whizzing-fizzbee]

Black Butterflies & Deja Vu

Sebastian Sallow x Reader (F!MC) Rating: Explicit 18+, MDNI (smut, profanity), all characters are 18+ Words: 5,474 Themes: friends to lovers, angst, fluff, shameless smut

Summary: Your best friend Sebastian Sallow has been downright angsty lately. You have no idea it's because he's lovesick over you, until Anne and Ominis force your hands.

Notes: Thank you to the lovely anon who requested some Sebastian Sallow angst and smut. Decided to write this one inspired by the song "Black Butterflies & Deja Vu" by The Maine. All characters are 18-year-old seventh years. Reader/MC is a Ravenclaw.

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

Sebastian Sallow sighed and hurled another stone into the Black Lake. It pierced the water’s surface with a sharp splash and sank to its deep demise. Sebastian wished he could do the same.

Perhaps that was a bit dramatic, but Sebastian was feeling rather melancholy. Another Saturday spent alone while you were whisked off to Hogsmeade by yet another suitor.

Or so he thought.

In truth, you were only with Amit Thakkar to help your fellow Ravenclaw craft a plan to ask out Poppy Sweeting. You were fond of Amit – he was handsome and thoughtful – but the notion of any romantic interest between the two of you was laughable. You were gutsy; the type to charge into combat and to speak your mind. Amit was introspective; more of the type to read up on his enemies rather than fight them.

Besides, Amit had it bad for your friend, Poppy. He told you her kindness toward creatures was endearing to him, but he also appreciated how she fought for her convictions. Ever since you and Poppy took down the poachers of Horntail Hall, Amit admired her creed.

Now, it was your seventh year and Amit felt like he was running out of time. You assured him that Poppy would likely say yes to a date. She often spoke highly of Amit, noting his kind and studious nature. Sure, Amit wasn’t the most adventurous student, but you’d seen him hold his own in combat the time you took him to a goblin mine. He had more moxie than he let on.

So when Amit asked you for help, you eagerly agreed. Now that you no longer had to worry about goblin rebellions or Anne Sallow’s curse, you had time for more fun and frivolous quests – like playing matchmaker for two friends.

You spent the afternoon in the Three Broomsticks with Amit to help him decide how and when to ask Poppy on a date. Once it was decided that you’d let him use your vivarium so that he and Poppy could spend time with your unicorns, you toasted to your plan with a round of butterbeers before returning to the castle.

You were practically skipping with satisfaction. Your plan was bound to work and you couldn’t wait to see what may come of Poppy and Amit’s romance.

But Sebastian didn’t know that. To him, Amit was just another sorry bloke who had joined the long line of people desperate to know you on a deeper level. But no one knew you the way Sebastian did. It was more than your secrets, though; sure, he knew those – about Ranrok, your ancient magic and the Keepers – but he also knew your feelings. He knew your fears, sorrows and your emotional triggers. He knew how you liked your tea in the afternoons. He knew you couldn’t fall asleep without reading before bed each night. And he knew you dreamed of a life free from the pain and suffering you’d been forced to live since your fifth year.

That’s why Sebastian never spoke a word of his feelings for you. You were strong and sensible; kind and clever. You were brilliant in every way possible; beautiful inside and out, worthy of all the admiration you received. He decided he was too weak and insignificant to ever deserve you. He was reckless and weak; he gave in to dark magic and it nearly ruined his life – and yours. You deserved a world of warmth and prosperity. Sebastian carried too much darkness. 

Of course, Sebastian had spent every day since Solomon’s death trying to make up for it. You were proud of the work he’d put in to resurrect himself from the dark cavern he’d been drawn to because of that relic. You often told him so, because you wanted him to forgive himself and see himself as someone who deserved to be happy.

But Sebastian loved you far too much to risk tainting you with any more of his poison. So instead of simply telling you how much you meant to him, he remained in the shadows as a bystander, witnessing all the ways your glow captivated anyone privileged enough to cross your path.

Of course you’d chosen Amit, Sebastian thought. Amit was polished and smart, generous and astute. He calculated life with consideration rather than sprinting headfirst without reason the way Sebastian did. Amit had a wealth of information and creativity, always writing in his stacks of notebooks or gazing at the stars in awe. The only thing that left Sebastian in awe was you. You were his North Star.

As you returned to the school grounds, you spotted a familiar figure sulking by the lake. You said goodbye to Amit and tread carefully toward Sebastian.

“Seb,” you said, pulling your sweater tightly around yourself. The early stages of fall were creeping across the Highlands, bringing a new chill to the air. “Seb, what are you doing out here?”

“Nothing,” Sebastian answered tersely. You flinched at his coarse tone. Sure, Sebastian could be brooding and moody, but not usually toward you. He adored you.

You and Sebastian were closer than ever. The events of your fifth year left you both fragile and forlorn; you, because you lost your mentor, Professor Fig, while the repository remained your burden to bear; Sebastian, because he lost more than his uncle when Anne refused to forgive him. The two of you were left with each other, so you leaned inward and formed a bond that could only be understood by two people who shared an unspeakable trauma.

Then you killed Victor Rookwood and Anne Sallow’s curse was lifted. When she began to heal, so did her relationship with Sebastian. He had you to thank for it, and you were merely happy to see him smile again. It brought you even closer.

But something shifted as time passed. You and Sebastian remained bonded, but the new layers of adulthood began to stack between you. He watched your classmates eye you like candy in the corridors. You listened to them whisper and giggle when Sebastian returned tanned and taller after a summer growth spurt.

But for all the rumors and mumblings about the nature of your relationship with Sebastian – “Are they together yet? Is it true they snogged in the Restricted Section? Will they or won’t they?” – you and Sebastian had never broached the subject. 

It broke your heart every single day. Everyone else thought you and Sebastian belonged together. So did you. But you were merely one half of the equation and Sebastian never seemed to count you as a love interest.

“Sebastian, what’s wrong?” you asked, frowning at his cool demeanor.

“Just hanging out,” he said simply. He skipped a flat rock across the water, scattering a cluster of butterflies that hovered near the surface.

“Why weren’t you in Hogsmeade?” you asked innocently.

“Didn’t feel like it.”

“Why not?”

“Why do you care?”

You swallowed, hurt by the way he was lashing out. He was known to have a short fuse – his emotions often got the best of him – but he always treated you with more delicate tact.

His eyes always softened when he looked at you. His touch became gentler and his words became tender. You were the calm to his storm, so it scared you to see dark clouds in his eyes.

“Sebastian, what is wrong?” you demanded. “Have I done something?”

“Other than Amit Thakkar? No. Well, unless you include Larson and Weasley too.”

“What? What do they have to do with-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sebastian snapped.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Are you angry at me for going to Hogsmeade with Amit?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he repeated.

“It does matter,” you pushed back. “It wasn’t a date. In fact, I was helping him plan a date. With Poppy.”

“What?” Sebastian finally pulled his gaze from the lake to turn toward you, his own eyes narrowed in confusion.

“I was helping Amit form a plan to ask Poppy out,” you said. “He’s fancied her forever.”

“Oh.”

“What’s this about, Seb? Is that really why you’ve been pouting here by the lake all day?”

“I wasn’t pouting.”

You rolled your eyes and hugged your arms around his torso, resting your head against his back. You did this often, as it always seemed to relax Sebastian when he was moody. 

“Tortured and forlorn isn’t a good look on you,” you quipped before you released him. 

He sighed and turned to look at you. “Sorry. I suppose I’m just feeling a bit down, is all,” Sebastian said.

“I know,” you said gently. “I know it’s nearly Halloween.”

Halloween was a difficult time of year for Sebastian. The holiday wasn’t fun and frivolous for him the way it was for others. For him, it was the anniversary of his parents’ death.

Sebastian’s lips thinned as he stilled himself. You reached downward to give his hand a gentle squeeze and spent the remainder of the afternoon comforting him by the quiet lake.

---

Later that evening, you sat with Ominis Gaunt and Anne Sallow in the Undercroft. Sebastian had trudged off to bed, leaving the three of you to continue your Ancient Runes studies. 

The Undercroft was quiet as your quill scratched quietly over parchment, a stark contrast from the roar happening inside your head. Finally, you tossed your quill onto the table and sat back in your chair. Anne looked up at your sudden movement and Ominis leaned forward.

“I’m worried about Sebastian,” you said.

“Get in line,” Ominis muttered dryly.

“I know the anniversary of your parents’ death is approaching, but I think it’s more than that,” you sighed as you looked at Anne, who nodded in understanding. “He just seems so… sulky.”

“Sulky?” Ominis mused. “I suppose that’s one word for it.”

“So you’ve noticed it too?”

“Of course, I have,” Ominis said. 

“You’re right, it’s not just our parents,” Anne said. She and Ominis shared a glance that made you uncomfortable, as if they knew something you didn’t.

“What is it?” you demanded with a frown.

“We think he’s lovesick,” Anne said with a soft laugh. You blinked as you processed her words, your stomach deflating as if she’d punched you there.

Sebastian was in love. That was the hardest pill to swallow, but the fact that he hadn’t told you made it even more painful. He told you everything. 

“Lovesick?” you repeated. “Sebastian?” Anne nodded while Ominis folded his arms across his chest, the faint hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “But he hasn’t mentioned anyone to me. And I haven’t seen him with anyone lately.”

It was Ominis’ turn to blink. “He isn’t dating anyone,” he said. “He’s distraught over someone he thinks he can’t have.”

“Who?” you pressed. “Is it Nerida? Because-”

“Oh, please.” Ominis snorted. “Sebastian wouldn’t be arsed over someone as scatterbrained as Nerida Roberts. Give him some more credit than that.”

“But I heard they hooked up.”

“Even if they did, she’s not the one Sebastian’s pining after,” Anne remarked.

“Then who?”

Another silent exchange of glances and you glared at your friends. “What aren’t you telling me?” you demanded, hurt that they were keeping a secret from you. There were no secrets when it came to Sebastian and you.

“And I thought Ravenclaws were smart,” Ominis teased. 

“Why won’t you tell me?” you pushed, your hurt frustrating beginning to surge. It was bad enough Sebastian was in love with someone else, but your friends withholding it from you twisted the knife deeper.

“We don’t need to tell you,” Anne said. You couldn’t decide if she was amused or annoyed.

“Why not? I clearly have no idea who it is.”

“Clearly,” Ominis said dryly.

“So then tell me!”

“We can’t,” Anne said simply. “If it isn’t obvious to you, you aren’t ready to know.”

Tears stung your eyes at your friends’ callousness. Was this their payback for the secrets you kept from them your fifth year? Of course, you’d never told them how you felt about Sebastian. How could you? Ominis would tell you to run far, far away from your chaotic friend. And Anne was his sister. She’d never understand.

“Fine,” you snapped, shuffling your parchment and quills into a pile. You shoved your chair back as you rose to your feet and gathered your study materials in your arms. “It’s also obvious to me I’m not meant to know, so I suppose I’ll call it a night.”

You scurried from the Undercroft, hurt and confused.

---

The following day, Sebastian seethed over his breakfast. He watched you from the Slytherin table as you laughed with your fellow Ravenclaws. Andrew Larson was leaning in particularly close to you and Sebastian hated the way he was looking at you. Sebastian looked at you the same way.

He couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to lust over his best friend, but everything you did, every move you made, forced him into a wild spiral. Sometimes he even forgot how to string together a coherent sentence when you were around, like when you’d subconsciously bite your bottom lip while deep in thought, or the time you fell into a creek and he could see through your blouse.

Sebastian was so busy glaring daggers at Andrew, he didn’t notice the arrival of Ominis and Anne. Anne turned to see the source of her brother’s miffed expression and sighed as she sat down.

“Sebastian, stop,” she scolded. “If you scowl any more, you’re going to accidentally hex half the Ravenclaw table.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if it includes Larson,” Sebastian muttered as he tore his gaze away.

“What’s wrong with Larson?” Anne asked. “He seems nice enough.”

“Don’t be so daft,” Sebastian mumbled. Anne set down her water goblet as her eyes pierced Sebastian with annoyance.

“Sebastian, this has got to stop,” she said forcefully. “You’re acting insufferable.”

“She’s right,” Ominis chimed in. “All of this moping about is becoming unbearable. Just tell her already.”

“Tell who what?”

“Who’s the daft one now?” Anne clucked her tongue. “Come on, Sebastian. It’s clearer than crystal. Everyone knows you’re in love with her.”

“In love with who?”

“Don’t insult my intelligence,” Anne snapped. “Now either tell her or we will.”

“You won’t say a word,” Sebastian threatened. “Mind your business.”

“You’re making it our business with your sour attitude,” Anne said. “We can’t stand it anymore. And frankly, neither can she. You’re just lucky she’s too in love with you to gain any sense.”

“She’s what?”

Anne sat back and smirked. “Come on now,” she continued. “Even you aren’t this dense.”

“Did she say something to you?” Sebastian demanded.

“No,” Anne said simply. “Sometimes the truth is in what we don’t say.”

---

After dinner, you decided to check on Sebastian. You hadn’t seen much of him that day, but you had seen the way he seemingly scowled at you in the Great Hall.

You descended the stairs of Ravenclaw Tower to make the trek toward the Slytherin Dungeons. But as you approached the Quad Courtyard, you were met by Anne.

“There you are!” she exclaimed, causing you to stop dead in your tracks.

“Anne? What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been looking for you. Have you forgotten about your detention?”

“Detention?” 

“Remember, for last week’s Potions incident?”

“But that wasn’t me. That was all Garreth’s f-”

“But Sharp gave you both detention for it, remember?” Anne asked. “He said you were complicit in the explosion since you were Weasley’s partner that day.”

“But…” your voice trailed off as you racked your brain to remember. You couldn’t recall Professor Sharp scolding you or giving you detention. Surely, you would have remembered that.

“You need to get down to the Detention Chamber,” Anne said urgently. “You’re fifteen minutes late.”

“But-”

“Go! Sharp’s already livid. He sent me because I happened to be walking by. Weasley’s already there.”

You groaned. How did you forget? This surely meant you’d receive a second detention for your tardiness. 

“Alright,” you sighed. “I’m on my way.” You thanked Anne and hurried to the dungeons.

“Sorry I’m late, professor!” you exclaimed as you shoved your way through the door to the Detention Chamber. You froze when it became clear Professor Sharp wasn’t there. Neither was Garreth Weasley. Sebastian was the only other occupant, sitting at the front of the room.

“Where’s Sharp?” you asked, confused.

“Sharp? No idea,” Sebastian answered, looking equally confused. “Where’s Binns?”

“Binns?”

“He apparently gave me detention for falling asleep in class last week,” Sebastian explained. “I don’t even remember it. But Anne said-”

“Anne said you had detention?” Your brow furrowed as your suspicion spiked. “But Anne told me-”

A sudden click from the door behind you made you whirl around. You reached for the door handle and found it was locked.

“Hey!” you shouted. “There’s people in here! Unlock the door!”

“No.” 

Your eyes widened at the voice on the other side of the door. “Anne?”

“We’re not letting you out until the two of you confess,” Anne’s voice said.

“Confess? Confess what? And who’s we?” Sebastian appeared next to you, his arms crossed as he frowned at the door. 

“You know what,” Anne’s voice replied pointedly.

“What’s she talking about?” you asked, turning to stare at Sebastian. He shrugged.

“I have no idea. Anne, open the door.”

“No.”

“Ominis? Are you out there too? Are you in on this?” Sebastian asked.

“Yes,” came Ominis’ voice.

Sebastian cursed. Neither of you had your wands – students had to place them in a lock box outside the chamber upon entry so that you couldn’t use magic during detention. The box wouldn’t unlock itself until the full detention was served.

“Let us out!” you shouted at the door. “This is ridiculous! You can’t keep us in here!”

“You can and we will,” Anne responded. “We’ll be back soon.”

You pressed your ear to the door and could hear their footsteps fading down the corridor. You sighed and turned to press your back against the door.

“What’s this about?” you demanded, your eyes narrowing at Sebastian.

“I don’t know,” he said as he ran a hand through his already tousled hair.

“What do they want you to confess?” you asked.

“They said ‘the two of you,’” Sebastian pointed out. “We’re both meant to confess something.”’

“Confess what? We don’t keep secrets from one another.”

Sebastian sighed and paced toward the front of the classroom. He leaned forward against the large desk at the front of the room, his hands gripping the desktop while he appeared deep in thought. 

“They think we… have feelings for each other,” he said, his back still to you as he gazed downward at the desktop.

“What?!”

“They think you and I have romantic attractions,” he said. He turned to face you and crossed his arms again. 

“You can’t be serious,” you laughed nervously. Heat began to creep up the back of your neck. “Why do they think that?” Sebastian gazed at you with tired eyes that startled you. Your tense posture slackened as you frowned in concern. “Sebastian? Are you okay?”

“No,” he said quietly. “I’m not. I’m exhausted.”

“Do you want to sit down?” you asked as you crossed the chamber to approach him. “Maybe you’re ill.”

The conversation you had with Anne and Ominis drifted to the front of your mind. 

“We think he’s lovesick,” Anne had said.

You paused. Dare you ask? What if the answer killed you?

“Sebastian,” you started carefully. “Are you… have you got a crush on someone? Is that why you’ve been so moody lately? Anne mentioned you’ve seemed a little lovesick.”

And to your absolute, utter shock, Sebastian began to laugh. Dread coursed through your blood as you waited for him to regain his composure. 

“Anne’s right, this really is unbearable,” he said as he shook his head. He sighed again and rubbed a hand over his face, so you closed more distance and leaned backward against a desk across from him.

Sebastian’s eyes roamed you up and down. It made you shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

“The answer is yes,” he finally continued. “I do have feelings for someone. That’s what Anne and Ominis want me to confess.”

“Who? Who do you have feelings for?” you asked, ignoring the sting that was twisting shards of heartache inside your chest.

Sebastian’s expression didn’t change. His eyes lingered on you as he seemed to be fighting impatience.

“You really don’t know?” he asked.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” you complained. “Clearly I don’t.”

Sebastian dug the palms of his hands against his eyes as if seeing clearer might make you see clearer. “They keep asking because the answer is obvious,” he said. “The answer is you.”

His words seemed to hover between you, an invisible line begging to be crossed. All you had to do was break the plane.

“Me?” you asked stupidly.

Sebastian couldn’t help but smile at the naivety plastered all over your face. “Yes, you,” he answered. “It really can’t be that much of a surprise, can it? I haven’t exactly been subtle about it.”

“I thought you were just being protective of me,” you said breathlessly. The cool dungeon felt hot and your hands were clammy. This wasn’t happening. You had to be lost in one of your countless dreams about Sebastian, fantasizing over all the ways he’d show you how much he loved you.

“I was,” Sebastian said simply. “I was protecting you from me.”

“What?”

Sebastian paced in front of the desk. “You deserve so much more than someone like me,” he confessed. “I mean, look at you. You’re… everything. I’m just the fool who got lucky enough to call you a friend.”

“Sebastian, that’s not for you to decide,” you said, your eyes still wide at the stunning revelation. “You don’t get to pick for me. And I’ll always pick you.”

“What?”

Suddenly, you understood the frustration that Anne and Ominis felt. You were stunned the two hadn’t strangled you and Sebastian both by now. You were no longer angry with them; you were grateful.

“This is all so ridiculous,” you breathed with a laugh. You stepped toward Sebastian and it was his turn to look surprised. “Sebastian, can we both just confess already?”

“You… you really mean it? You’re not just trying to get out of here?”

“On the contrary,” you said as you took another step toward him. “I’m trying to make the most of our time.”

You grabbed him by the front of his jumper and pulled him into a kiss. It was soft at first, but you grew hungry for more until your hands became balls of taut wool and your tongue was dragging along Sebastian’s bottom lip.

His hands snapped to your waist and pulled you against his body as he kissed you deeper. His tongue clashed with yours until you were gasping for air.

“Wait,” you laughed as you broke apart to catch your breaths. “We still need to confess.”

“I love you,” Sebastian said immediately. His eyes were heavy with a new level of affection that was foreign to you. It made your chest swell and heart race.

“I love you too,” you breathed. Sebastian smiled and leaned in to kiss you more gently this time. 

“This was a lot easier than I thought it’d be,” you murmured once he pulled away.

Sebastian laughed as his thumbs traced gentle circles over your hip. He smiled at you with so much love and lust, your knees would surely give out. Luckily, you had a solution for that.

You pulled him into another forceful kiss, tugging on his jumper until he moved away from the desk. You spun so that your own back was pressed against it, pulling him into you until he lifted you onto the desktop. You wrapped your legs around him, your hands tugging at the hem of his jumper.

You could already feel his erection digging into the skin of your thigh. You’d never wanted anything so badly in your life.

You slipped the sweater over his head and dragged your palms over his bare chest, the feeling of his skin sending shockwaves through your fingertips. You couldn’t believe you were finally touching him in the sinful manner that only existed in your forbidden fantasies.

“Can I take this off?” Sebastian asked as his fingers grazed the top button of your blouse. 

“If you don’t, I will,” you replied. He grinned at your response and kissed you.

Once all the buttons were parted, Sebastian shoved your shirt onto the desk behind you. His hands skimmed over your waist and held your hips as he pulled you hard against him, your inner thigh grinding against his erection. 

You decided you hated the feeling of his trousers against your skin. You fumbled with his belt buckle and zipper until you could shove his remaining clothing to the floor, freeing his cock from the layers of fabric.

Your breath hitched at the sight of it. Sex wasn’t new to you but someone of that size certainly was. You internally scolded yourself for depriving yourself from this for so long.

Sebastian’s hands snaked beneath the hem of your skirt, the pads of his fingers stroking the tops of your thighs. He licked his lips at the heat radiating from your body. 

As he leaned in to kiss you, one of his hands found the apex between your thighs, grazing two fingers over the fabric of your panties. 

“Fucking hell,” he groaned as he felt the moisture of the fabric. He planted a trail of kisses from your neck across your collarbone, stopping with one final peck to your right shoulder.

His thumb brushed patterns over your entrance and you whimpered in frustration at the fabric separating your flesh. Sebastian smirked and inched your panties to the side with his thumb and index finger until your entrance was exposed. His thumb returned, this time running up and down over your wet folds. You could feel his cock twitch against your thigh.

But he had to taste you first. His lips left a trail of kisses from your neck and between your breasts until he lowered himself to a kneeling position. One more kiss followed above your belly button until he was pushing your skirt hem upward. He eyed your most precious asset and attacked it with his tongue.

Your gasp hissed throughout the chamber on contact. The sounds of Sebastian’s tongue immersed in your folds was music to your ears as he hummed a moan into your flesh. The vibration made you buck your hips forward.

His tongue swiped patterns over your clit until you fisted his hair in your hands. You pressed your fingertips into his skull, begging him for more pressure. He obliged, his tongue flattening and flicking against your clit until you were moaning repeatedly.

His lips enclosed your clit and he sucked against it, the sound drawing scowls from the portrait paintings on the walls.

“Don’t stop,” you breathed, your eyelids heavy as you gazed at the erotic vision between your legs. 

Sebastian sucked harder, the tip of his tongue pressed against your clit until your thighs twitched in his hands. You were afraid to know what it’d be like to fall apart on Sebastian’s tongue – not because you were embarrassed or self-conscious, but because you knew it would ruin you for life.

And when it finally started, the sweet sensation shooting through your nerve endings in the form of a convulsion across your cunt, you forced your hips forward as Sebastian’s tongue danced against your clit. Your shaking thighs clamped either side of his head and he groaned at the surge of wet arousal that surfaced from your entrance. His tongue glided inside you to collect the reward of your climax.

As you recovered, your chest rising and falling while you caught your breath, Sebastian kissed both of your thighs and stood, smirking at you with sensual eyes as he returned to his standing position between your legs.

You realized the top of your thigh was wet from the tip of his cock. You took it in your hand and stroked, your thumb appreciating the sensation of its velvet head. Your core began to throb with desire for it.

“I need you. Now,” you whispered. You didn’t need to ask twice.

Sebastian lined the tip of his cock against your entrance and took a moment to behold the sight. He decided he’d burn the entire castle down if he were to wake up and learn this was merely another dream.

But the feeling of your slick, warm arousal coating the head of his cock was far too real. He moaned at the sight of himself disappearing inside your entrance. He sank further into you while you held your breath at the size of him. 

“Relax,” Sebastian said gently. “I’ve got you.”

You nodded silently and exhaled, willing the tension to vacate your body. Sebastian continued to ease himself inside of you, his jaw clenched at the sensation of your walls stretching to accommodate him. 

“My god,” Sebastian groaned as his gaze drifted downward to where you were joined. You bucked your hips to indicate your readiness. 

Sebastian pushed his hips forward, his cock parting your walls again. You moaned at the pressure mounting within your core. 

His cock drove steady strokes against your walls as his hands gripped the tops of your thighs. You whined for more, your hips rocking forward as the desk creaked beneath you. 

You clutched Sebastian’s shoulders to pull him closer. He snapped his hips harder, the sounds of his thrusts growing louder as they became more erratic. 

Your legs clenched around his torso tightly, willing him to drive deeper inside you. You could feel the smoldering climax searing hotter within your twitching walls. When it finally began, your tight cunt released, pumping pleasure through your walls while you cried out. 

Your nails sank into Sebastian’s shoulder blades, leaving sharp crescent divots in his skin. Sebastian’s cock pumped you through your orgasm until your twitching cunt was spent. 

Sebastian’s hands drifted to your back, a flick of his fingers snapping your bra apart. He flung it onto the floor behind himself and buried himself inside you again. 

He kissed you hard, easing you backward until you were lying flat on your back. He couldn’t help himself from roaming his hands over your body, cupping and squeezing your breasts as he slammed into you. You moaned as he gripped your hips, pulling you into him as he fucked you. 

“Oh my god,” he moaned. The sight of you, splayed out flat on your back, breasts bouncing with each thrust, was better than any vision his head could conjure. 

The smacking of your bodies chorused across the chamber, your whimpered moans growing louder in rhythm with them. The delicious incline to another peak was mounting in your core, bringing you so close to the edge of ecstasy. 

Sebastian reached down to drag a thumb over your clit, nudging you to the climactic cliff. The sound you released was anything but subdued; an unrestrained wail as your walls convulsed around Sebastian’s driving cock, sending your back into an arch as you clamped your eyes shut. 

The aftermath was more than Sebastian could handle; your heaving chest panting for air; your heavy eyes dark with satisfaction; your arousal slowly dripping onto the desktop. 

Sebastian thrusted hard until his cock was fully enveloped in your warmth again, his tip buried deep within your plush walls. He grunted as he held you against himself, his cock throbbing with his own climax until he painted your core with his release. 

“Fucking hell,” he groaned once it was over. 

He slumped forward. It felt as if his frame might collapse amid its boneless state. Beneath him, you were grateful for the desk keeping you off the ground. 

Once you felt lucid enough to move again, you sat up slowly. Sebastian dipped his head to rest his chin against your forehead as you both recovered in silence. He didn’t want to part from you, so he remained still, savoring your warmth as he draped his arms around you. 

“You really didn’t think I was in love with you?” you murmured softly against his chest. 

“You really didn’t realize I was in love with you?” he mused.

“We really do owe Anne and Ominis an apology,” you laughed softly. “Or a thank-you.”

The door suddenly creaked open and the sound of hurried footsteps stopped with a sharp halt. Anne stood in the doorway, her face twisted in an expression of horror as Ominis stood behind her, unaware of the sight before them. 

Sebastian winced at the intrusion.  “We should probably start with an apology.”

[dina-winchester]

The Things We Whisper in the Dark

Read part one here

Pairing: Dean x You

Warnings: Hurt, comfort, unresolved feelings, mentions of past heartbreak, tender intimacy (non-sexual), no use of Y/N

Summary: An emotional reunion || “You and me? We’re not done. Not even close.”

You weren’t expecting a knock.

It’s late. Not midnight, but close—one of those nights where the quiet settles too thick and the air feels like it’s holding its breath.

You open the door without thinking—without even asking who it is.

And then you freeze.

Dean.

You haven’t said his name out loud in years. Haven’t let yourself imagine what he might look like now. But there he is, standing on your porch, older but still familiar—like a song you haven’t heard in a decade and yet you somehow still remember all the words.

He doesn’t smile.

Just says your name. Soft. Like he’s afraid it might break.

Your heart stumbles.

You blink once. Then again. Like you’re not sure he’s real.

“Dean?”

He nods. Doesn’t smile.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, though your voice comes out smaller than you meant it to.

He shrugs. Looks down. “I was in the area,” he says, voice rougher now. Deeper. Like gravel worn by distance.

Liar.

There’s no way he just stumbled across your doorstep by accident. Not when you moved here on purpose. Not when you buried his memory under new routines and old regrets.

Enough time passed to build a whole new life. One without him. One where you stopped hoping his name might show up on your phone again—just once.

You never got a call. Never got a letter. Just silence. Thick and aching and final.

And yet—here he is.

Standing on your porch like the years haven’t passed. Like your heart didn’t break behind the gym that summer, when he said he had to go.

You don’t move at first. Just stare through the screen door, barefoot on the hardwood, holding a mug of coffee that suddenly feels too warm in your hands.

Your chest tightens. Your fingers curl tighter around the mug. “It’s really you.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, eyes scanning you like he’s trying to convince himself, too. “It’s me.”

You open the door slowly. Cautiously—like any sudden movement might spook him. Or maybe yourself.

The air between you fills with everything that was never said. Everything that’s been sitting untouched for years.

And then—he runs his fingers through his hair and you see it.

The ring.

Worn. Faded. But unmistakable. Familiar. Still on his right hand, like it never left.

You know every curve of that silver band. The same one you slid onto his finger all those years ago, your hands shaking, your heart breaking. Your throat full of goodbye as you whispered I love you like it might anchor him to you.

And maybe it did. Maybe it still does.

Because the ring’s still on his hand.

And no one keeps something that old unless it still means something.

Unless you still mean something.

Your eyes catch on it and don’t let go. “You kept it.”

He glances down at his hand, then back at you. “Of course I did.”

You swallow. “Why?”

Dean doesn’t answer right away. Just shifts his weight, thumb brushing the metal unconsciously. “Because you gave it to me,” he says finally. “And because I never stopped thinking about you.”

The words knock the breath out of you.

You remember how it felt to chase him down hallways. To kiss him in the dark. To fall asleep in his arms with the window cracked and his heartbeat under your cheek.

And even now—standing in the doorway with time between you like an ocean—it still feels like he’s yours.

“I thought you forgot,” you whisper.

He steps forward, just slightly. “Not even close.”

You stare, trying to memorize the lines time carved into him. The way his jaw looks tighter now. The way he carries something heavier in his shoulders, like whatever life he walked into wasn’t any kinder than the one he left.

You want to be angry. You want to ask why he never called.

But all that comes out is: “You look tired.”

Dean huffs a soft laugh. “Yeah. That’s fair.”

A beat of silence.

Then you move aside and open the door wider.

“You wanna come in?”

His eyes meet yours. And even after everything—he still looks at you like you’re the only thing he’s sure of.

“I do.”

He steps over the threshold slowly, like he’s not sure he’s allowed.

You close the door behind him.

For a second, the silence settles too deep—like neither of you knows what to do now that he’s here. He stands in the middle of your living room like it’s sacred ground, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, eyes drifting over everything.

You watch him take it all in. The books on the shelves. The lamp with the crooked shade. The throw blanket half-folded on the couch. Your life. The one you built without him.

He doesn’t say a word, but you see it in his face.

He’s picturing where he might’ve fit, if he’d stayed.

You clear your throat. “You want some coffee? I just made some, it’s still warm.”

Dean’s gaze snaps back to you, and for the first time, there’s a hint of something softer in it. “Yeah. Coffee sounds good.”

You nod and head toward the kitchen, the sound of your footsteps too loud against the hardwood. He follows, but slower—like he’s still deciding whether this is a dream.

You pour him a cup, hands steady even though your heart isn’t. When you pass it to him, your fingers brush his. Just barely. But it’s enough.

You both feel it—your eyes meet and the world stands still for a few moments.

He wraps his hands around the mug. Doesn’t drink. Just looks at you.

“You look good,” he says quietly.

Your breath catches, eyes never leaving his, “you look good, too. Tired, but good.”

That gets a small smile out of him. Faint. But real. “Yeah, well. You always saw right through me.”

You look away.

Part of you wants to ask everything—Where did you go? Why didn’t you call? What made you leave like that?—but the words pile up in your throat, too heavy to carry.

Instead, you take a seat at the kitchen table. Dean does the same, sitting across from you like he used to when he helped you study for midterms, always distracting you with terrible jokes and lingering glances.

He sets the coffee down without drinking it.

“I wanted to call you,” he continues, voice low. “I’d pick up the phone more times than I can count but tell myself not to. That I didn’t have the right.”

The words hang in the air. You want to scream, to cry, to forgive him all at once.

Instead, you just nod. “It hurt.”

“Yeah,” he admits quietly. “Me too.” His jaw flexes. He looks like he’s trying not to fall apart.

“I thought about you,” you say, before you can stop yourself. “All the time.”

Dean nods slowly. “I know. I hoped you did.”

You’re quiet for a long moment. The sound of the old fridge hums in the background, grounding you.

Finally, you ask, “So… what now? You show up, say all this, and then what?”

Dean hesitates. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I didn’t plan this far. Just knew I couldn’t keep pretending I was okay not knowing how you were.”

You exhale. “Well. I’m… here.”

He looks at you. “Yeah. You are.”

The room feels smaller somehow, like all the space between you has folded in on itself.

After a beat, you find yourself asking, almost without thinking, “Do you want to stay? Tonight… I mean.”

He meets your eyes, hope flickering there. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Later, the two of you lie tangled in the quiet dark of your bed, the world outside fading away.

His arm wraps around you, pulling you close.

You snuggle into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm as it rests gently over his heart, head tucked under his chin.

Your voice is just a whisper, soft but sure, “I’ve missed you.”

He presses his lips to the top of your head, his breath warm against your hair, “I’ve missed you too, sweetheart.”

The words settle between you like a promise, a new beginning whispered in the dark.

[berryispunk]

Your Home's Only a Town You're a Guest In

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

quick note: this fic contains heavy topics such as grief and parental death so be warned before reading but I swear she's worth it 🤍

tags: parental death, stages of grief, brief mention of addiction, teenager love, falling in love again, small town, rekindling romance, soft! Frankie, girl dad! Frankie, swearing, ANGST, bad jokes, nicknames, yearning, mutual pining, kissing, friends to lovers, slow burn, SMUT (🌶️🌶️🌶️), did i mention angst?, all the emotions, reader has longer wavy hair and a fuller figure but no further physical description

summary: You never planned to return to your hometown but things change when you've got life-changing news and soon you find yourself trying to navigate the past colliding with the present.

word count: 10,6 k (don't ask me any questions 😅 idk what happened)

readable also here

When you had left your hometown almost ten years ago you had never planned to come back. 

When your mom called one day to tell you your father was in hospice care, you thought it had to be the worst day of your life. It felt like a cruel joke. Of all the reasons that could have brought you back, it had to be this—your dad, dying.

All the unspoken words between you and him came crashing down at once, knocking the air right out of your lungs. Your mother had made it clear: no one could say how much time he had left, and if you wanted to see him, you needed to come quickly.

Whenever you talked about your hometown to friends in the city, you could see the envy in their eyes. A beach town, waves always in the background—it sounded idyllic. You didn’t blame them. How could they know what it was really like to grow up in a place like Tidehaven?

The neighbors’ judgmental glances. The way people knew things about you before you even met them.

The unease that settled deeper the older you got.

How you never quite belonged—your spirit too wild, too restless for a town that wanted everyone to color inside the lines.

Staying would have clipped your wings before you even had a chance to use them.

So you left. One day, without looking back, no matter how many times your mom called, crying, begging you to come home.

Still, you dreamed about the ocean sometimes. You missed the sharp, salty wind in your face, the way it stung and soothed at the same time. You missed the quiet of sitting on the beach, listening to the waves crash against the shore, and the endless, aching stretch of the horizon.

In stark contrast, the city never slept. It was always buzzing, always alive—and that was one of the hardest things you had to adjust to when you first moved there. It was a whole different life. When you’d felt too big for your hometown, you suddenly felt far too small in the city, almost invisible. Just another face in the endless crowd.

You missed the feeling of belonging, of being part of a close-knit group. That was another thing you had left behind—your friends.

At first, you stayed in touch—thank God for technology—but it wasn’t the same.

Eventually, you found new friends in college, but they didn’t understand your struggles the way the ones back in Tidehaven did. They couldn’t share your history. They couldn’t share your pain.

You spent nights lying awake, dreading the journey back to that coastal town. But this time, there was no running, no hiding. As much as you didn’t want to, the responsible part of you won out, and you booked a seat on the next plane to the closest airport near Tidehaven.

On a late summer day—when the breeze was still warm but the air already carried hints of autumn—you returned "home."

Only, it didn’t feel like home anymore. It wore the costume of familiarity, but underneath, it felt foreign. Cold.

When you walked through your childhood home's front door, the screaking sound still the same, your mother looked around the corner and her face looked so much older even from a distance. Her hair was much greyer than you remembered. 

The worry written all over her features had made her age like a forgotten piece of furniture tarnished by the tides. You felt tears pricking in the corners of your eyes as you let your luggage fall to the ground and walked over to her and hugged her close. 

She almost crushed you with her arms and murmured, “My girl is home…” You had to bite your lip real hard not to sob. “Hey mama,” you whispered and she kissed your wavy hair repeatedly. This, you thought, felt like coming home. 

You settled down in your childhood bedroom you had outgrown long ago, everything still looked like you remembered: the posters of your teen crushes, the pink floral throw blanket, all the books scattered around the small room. It felt like stepping into a time machine of your youth. Everything was neatly preserved and it tightened the knot in your chest even further. 

You decided to visit the only place in this hellhole you were certain that had some alcohol you so desperately needed, the local bar. 

So you threw on a fleece jacket before you walked through the empty streets of Tidehaven. The night air was almost too crisp for the shorts you were wearing but you didn’t have time to worry about it. 

As soon as you reached the bar you slumped onto a stool at the bar and ordered some beverage strong enough to help you numb the gnawing pain of responsibility and regret. Halfway through your glass you suddenly heard it: a deep, familiar voice ringing in your ear. It was faint, almost not noticeable if you hadn’t listened close enough. But you listened very closely. The voice was deeper but still unmistakingly recognizable. So you whirled around on your bar stool and spotted him in a booth in the back of the bar, together with the same shared group of friends he had always been with. You froze in your seat and contemplated simply leaving, but you couldn't. 

Could it really be him? 

You tried to watch him as unobtrusively as you could but of course he noticed you staring  and as your eyes locked it felt like time stood still, your chest immediately constricting, almost suffocating as you turned around and prayed that he hadn’t seen you. But of course you weren’t so lucky. When were you ever lucky? You emptied your drink quickly before you gestured to the barkeeper to give you a refill. 

“Do you mind?” The voice from earlier, now dangerously close, asked you. 

You shook your head, but you didn’t dare to look up. You knew it was him without looking. 

“I’d say it feels like seeing a ghost, but I guess seeing ghosts should be scary. This isn’t scary, this is–” 

“Sick? Twisted?” You interrupted him and you felt his confused eyes on you without ever having to look up. He laughed softly, the sound deep and rich as he ordered a drink for himself before sitting down on the stool next to yours. 

“That wasn’t what I would’ve gone for but okay,” he said and you finally decided to look at him and immediately wished you hadn’t. It was him, no doubt. The same dark brown tousled locks poking out from under the old, worn-down baseball cap. The same warm brown eyes, slightly glimmering in the dim light of the bar. A slight stubble on his chin and cheeks that looked like it might need a trim soon. The same almost pouty lips, slightly dry looking and you wondered if this man knew chapsticks existed? His shoulders were so broad, his biceps so muscular when they flexed slightly under the jeans button-down he was wearing. You couldn't help but stare at him when he crossed his arms in front of his chest. This wasn’t the Frankie you’d last seen the night before you left. It was a new version, Frankie 2.0. The adult version. 

He didn’t even flinch when you checked him out, your eyes dancing over every one of his unique features, trying to make sense of it. Putting together the puzzle pieces of the old Frankie and this rendition in front of you. He looked nothing like the tall, slender guy you had a huge crush on when you were a teenager but still it was him. 

The warm expression on his face, an identical lopsided smile you remembered. But there was more to it. It was the way he handled himself - much more confident, taking in his rightful space. And the way his frame was built made him almost intimidating, if you hadn’t known better. 

Well, you used to know him but how could you know if he wasn’t able to break you in half with these arms of his? Ten years had done a lot to his frame and you had a really hard time searching for words when you finally turned back around to sip at your drink. 

“You know steroids are dangerous, right?” you scoffed and he gave you a deep, rumbling laugh. 

“I guess you refer to my arms with that? I wanna let you know that it’s all just training and nothing illegal, I promise” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his remark. 

“What did you train for? A bodybuilder contest?” you quirked an eyebrow and he shook his head, a grin still on his face. “Army,” he answered and you searched for his eyes. 

“You’re in the army?”

“I was. I left last year. Wasn't useful anymore after this grenade exploded near me and the debris hit my leg during battle.“

“I am sorry.”

"No need," he said, waving you off with a casual shrug. "But you know," he added, taking a sip of his drink, "spending years in it and then getting spit out like you didn’t literally sacrifice your life for your country… it doesn’t exactly feel good."

“Sounds awful…”

“It is.” 

There’s a beat of silence before he asked, “What are you even doing here? You made it very clear that you’d never return.” 

Was his tone accusatory or hurt? You couldn’t really tell. 

You scoffed scornfully. 

“Believe me, wasn’t my first choice,” you rolled your eyes before you sipped at your drink again. 

He didn’t answer, instead he took a sip from his own, the ice in it clinking against the glass. 

“My dad, he–” You couldn’t finish the sentence, too painful, too uncertain. 

“I heard about your dad,” he said cautiously, his words measured. 

“Of course you did,” you said bitterly. “This is Tidehaven, gossip spreads faster than a damn wildfire.” 

“I am sorry, hermosa.” 

The nickname made you nauseous immediately and you glared at him, your gaze probably full of venom. He had the audacity to sound sincere.

“Save your words for someone who cares,” you spit out, slamming money on the bar and standing up so abruptly the stool scratched loudly on the floor. His eyes were on you in an instant, eyebrows furrowed deep. 

You headed towards the exit with fast steps, wanting to create some distance between him and all the feelings you had kept buried for so long. Out of all people it had to be him.

You didn’t have time for this, you couldn’t afford to be distracted. 

When you reached the doorway of the bar his hand grabbed your arm, determined but not painful as he said, “Please, stay. I just… I just want to talk. I am sorry if I said something wrong. We just met again, please.” 

His eyes were nothing less than pleading and you frowned heavily. 

Under any other circumstance you would have loved to stay and talk, catch up on what you’ve missed over the years but right now the weight of everything threatened to crush you any minute and you were too tired for all that. 

“I can’t Frankie, I am sorry,” you said and you meant it even when you freed your arm from his grip and walked down the steps to the road. The gravel crunching under your shoes, echoing through the eerie silence of the night as you walked as fast as your feet and equilibrium could handle. 

You didn’t know if he’d kept standing in the doorway and watched you walking away or not, but something told you he had. Even if everything in you screamed to turn around you didn’t, because you knew that he’d be the one person able to tear down your walls that you had so arduously built around you. 

As you laid in bed later that night with your window open the sound of the waves lulled you into a restless sleep and you found yourself in a common dream landscape. The beach. 

But this time it was different. Somebody sat on the sand, the person’s back turned but you immediately knew it was Frankie, only he wore a cap at the beach. But as you approached him his figure dissolved, turning into smoke and when you finally stood where he had sat he’s gone fully and you sank to your knees, burying your head in your hands and starting crying. 

When you wake up the next morning your pillow is full of tears and you felt like you got hit by a truck. A silent bing from your nightstand catched your attention when you lift your phone to see the notification and you immediately sat up in your small bed. 

“Hey, this is Frankie. Sorry, got your number from your mom. 😅 Let’s meet at our place at the beach at 3 pm.” 

Frankie had been a pilot. He had served in the army. He had faced life-threatening situations, trained himself to stay calm under pressure no matter what. But today, sitting on the pier with his feet dangling over the water, his heart raced like he’d just run a damn marathon.

He checked his digital watch. Two minutes to three. His hand started patting nervously against his jeans-clad thigh. What if she didn’t show up? What if he made a complete idiot of himself?

When he saw you yesterday at the bar, it had been like getting struck by lightning. The sight of you hit him so hard it made his chest tighten painfully—almost as bad as the panic attacks he sometimes had from flashbacks to his army days. Maybe even worse.

He forced his gaze out over the ocean, letting the sound of the waves crashing against the shore wash over him. It was calming enough that he dared to close his eyes for a moment.

But even then, the images of you haunted him—the girl you had been and the woman he saw yesterday blurred together in his mind, burned into his memory so deeply he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

Your eyes were still sad, but now there was a flicker of curiosity in them too. Your hair still tumbled in wild waves past your shoulders. And you still wore that slight, ever-present frown, like you were carrying the weight of the world on your face. 

To be fair, you were probably having the same thoughts about him—at least judging by the way you looked at him last night. Pure disbelief, maybe even a little shock.

Lost deep in his thoughts, he suddenly felt a shift beside him, the weight of someone settling onto the pier. His eyes snapped open just in time to see you drop down beside him with a loud, weary sigh, slumping onto the worn wood.

He didn’t dare to say anything, afraid you may leave as soon as he opened his mouth. 

Your gaze was fixed on the horizon as well before you started speaking “Wasn’t sure if I really came until the last minute.” 

“I am glad you did” he replied, his own gaze still on the horizon before he added “How are–”

“Are you seriously asking me how I’m doing, Frankie?” your tone was biting.

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly as he mumbles “Guess so.”

You shook your head and scoffed. “I am doing absolutely great. I am back in this hellhole, my dad is dying but I don’t know when so I’m stuck at the one place on earth I don’t wanna be at,” you rumbled. 

Frankie could feel your frustration and hurt seeping out of every word. But mostly he could feel the sadness. You had a way of covering your real feelings under a heavy load of sarcasm, you always did. Some things never change, he thought. Even if the woman sitting next to him looked and handled herself so different from the girl he used to know, under all the layers of pain and heartbreak it was still you. 

“I am sorry, hermosa. I really am,” he said sincerely and for a fragment your facade crumbled, the worry and all the other negative emotions flickering over your face. 

"Can I do something?" he asked tentatively.

You shook your head again.

Straightening a bit in your seat, you tucked your hands under your thighs, your feet still dangling above the ground. Your gaze drifted to the water. "How have you been? Did you never leave Tidehaven, or...?"

He took a deep breath. "I did. Left for basic training, joined the military. Spent most of my time overseas—missions, wars, fights in and out of my job. But hey, at least I could fly an aircraft."

"Wait..." You blinked, caught off guard. "You were a pilot?"

His mouth quirked up. "Yes, ma’am. I could fly anything, but if I had the choice, I always picked helicopters."

"Wow." You exhaled, and his faint, proud smile lingered—for a moment.

"Well, technically, I was a pilot. Lost my license a while back."

Your brows knitted together. "Oh? Why’s that?" You had never shied away from the real questions. You still didn’t.

"Drugs."

"Drugs?" A beat. "Consuming or smuggling?"

His lips pressed together. "Consuming. Coke, to be exact. Definitely not my brightest moment." He exhaled through his nose. "I’ve been clean for over two years now, though."

"That’s... great." Your voice was thin, unreadable. Surprise? Judgment? He couldn’t quite tell.

A stretch of silence settled before you spoke again, softer this time.

"Do you... have a family? A wife?"

Another sore point.

“I have a daughter, Sofía. She's two years old now and lives with her mom. We’re divorced for almost as long as she’s old. I married her mom Ella because I thought I needed to, my parents doing the rest, you know how old-fashioned they are. We have shared custody and I see her as often as I can.” 

You chuckled. Of course you remembered about his parents. You weren’t allowed to stay overnight at his house when the two of you were younger, but that didn’t stop you from sneaking around anyway and finding other places to make out at.

“I thought I’m doing the right thing, you know. Being responsible. Truth was, even if Sofía is my everything, she wasn’t exactly planned and her mom and I were already thinking about breaking up before she found out that she was expecting. So, I felt the need to stay and I really tried to be the man Ella needed me to be but I failed miserably. Being coked out all the time doing the rest. The short temper and not to mention the financial aspect of the addiction. All my money I earned went straight to drugs or stuff we needed for our child. So I quit the drugs cold turkey, being clean as soon as Sofía was born and by God, it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But as soon as I held this little girl in my arms everything kind of fell into place. I know it probably sounds super cheesy, but it’s the truth. This little girl was my new anchor, my reason to keep clean and to show up. And it worked out for a few months. But her mom and I didn’t. We kept fighting over the smallest things and I was so close to relapsing because of the emotional turmoil that we, in good terms, decided to call it quits. To be honest, I think we never were a good match anyway, but I’ll be forever thankful for the result of it: my daughter. Her mom is with this guy called Clint now and honestly, they really found each other. She even married him last year and is expecting her second child. And I hope she’s happy, it seems that she is at least. She deserves the good life I wasn’t able to give her.” 

He took a deep breath. It had been a long time since he had talked this much—especially about his life. But you had a way of coaxing things out of him without pressuring.

You would have had every right to judge, to ask more questions—questions he would have answered truthfully, even if they hurt—but you didn’t. He looked at you for a moment, studying you, wondering if he had bored you with his rambling. But you just kept your gaze fixed on the vast expanse of the ocean, the ghost of a smile on your lips before you finally turned to him.

"So, Frankie Morales is a daddy?" you asked, almost mockingly.

He grinned in response.

“I am a daddy. Does that make me a hot dilf now?” he joked and promptly earned a shoulder bump and an eye roll from you. That was the sassy side of you he had missed so much. 

“And you? Do you—?” 

“Hell no”, you laughed. “Kids aren’t for me. At least I never saw myself as a mom and to be fair I never had a partner long enough to even have to worry about the possibility of that.” 

He nodded, maybe frowning a little bit too.

“Where have you been the last ten years?” 

You shifted in your seat before answering. "The city. I went there for college and stayed for the job I got after graduating. It’s so, so different from here. All the lights, the endless ways to waste money, and the even easier ways to waste yourself."

You trailed off, your gaze suddenly distant.

"The city is anonymous. Buzzing. She’s like an animal—alive and thriving as long as she’s being fed. And in my case, that meant my hopes and dreams, I guess." You tried to joke, to make it sound casual, but Frankie saw right through it. You were disappointed.

"The city was always your dream. Your light was too bright, your spirit too big for this sleepy town. What changed?"

"I did," you said sharply. The words hung heavy between you.

Silence settled, broken only by the rhythmic crash of waves against the pier.

"It’s not that I regret leaving, really. But it was nothing like I expected. I thought moving to the city would magically make me feel better, but it only made things worse. I felt so lost. So alone.

The friends I had—our friends—either stayed here or scattered across the country. I thought chasing my dream would make me feel complete. But instead, it shattered me even more. Because now, I have two places I call ‘home’... and neither one really feels like it."

Your words struck a chord deep inside of him. He knew the feeling of not belonging, especially after leaving the military. 

He stayed silent, waiting if you maybe opened up some more, but you didn’t.

"So, do you have someone in the city waiting for you when—if—you return?"

"No," you answered, and somehow, it filled Frankie with relief.

"How about you?" You let your gaze roam over him for a moment, scanning him in a way that made him unusually nervous.

"No one," he said quietly.

"Good." A small smile tugged at your lips before your eyes drifted back to the horizon. "Where do you live? Your parents' house?"

"Sí. It’s just my dad now, you know. My mom died last autumn."

"Oh, shit," you murmured, brows furrowing. "I’m sorry, Frankie."

He sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. The memory of his mother’s passing still settled in his chest like a weight he couldn’t shake.

"I—" He hesitated. "I don’t know how much longer my dad has. They were together their whole lives, and he’s so lost without her. No matter how hard I try, I can’t fill the space she left behind."

"That’s not your job." Your voice was steady, certain. "Your job is to be present. To let him know he’s not alone. And I’m sure you’re doing everything you can—he knows that, too. It’ll never be the same again, sadly. Just… cherish the time you have with him now, yeah?"

There you were. Beneath all the stoicism, the tough exterior, the lingering sadness. You cared. You always had. And you always made his problems feel a little less heavy. It was one of the things he had adored about you, something he had deeply missed.

"Guess I may have to count on you now," you said, attempting lightness. "In the ‘I lost a parent’ department. Haven’t got any experience in that."

He chuckled. "Wouldn’t recommend it. Zero out of five stars. But… I’m here for you. If you want me to be."

You turned toward him, lips pressing into a thin line as you held his gaze. A long beat passed before you finally said, "I’d love to have you around. After all, you might be the best thing this place has ever had—well, besides the beach, of course."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that a compliment?"

"Ooooh, Morales, don’t get cocky now." A smirk played on your lips. "I was just trying to be nice, you know. After everything you told me, you might be just as lost as I am."

"Noted." He nudged your shoulder gently. "For the record, you’re also the best thing this place has ever seen." His voice dropped slightly as his gaze flickered to the water below. "And… I missed you."

Maybe he had said too much. Maybe he had overestimated the fragile bond rebuilding between you. But if he had learned one thing after losing his mom, it was that you never know when you’ll get another chance to say something that matters. So he said it.

Just as he considered adding something to soften the weight of his words, he felt you lean in, your head resting lightly against his shoulder.

Your voice was nearly swallowed by the waves, but he heard it.

"I missed you too."

Frankie’s heart skipped a beat.

The two of you stayed like that, unmoving, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting everything in soft, golden hues. And for the first time in a long time, he felt exactly where he needed to be.

Days blended into weeks with Frankie by your side. You spent every waking hour together. Eating with his dad, cooking together, going for walks at the beach. If you weren’t at his house, he was at yours, eating with your mom, making her laugh even if anything else felt so grey and heavy and the health of your dad was quickly deteriorating. The first time he came over for dinner he apologized for intruding, but your mom shrugged it off and said it was typical for you to bring anyone home like strays. Frankie shooted you a look at the word ‘stray’ and you smirked in response. It was this day his nickname ‘stray cat’ was born and it became a habit calling him that ever since.  

Frankie was the light in the darkness for you. He was your lighthouse guiding you in the rough sea that called itself your life and even if you swore you wouldn’t let anyone close enough to hurt you again, Frankie tore down your walls brick by brick without your alarm bells ringing. He was patient, he was understanding and he never demanded anything. He was happy with what you offered him as long as it meant he could be by your side. 

One evening, as the two of you sat on the front porch of his house, the breeze had grown too cold for summer clothing. You had stupidly neglected to pack anything warmer in your hurry, and you shivered against the harsh ocean air. Frankie rose from his seat on the bench without a word and disappeared inside. When he returned, he handed you one of his hoodies.

"You’re freezing, hermosa," he said softly.

You looked at him, deeply touched by the simple, thoughtful gesture. It was the kind of thing that made you feel warm and fuzzy inside. You quickly pulled the hoodie over your head, and the moment it settled on you, it felt like a warm embrace. His scent was everywhere, wrapping around you like a cocoon, and it made your chest tighten with affection.

You cared for him so deeply, maybe even falling in love with him again. But you kept a respectful distance, knowing he was the one good thing in your life right now. You couldn’t afford to lose him, not because of your usual mess of a relationship track record.

“Thank you” you smiled softly at him and he nodded, the charming boyish grin on his face making the butterflies in your stomach go wild. 

“Can I ask you something?” you asked tentatively. 

“Sure.” 

You took a deep breath to collect some courage. 

“Why did you never reach out to me? After I left, I mean. Our friends did, they texted and sent me photos. But you…” 

Frankies face darkened, his brows furrowed deep. Something unreadable in his expression. “Honestly? I thought you didn’t want me to do that. You were so convinced to leave everything connected to Tidehaven behind I thought it included me. I had your number,my thumb hovered over the call button more times than I would care to admit. I wrote probably hundreds of texts but ended up deleting them all. And the more time passed, the more silly I felt. So I just checked in with Santi or Benny, who knew how you were and even if I was happy to hear that you were good I still selfishly wished I would know it myself.”

“Frankie,” you interrupted, “I cried my eyes out for weeks because I didn’t hear from you again. I thought you just forgot about me that easily, I thought you never really cared for me in the first place or at least not enough to reach out. Santi told me you joined the army, he gave me your number and I wanted to call you, but what could I possibly have said ? ‘hey, it’s me, you remember me? i was the girl helplessly in love with you but you just ditched me like a fucking prom date’”

Frankie audibly inhaled, his gaze fixed on the ground under his feet. 

“I didn’t ditch you. You were the one that left, remember? I never forgot about you, never.”

“It would’ve been so easy. One message, one call, anything to show me that you still cared” you said, each word tasting bitter on your tongue.

“I never stopped caring, hermosa.”

He could’ve shot you or stabbed you, and it would’ve hurt the same as his words just did. Hot, angry tears blurred your vision as you stood up, walking out of his house. With every step you took, the vice around your heart tightened, and by the time you reached your own house, you quickly ran upstairs into your room, throwing yourself onto the bed. You buried your face in the pillow and let it all out—crying the frustration, the hurt, the anger. It was a dangerous cocktail of emotions.

Your phone buzzed multiple times on the nightstand, and you knew it was probably Frankie, but you weren’t ready to talk to him. You needed time to process this.

You didn’t know what hurt more: his absence, or the fact that your mom kept asking if he was okay because he hadn’t eaten with you for a few days. She should’ve been asking how you felt instead.

One evening, just as you were setting the table for dinner, the doorbell rang. Maybe it was one of the neighbors returning a container your mom had lent them when she shared some leftover food. She used to cook for a whole football team, after all.

“I’ve got it!” you called out to your mom as you opened the door. It wasn’t a neighbor. It was Frankie. Live and in color.

“Hey,” he murmured, lifting his baseball cap and running a hand through his hair before he placed it back on. He always did that, even back in high school when he was nervous. Some things never changed. Even though the adult Frankie was physically so far from the slender boy he’d been ten years ago, beneath the broad shoulders and strong arms, there was still that same boyish heart.

“Hey,” you answered, your voice sharp, the contempt probably written all over your face.

“Honey, is that…?” Your mom’s voice joined the two of you in the hallway, and her whole face lit up as soon as she spotted Frankie standing in the doorway.

“Frankie, come on in. Food’s ready,” she called, waving him in. Frankie glanced over at you first, silently asking for permission, but you just huffed and rolled your eyes as you stepped aside and closed the door behind him.

He followed your mom into the living room, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he stood there, uncertain. His tall, broad frame filled the room, but even so, he seemed smaller than usual, much less confident than you remembered.

“Have a seat, Frankie,” your mom said, placing the food on the table. The aroma was mouthwatering, and your stomach growled in anticipation.

“Thank you, Mrs. Davis,” he said politely as he sat down across from you.

You kept a hawk-eyed watch on him as your mom put food on his plate, acting like it was the most normal thing in the world. You, however, were still seething beneath the surface. Your mom, blissfully unaware of the conversation you’d had just a few days ago, went on as if nothing had happened.

“How’s your dad doing, hun’?” she asked, diving into small talk. Wonderful.

“He’s alright. Maybe a bit lonely. He’s started doing crosswords, and sometimes I can talk him into taking a walk with me. But he misses my mom… and so do I.” His eyes suddenly darkened with sadness, and for a moment, you forgot about your own anger.

“Yeah, I can imagine…” your mom murmured, her gaze falling to her plate as she poked at her food. She felt it too—the looming grief, the quiet anticipation of the day when your dad’s heart would stop beating. It mirrored the sorrow Frankie had spoken of. She would feel lonely too, and that reality made your chest ache.

You reached out under the table, gently patting her thigh in silent reassurance, earning a small, tight-lipped smile in return. You instinctively turned your head towards Frankie, and as if he could sense your gaze, he was already looking at you.

After a stretch of uncomfortable silence, your mom changed the topic, asking Frankie about his daughter. Suddenly, the man in front of you transformed. He straightened in his seat, a wide grin spreading across his face as he started talking about Sofía.

He was practically glowing with pride, telling you all about her love for animals and drawing. You could feel something stirring in your chest as you listened. Daddy Frankie was a whole new person—genuinely happy, talking about his child with such enthusiasm that it was contagious.

You couldn’t help but smile too, especially as his grin widened when he told stories about her potty training or the time she accidentally made a somersault trying to reach for something. It was absolutely adorable. By the end of the evening, everyone was in good spirits, the earlier tension forgotten. Your mom, always eager to meet new faces, insisted that the next time Sofía visited, Frankie should bring her by so she could meet her. He agreed happily, his joy still evident.

When you brought Frankie to your front door, he stood in the doorway, rubbing his neck sheepishly. “Thanks for not kicking me out…” He stifled a laugh, and you shook your head.

“Thank my mom, not me. If it were up to me, you wouldn’t have even made it inside,” you crossed your arms, a slight edge to your voice.

“I know, I—look,” he started, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry. And I know no amount of words can undo the damage I did. I was an idiot. But I like you so damn much, and it’s killing me not to be around you, especially now that I finally got you back. Please, yell at me, hit me, do anything you want, but don’t push me away again.”

His eyes. Those damn puppy-dog eyes were lethal as he searched for yours, and you sighed.

You crossed your arms before responding. “We were young and dumb. We both made mistakes. I guess I can forgive you, stray cat.” You even managed a small smile, and he mirrored it with a soft one of his own.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“Don’t make me regret this,” you warned, lifting your index finger in a mock-serious gesture. He raised his hands in mock resignation, then said, “Come here.”

He pulled you against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist. You hugged him back, burying your face in his shirt, smiling as you inhaled his familiar scent.

“You’re so goddamn stubborn, hermosa.”

“I am well aware,” you mumbled, but the grin on your face was brighter than the porch light you both stood under.

You lifted your head, your chin resting against his chest. He looked down at you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You leaned into his touch, your head resting in his big hand. His breath hitched slightly at the simple but undeniably intimate gesture. His hand wandered from your cheek to your chin, pinching it gently as he grinned at you.

“You’re as infuriating as you’re beautiful, you know that?” he whispered, his eyes flickering between your lips and your eyes so quickly you might have missed it if you weren’t this close. You bit your lip, your own eyes lingering on his lips, which looked so plush and kissable in the dim light of the front porch. He bit his lip for a moment, his gaze drifting away. He was battling with himself, you could see it.

“You’re gonna kiss me now or what ,Morales?” you challenged. 

His head tilted back towards you immediately, his eyes confused for a second before they turned soft again and without missing a beat, he dipped his head to kiss you. A quick, cautious peck first, kind of testing the waters, assessing the damage he may have done but you just grinned at him and your hand found the back of his neck, pulling him down towards you and kissing him deeply. It was incredible. If you thought kissing him as a teenager was an experience then this was a whole damn revelation. His lips were familiar yet new, every movement more purposeful than the last, as though he’d spent years wondering how this moment would feel. His hand found its way to your waist, fingers barely brushing your skin as he deepened the kiss. The tension that had built up over years, over missed chances, vanished with the first taste of him.

His hand tangled in your hair when he walked you back until you hit the facade of your house with your back. His knee between your legs and his hard frame pressing you against the wall. His tongue now seeking entrance into your mouth, exploring every inch of you as you tightened the grip in the nape of his neck, gasping softly into the kiss. It felt like burning up from the inside, but it was worth it. “Dios”, he cursed against your lips. “We have to stop,” he almost whimpered as your foreheads rested against each other, both of you panting. You opened your eyes back up and his gaze on you was dark as you caressed the back of his neck. “I don’t want you to stop” you mewled and his eyebrows raised up, almost disappearing under the visor of his cap before he murmured “Are you sure?” 

“I am” you reassured him and without hesitation he grabbed your hand and led you through the empty streets of Tidehaven towards his house. The street lights illuminating your way and tinting everything in a mysterious glow.  

When you arrived at his house it was dark, no light on despite the one on the front porch when he impatiently fumbled with his keys to let you both inside. You giggled softly and suddenly it felt like all the years back when you were teenagers that were afraid to get caught. 

His hand settled on the small of your back, guiding you inside, and the moment the door clicked shut, he found your lips in the darkness again, pressing you against the door. His hand gently cupped your cheek, and his kiss deepened, as if he couldn’t get enough, like he had been waiting for this moment far too long. You couldn’t help but giggle at the mix of eagerness and the familiar thrill of the situation, whispering, “What about your dad? What if he—?”

He trailed his lips from your mouth to your jaw, then down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. His voice came out hoarse as he whispered, “He’s taking sleeping pills. He won’t wake up easily. But if you’re too loud, I’ll have to find a way to keep you quiet.” His grin was wicked, and then his mouth was on the sensitive spot right behind your ear, sucking softly and drawing a quiet moan from you, making it impossible to stop the rush of heat flooding through your veins.

It was like a switch flipped inside of Frankie as he hooked his hands under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, his mouth still attached to your neck. He carried you down the hall, opening the door with one hand while keeping you secure in his grasp with the other. With a swift kick, he closed it behind you as soon as you were inside. There was no need for lights—only the cold, blue glow of the moon outside illuminated the room. Gently, he lowered you onto his bed, hovering over you. Though the darkness surrounded you, his eyes were intense, fixed on you, making your heart race in eager anticipation.

“Are you sure you want this?”, he asked again. You never were more sure of anything.

You just nodded as you started to undress him, starting by pulling his shirt over his head revealing a strong chest and a softer belly. You traced your fingers along his sides and he flexed under your touch. This body was different from the one you remembered. It changed, made room for some extra weight around his midsection and some scars adoring his beautiful lightly tanned skin which weren’t there the last time you saw him naked. 

But he was still undeniably attractive, if not more with the strong arms and broad shoulders. A trail of dark, soft hair along his stomach, around his belly button and ending right over the belt of his jeans. You started kissing his neck, nibbling at his collarbone and he rewarded you with a sharp inhale of air. You took your time, drinking him in and he started kissing you back, his teeth grazing over your soft skin as soon as he discarded your shirt, leaving you only in your black lace bralette. He kissed down between the valley of your breasts, his breath hot against your skin as his hand found the clasp of your underwear. “Can I take this off?” he asked. 

“Yes”, you breathed and he opened the clasp, the straps gliding down your shoulders, his fingertips never leaving your skin as the fabric slid off and left you exposed for his exploring hands and hungry gaze. 

He was transfixed, his gaze almost reverential as he took you in. 

“You’re even more gorgeous than I remember, hermosa” he whispered as he started kissing your shoulder. It made you feel desired but also so vulnerable. You weren’t used to praise and most importantly not to someone being this gentle with you. 

“Well, I was still a teen back then. I changed… got fatter,” you complained but he quickly shushed you with a kiss.

“You may have gotten more soft but you’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Give yourself some credit.” 

He was sincere in the way he looked at you, his fingers still tracing over every dip and curve of your exposed skin, every stretch mark you hated so much and your heart constricted in your chest at his gentleness and the way he didn’t seem to care at all. 

You fought so hard to keep the old feelings from resurfacing, but it was a losing battle. He didn’t even need to try—his natural attentiveness had always been one of the things you adored most about him.

His lips moved lower, grazing your skin softly as they found their way to your breasts, kissing each one gently before his tongue swirled around your hardened nipples, giving each breast equal attention.

His hand massaged the one he wasn’t focused on, and he groaned softly against your skin, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. His hips started to roll against you, seeking the friction you both so desperately craved.

Instinctively, your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer as you met his movements with a soft thrust of your own. The unmistakable hardness of him pressed against you, even through the fabric of his jeans. Your hands moved quickly, undoing his belt and zipper, pulling the fabric down along with his boxers.

He wiggled out of his pants and was back above you in an instant, quickly removing your shorts and underwear.

As soon as the last piece of clothing was gone, the air between you crackled with a charged mix of anticipation and something deeper—an unspoken connection that left you breathless, unable to quite name the feeling pulsing through the room.

He stopped his administration on your chest and kissed all the way back up to your neck and to your jaw until he found your lips again. It was a messy, open mouthed kiss as you wrapped your arms and legs around him, pressing him als close against you as you could, wanting to feel every inch of him. 

His skin hot and melting yours, every nerve ending of yours on fire.

“Do you need me to get a condom or are you on birth control?” he asked and in every other circumstance this would be a mood killer, not with Frankie though. 

He was responsible and you appreciated that greatly. 

“I am, don’t worry” you breathed into the dark. 

He searched for your eyes before his hand wandered down your body, his fat fingers sliding between your folds, already wet and leaking just from making out with him as he grinned satisfied, his teeth flashing in the pale moonlight.

“Damn, so wet all because of me?” he teased and you glared at him. 

“Don’t tease me, Morales”, you warned, trying to sound at least a bit firmer than you felt inside but you clearly failed. 

“‘m sorry” he purred as he latched onto your neck again, his flat thumb now pressing against your clit while the other two digits glided inside of you. You moaned instantly at the impact, one hand finding his soft locks, helplessly pulling at them as he pushed them in-and out of your slick with practiced ease.

The noise it was creating was almost obscene but you couldn’t find yourself to care. After a few movements you felt him shifting slightly, his hand now on his hardened cock, giving himself a few strokes before his tip teased your entrance and your grip on his hair only tightened. 

“Frankie, please” you whimpered pathetically. 

“I know”, he assured you, gripping your thighs and pulling you just a tiny bit closer to him, lifting your hips slightly before he finally, torturously slow, eased into you and stretched you out completely. 

You didn’t remember if he was that big when you still were younger, but god damn that hurt. “Fuck”, he hissed. “You’re so damn tight I can’t–” he rambled helplessly as his head rested against your shoulder. 

You wiggled impatiently, wanting so desperately for him to start moving. “It’s okay,” you murmured. “You’re not hurting me.”

Your confirmation was what he needed so he bottomed out completely, his pubic hair tickling your most sensitive area and it was heavenly. 

He moaned deeply as your nails found his shoulder blades, digging into his flesh as his grip on your hips tightened as well, the intensity almost bruising. 

“I wanted this for so long, dreamed about this…” he whispered against your hot skin, like it wouldn’t change everything. 

It made your heart skip and you inhaled sharply. 

What were you even supposed to answer when he was balls deep into you and your mind too dazed to form any coherent thought? 

His thrusts were deep and powerful as if he wanted to show you with every single one how much he cared for you, how much he needed you. It was unlike anything else, the air thick and sultry with the smell of both of you and all the unspoken words between you. 

This was a declaration on its own, one you weren’t even sure you were ready for, but there was turning back now. 

You held desperately onto him as his movements fastened and grew more determined. 

He gritted his teeth thrusting into you relentlessly while still making sure you never felt uncared for when he placed soft kisses everywhere he could reach. 

“I-I’m so close, please don’t stop…” you moaned, pressing yourself against his hard frame. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he answered and without warning he took you at your ankles, pulling you up until your heels were resting against his shoulders and the new angle was incredible. He stroked your cervix with every snap of his hips, deliciously deep and mind altering. 

In this position he grabbed your tits with his big, calloused hands, kneading them before his thumbs played with your nipples and it was all you needed to find your release. 

You clenched tightly around him and he hissed in response. 

“Yes, I need you to come for me. I need to– fuck!” he cursed as you felt him pulsating inside of you and following your climax just seconds later. He painted your inner walls with thick ropes of his cum and didn’t stop spilling into you as you cried out his name almost too loud for the quietness of the night. 

His whole body shuddered against you before he gently let your legs sink down and collapsed next to you, panting heavily from exertion. His cheeks slightly flushed.

You turned onto your side to face him. Your hand reached out, stroking some damp strands that stuck against his forehead from his face as you grinned widely. Utterly satisfied and spent you mumbled “Not bad, stray cat” and it was a weak attempt at a joke because you were still equally as breathless.

“Not bad?” he choked out, his face mock shock as he turned his head towards you. 

“I am wounded, hermosa,” and you both laughed in unison. 

He pulled you against his side, his arm wrapped around your shoulders and kissing your hair. 

It should’ve felt foreign, maybe even a bit awkward—but it didn’t. Instead, you felt a sense of contentment, one you probably hadn’t felt in a long time. It was a strange mix of comfort and unease, both comforting and terrifying at once.

You drifted into a deep sleep in his arms, his thumb gently tracing circles on your back. You weren’t sure how long you slept—probably not long—but when you finally opened your eyes, the light hit you with a sharp intensity, almost burning your vision.

You groaned, blinking a few times as the bright sunlight hit you. Doesn’t this man have blinds?

Still mostly naked, you turned around and stretched, feeling the impact of last night in every fiber of your body. Reaching beside you, you expected Frankie to still be there, but the bedside was empty. You turned your head sharply, sitting up with the blanket barely covering your modesty.

You stretched out an arm to grab your phone, checking the time—or maybe hoping for a message from him—but there was nothing. It was 7 a.m. You fell back into the pillow with a heavy sigh, brushing a wild strand of hair out of your face.

The fall hit you harder than you cared to admit. You should’ve known better. He’d gotten what he wanted, and now he was gone. Leaving you alone in his damn bed, in his parents’ house, casting you aside like you were nothing. Like all the others before him had done too.

The hot feeling of anger built inside you just as the bedroom door creaked open.

You didn’t even bother to look up, your arms crossed as you started at the ceiling. 

Suddenly you felt a weight on the edge of the bed and the next thing your senses catched was the smell of freshly brewed coffee before his voice broke the silence.

“Good morning, I made us some coffee. Thought you may appreciate the liquid gold after last night”,his voice nothing more than a soft gravelly rumble in the stillness. 

You propped up on an elbow to be able to look at him. His hair was a messy mop on his head, wearing the same t-shirt from last night and his boxers only. 

It was a delightfully disheveled sight to behold. 

His eyes were tired but his smile, God his smile, was brighter than the sun shining through the windows. 

“I thought you changed your mind”, you pouted. 

His brows creased in confusion. “Changing my mind about what? You? This?” 

You nodded as you reached for the coffee cup he placed onto the bedside table. 

“Never. I was just up a bit earlier and made sure to get us some coffee and maybe some breakfast too if you’re up for it.” 

You sipped at the coffee, the hot liquid almost burning your lips. “Breakfast sounds great” you mumbled but not looking up from your mug. The steam dancing between the two of you he extended his free hand to rake it through your hair, a soft but mischievous smile on his lips. 

“What is this smile about, Morales?” you asked and his smile turned into a full blown grin.

“I was thinking maybe we can go for round two before we grab some breakfast. Unless you’re too tired–” 

You placed the coffee mug on the bedside table again before he even finished his sentence. You climbed into his lap, straddling him and his arms wrapped around you immediately. The sun was shining through the windows, creating a soft halo around you as his hands danced up and down over your bare back, the golden hues in his brown eyes sparkling when he looked up to you, tilting his head slightly to have a better look. “I could get used to this” he murmured against your skin, kissing your forehead, your temple, followed by your nose before he captured your lips in a soft kiss. 

“You better do, because you won’t get rid of me that easily from now on” and it was a promise. 

Five days later your dad died. He stopped breathing during the night and when your mom entered the bedroom her scream echoed through the whole house. It was exactly as awful as you imagined it to be, maybe even worse. You tried your best to be there for her,making sure she ate enough. But most of the time she was staring out of the window or playing absentmindedly with her wedding ring when she sat at the diner table, the same tea cup in front of her as in the morning. The days dragged on, functioning on autopilot and everything felt heavy and tinted in grey. Frankie never left your side, held you close the whole night until your tears subsided and you passed out from exhaustion. 

At his funeral it was raining. How fitting, you thought to yourself. The sky mirroring your agony. 

Everyone in Tidehaven attended the funeral and you didn’t want to see any of them. No one cared for you or your mom when he still was alive, they didn’t need to pretend they did now. It was hypocritical and your contempt grew even more. This was all this town could do after all, pretending. 

Frankie’s hand was on the small of your back the whole time, his intense gaze flickering through the crowd to check for any potential misbehavior, but nobody acted up thankfully. It were just the same old judging, tired glances as usual.

As the casket was lowered into the soil you couldn’t hold back a silent sob as your mom reached for your hand and squeezed it so tight it almost felt like breaking. You didn’t dare to say a word the whole day. You felt paralyzed for a time after that.

Frankie’s presence was a silent shadow at your back. When you asked your mom if she needed anything, he mirrored that same quiet gesture for you. It was that day, despite never having believed in it before, that you were certain you would marry this man. He was your rock through it all—never complaining, never demanding anything—just offering silent support whenever it was needed.

When the worst was over, the grief only an unwelcome guest in the back of your mind you started to find some solace again. Sitting at the beach, listening to the waves crashing, even some music. You would probably never be the same again, but maybe that was okay. The old you never felt at ease somewhere. Not in the city, not in Tidehaven. But you felt at home in one place: Frankie’s arms. 

You ended up staying in Tidehaven for way longer than you would’ve imagined. Weeks turned into months, into a year. You watched nature go through the seasons while you did the same. You changed, in more ways than one. When they were disappointment and sadness before it evolved into something more positive. Frankie made you see things differently. You started to experience real joy again. Not every day was perfect, of course not. But you finally felt like you belonged. Something you searched for your whole life. Turns out the only thing missing was him. All the pain you endured in his absence led you back into his arms after all. As summer approached again, the two of you sat together at the pier, watching the sunset. Without warning, he dropped to one knee and asked if you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him. It wasn’t a grand, romantic gesture—but you didn’t need that. You knew, without a doubt, that his words and actions were sincere. And that was all you needed. Tears streamed down your face as you agreed, and he hasn’t stopped smiling since.

“Hey dad,” you said as you kneeled down onto his tombstone, placing fresh lilies, his favorite flowers, onto it. You gently removed some fallen leaves from his grave. “Just came to tell you the news. Frankie asked me to be his wife and I said yes. How could I not? I wish you could see how happy he makes me, daddy. He’s also a damn menace sometimes, but he…he can handle me. And you know, how hard that is. After all I come after you with my stubbornness,” you chuckled softly. “I would’ve loved to have you walking me down the aisle. I know you and I weren't always on good terms, but I think this is something so special for a daughter and her dad and I am sad we can’t experience that together,” your voice was slightly breaking as you played with your engagement ring. A simple silver band with a small diamond princess cut. “I love him, dad. So so so much. But I also love you and I miss you and I am sorry I wasn’t always the best daughter and I am sorry I left you alone with mom for so long. I wish I could go back in time to spend more time with you. Even watch these damn quiz shows you loved so much with you where nobody really ever won something for real. I’m gonna keep a chair empty for you at the ceremony. You can imagine how excited mom is for this damn wedding. I guess for a time she lost hope her daughter would ever settle down. Well, for a long time I did too. But he changed my outlook on things. Oh and, I am also a stepmom now. You know I never wanted kids, but I love Frankie’s daughter endlessly and I think maybe she doesn’t find me that bad as well, at least I hope so,” you exhaled deeply before you finally rose back to your feet again, spotting Frankie standing a bit far off, a soft smile on his face, his hands folded demurely in front of his pants crotch. 

You lifted a questioning eyebrow. “How long are you standing there already?”

“Not for long”, he answered as he stepped towards you. “You okay?” his brown eyes worried. 

“I am. Just told my dad about all that happened. Give him a quick summary, you know,” your left hand resting on Frankie’s chest, your thumb gently stroking the fabric of his Henley, your gaze fixed there. “It’s getting easier, coming here.” 

“Yeah, I know. It’s kind of healing isn’t it ? Having a place to still be able to talk to them.”

You nodded. “Did you visit your mom already?” 

“No, I was hoping you would come with me. So I could show her your ring and all,” he took your hand that was on his chest, kissing your knuckles, his thumb tracing over your engagement ring. 

“Yeah, sure,” you retorted as you searched for his eyes. “You think she’ll approve ?” 

His lips lifted up into a lopsided smile. “No doubt.” 

He took your hand in his as you walked over the cemetery. It was quiet and peaceful. In the past you kind of avoided places like this because your thoughts would be too loud when your surroundings were silent like this but that finally changed now. 

As you reached the grave of his mom, fresh flowers in the vase he must’ve put in there before you came here, you stopped. His hand still holding yours, his grip slightly tightening when he looked at you, his gaze a mix of different emotions. 

He never brought you here before and you knew how important this was for him. 

You squeezed his hand reassuringly, giving him a tender smile, trying to give him the same amount of support like he always did. He lowered his gaze a bit as you turned your head towards the grave, still holding his hand, not budging even a bit as you hugged his arm now with your other hand. 

“Hey, Mrs. Morales. I don’t know if you’re aware but I am pretty much in love with your son and I can’t wait to marry him even if I never thought I’d do that honestly”, you snickered and Frankie scoffed softly next to you. 

“He’s a good person. The best if I may say so myself. You would be so proud of him, I know that, because I am. And I am also so damn grateful to be able to call him mine.” 

It was silent for a long, meaningful moment after you finished speaking, the only sound was the soft pattering of the starting rain and Frankie’s breathing which was a bit ragged. 

“Let’s get you home, okay?” he spoke silently, his voice slightly hoarse with emotion.

You tightened your grip on his arm and placed a soft kiss against the side of his neck, your breath ghosting over his skin.  “I am already home.”

thanks so so much for taking the time to read. please show some love, we writers live for that <3

my masterlist - in case you’re hungry for more :)

[farfromstrange]

Fictober Day 22: Aftercare

Fictober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Prompt: Aftercare (🌼✨)

Summary: Matt takes care of you after a particularly rough session.

Warnings: Heavy allusions to smut (18+), mentions of unprotected p in v, mentions of oral sex, aftercare, fluff, light subspace

Word Count: 604

A/n: The next few prompts will come over the next couple of days. I thought I'd get them all done during October, but unfortunately, life got in the way. I'll also start cross-posting on AO3 again once all Fictober fics are out there. So, don't worry, you'll get them, but it will be a few days into November until we're done.

Read Me On AO3! (Coming soon)

You lie bonelessly tangled in silk sheets.

Hours he spent worshipping at the altar between your legs. Hours he spent pounding into you with his cock from behind until he could no longer hold himself up, fucking you deeper into the mattress. At some point, you must have even lost your voice from how the countless orgasms he gave you tore a scream of his name deep from your throat. 

“Here,” Matt murmurs, holding the bottle of cold water to your chapped lips. “Hey. Sweetie, look at me. Stay with me.”

You can barely make out his silhouette in the dark, but even drenched in sweat and with his hair disheveled, he looks like a dream.

“There you go. Hi.” He smiles. “Can you take a sip for me?” Shaky fingers reach for the bottle, and you try to swallow some of the liquid without making a mess. You feel like a child, unable to do anything by herself, but his patience remains unwavering. 

Matt waits until you’ve sufficiently hydrated yourself before gently rolling you back onto your back. He grabs a towel, warm and wet, and starts to wipe the remnants of his cum from your quivering thighs. He’s gentle when he reaches your swollen folds, making sure not to cause you any more discomfort. 

You don’t want to talk—you can’t—and that is fine with him. 

“C’mere.” He wraps a blanket around you. “Do you want me to hold you or would you like to be alone?”

Sometimes, you ask for privacy. Just a few minutes to find back to yourself. Sometimes, you get so overstimulated that even being close to him physically hurts. The things he does to your body are nothing short of unreal, and you don’t always have time to catch up with all the new sensations he manages to pull from you time and time again. 

Tonight thought, you crave him. You crave to be held by him. The words die on your tongue, so you reach out for him instead. 

Matt senses your grabby hands, he could do so from miles away. You’re reaching for him, and it does something to his heart. He slides under the blanket with you, carefully pulling you against his bare chest. “Okay, I’ve got you,” he whispers. “You’re okay.”

You deserve to be taken care of. 

Seconds turn into minutes. His fingers trace invisible patterns on your back. Slowly but steadily, your heartbeat aligns with his. 

“Too much?”

You blink, tilting your head to meet his unfocused hazel eyes; there is always so much guilt, so much uncertainty in them when he can’t quite read you. When he’s scared he might have hurt you. It is a fine line he walks every time he fucks you senseless. 

You manage to weakly shake your head. “It was perfect,” you whisper. 

“Yeah?” He brushes the tip of his thumb along the vein on your temple. 

You smile. “Yeah.”

He loves the way your pulse jumps. The way your heart starts beating faster when he’s around. He loves the sound of your laugh. The smell of your shampoo and perfume. And he loves how you look at him like he’s the only man in the world to you, and he doesn’t have to see to know. 

“I love you,” Matt breathes into the darkness. 

“I love you too,” you say.

Though even without those beautiful three words, he can feel your love in everything you do. In his own way, he sees you, and he could never get tired of the picture his mind has painted of you. 

He could never get tired of you.

@ebathory997 @the-b33skn33s @scoliobean @drmeghanjones @lanae111 @steve-chandler @lucienofthelakes @xnatyx @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @zomtart @ethereal-blaze

[choerypetal]

Lace Skirt. / Mike Schmidt.

summary : mike had been in a lot of under pressure lately. he needed a distraction. a distraction you will never forget of.  warning: fluff – smut a little?? enjoy! 

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺

Mike made a quick phone call, asking you to fetch his security jacket. His excuse? Claiming he was too fatigued to remember it. However, you were well aware that this was just a clever ruse to slip into the restaurant unnoticed using a straightforward yet highly effective code. With full knowledge of his true intentions, you couldn't help but stifle a chuckle on the other end of the line. In response, Mike subtly cautioned you to maintain a sense of "calm" to avoid raising any suspicion. This was one of the ways he enjoyed exerting control, a concept you'd previously touched upon when discussing "alphas."

While it might have come across as somewhat cringeworthy, Mike successfully conveyed your emotions and encouraged you to embrace your fantasies, especially when it had the potential to enhance the bond between you two. If there was one thing Mike despised above all else, it was the thought of losing you.  

Upon your arrival at the Pizzeria, you took a moment to ensure your attire remained impeccable and unblemished before stepping inside. In contrast, the establishment appeared somewhat lackluster and unwelcoming, which made you consider mentioning it to Mike beforehand. Just before entering, you swiftly retrieved your phone and sent Mike a brief text message, a playful reminder that read: "Hello, handsome. I've arrived. XO."

The "XOs" at the end of your message were unmistakably your signature when Mike felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, prompting him to grab it eagerly. Without any delay, he responded with a thumbs-up, signaling that the door was ready to swing open for you. In his subsequent text, he added, "I hope you wore that Lace skirt I adore."

Certainly, you complied with Mike's request. In fact, before entering the venue, you took care to adjust your skirt a bit lower to combat the cold that greeted you. This adjustment wasn't in your favor, as you had been specifically instructed to wear the shortest skirt possible, which meant enduring the chill and the eerie atmosphere of the place. Mike was clearly in control. Another notification beep sounded just before you tried to signal him poorly with the light from your phone, and you received a message that read, "Meet me in the monitoring room, on the left." 

Clear and efficient. You quickly managed to sneak in correctly with the directive Mike had gave you. Although the animatronics did scared you shitless, you were able to finally arrive in his office. Meaning you’d have to knock on the door, unless Mike was to busy focusing in his monitors, you though. Wrong. Mike had been waiting for you all along, especially when you heard the thick metal door opening. “Coming..” And a voice so familiar, it send shivers down your spine. 

Mike's voice was noticeably hoarse and deeper than usual, and as you approached him, you could see the redness under his eyes. Though it deeply concerned you, with the hope that he would soon find some rest, seeing him in such a state oddly ignited a desire within you for reasons you couldn't quite explain. With a subtle smirk, Mike observed you as you walked closer to him, his fingers revealing an eagerness to touch your skin. However, he wanted to examine something first. He said, "Spin for me, darling."

You obliged, and as you spun around, you felt the flare of your skirt gently brushing against your skin. There was an electric tension between the transparency of the fabric and the chill in the air, and amidst it all, you could have sworn that you caught Mike sneakily lowering his head to steal a glance. In response, you deliberately made the peek more noticeable, swirling a bit longer. In the process, you lost your balance, and your foot accidentally tripped on a cable. But Mike was quick to catch you, securing you in his lap as if it were a graceful rescue. His arms wrapped protectively around your waist, and he playfully remarked, "Seems like your coordination has improved."

"Shh..." You interrupted him with a hushed tone. "I brought your jacket as you requested. Should I...?" He silenced you with a gentle gesture, his fingers lightly brushing against your plush lips, eliciting an uncontrollable blush – a quality he adored about you. As you settled comfortably on his lap, arranging your legs with his, you couldn't help but notice a growing hardness between his thighs. You smirked innocently, hoping he wouldn't notice, and you caught a few muttered curses under his breath. 

While he attempted to conceal his desire, you seized the opportunity to speak for yourself. "Seems like someone is in the mood for a little teasing, huh?" Mike tilted his head, an intriguing glint in his eye, and he contradicted your observation when his fingers sensually trailed from your lips to your thighs. Just as casually, he lifted your skirt, leaning in to place a few tender kisses along your neck. "Well, look who's talking..."

At that instant, you became acutely aware that tonight, your mission was to divert Mike's attention. Regardless of the gravity of the situation, he had mastered your tactics and was keen on applying them beyond the confines of the room. His fingers firmly cupped your butt cheeks, prompting a surprised whimper to escape your lips as your eyes locked with his. With the most wicked smirk, he declared, "I'll make sure everyone knows you belong to me, my princess. I'll ensure it." 

[mbruben-stein]

One piece Boys Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, and Shanks dating a female s/o who is a witch with powers like Scarlet Witch/Wanda Maximoff.

~Luffy~

Luffy is initially fascinated by his girlfriend's powers, finding them both impressive and entertaining. He loves watching her manipulate energy and create illusions, often asking her to show off her abilities to their crewmates.

Despite her intimidating powers, Luffy finds his girlfriend's telepathic communication endearing. He loves being able to talk to her in his head, especially when they're in the middle of a battle or on separate ships.

Luffy often challenges his girlfriend to friendly competitions, testing her telekinesis against his physical strength. He loves seeing the different ways they can work together to overcome obstacles, combining her powers with his rubber abilities.

Luffy is protective of his girlfriend, especially when it comes to her ability to give enemies waking nightmares. He hates seeing her upset or distressed, and will do anything to make sure she feels safe and supported.

Despite their differences in power, Luffy and his girlfriend have a deep emotional connection. He admires her strength and resilience, and she appreciates his carefree spirit and unwavering loyalty.

Overall, Luffy and his witch girlfriend make a powerful and dynamic couple, using their unique abilities to navigate the treacherous waters of the Grand Line together.

~Zoro~

Zoro would be initially skeptical of his girlfriend's powers, but would soon come to admire and respect her abilities. He would find her telekinesis and energy manipulation particularly impressive, often watching in awe as she effortlessly moves objects with her mind or manipulates energy to protect them in battle.

Despite her intimidating powers, Zoro would always feel safe and protected by his witch girlfriend. He would trust her completely to have his back in any situation, knowing that she could easily handle any threats that came their way.

Zoro would also be fascinated by his girlfriend's ability to read people's thoughts and communicate telepathically. He would often find himself lost in conversation with her without ever speaking a word out loud, enjoying the intimate connection they shared through their minds.

When it comes to her ability to give enemies waking nightmares, Zoro would be both impressed and slightly terrified. He would never want to be on the receiving end of her powers, but would also be grateful to have her on his side in battle, knowing that she could easily incapacitate their opponents with a single thought.

Overall, Zoro would be endlessly fascinated by his witch girlfriend's powers, finding her abilities both impressive and alluring. He would feel lucky to have someone so strong and capable by his side, knowing that together they could conquer any challenge that came their way.

~Sanji~

Sanji fell head over heels for his witch s/o the moment he saw her effortlessly levitating off the ground with her powers. He was mesmerized by her grace and power, and found himself drawn to her mysterious aura.

Despite her intimidating abilities, Sanji quickly realized that his s/o was kind-hearted and gentle, using her powers for good rather than evil. He admired her strength and determination, and was constantly amazed by the things she could do with just a flick of her wrist.

One of Sanji's favorite things about his s/o was her ability to read people's thoughts and communicate with them telepathically. It made communication between them effortless, and allowed them to connect on a deeper level than he had ever experienced before.

Whenever Sanji found himself in a tough spot or facing a formidable enemy, his s/o would step in with her energy manipulation and give them a taste of their own medicine. Her powers were a force to be reckoned with, and Sanji felt lucky to have her on his side.

Despite the dangers that came with dating a witch, Sanji wouldn't have it any other way. He loved his s/o with all his heart, and was willing to stand by her side no matter what challenges they faced together.

~Ace~

Ace would be absolutely fascinated by his s/o's powers, finding them both incredible and slightly intimidating. He would love watching her manipulate energy and create illusions, always amazed by the extent of her abilities.

Their relationship would be filled with playful telekinetic battles, with Ace trying to outdo his s/o's powers with his own fire abilities. It would be a fun and exciting way for them to bond and show off their strengths to each other.

Ace would be incredibly protective of his s/o, knowing that her powers could easily draw unwanted attention from enemies. He would always be by her side, ready to defend her and support her in any situation.

Despite her intimidating powers, Ace would also find his s/o's ability to read people's thoughts and talk to them telepathically endearing. He would love being able to communicate with her without saying a word, forming a deep and intimate connection with her.

When it comes to giving her enemies waking nightmares, Ace would be both impressed and slightly wary of his s/o's darker abilities. He would trust her to use her powers responsibly, but would always be there to comfort her and remind her of the goodness within her.

Overall, Ace and his witch s/o would have a unique and powerful bond, filled with love, trust, and a shared appreciation for each other's extraordinary abilities.

~Shanks~

Shanks fell in love with his s/o the moment he saw her effortlessly levitating off the ground with her powers. He was captivated by her strength and grace, and he admired her ability to manipulate energy with such finesse.

Their relationship is built on trust and understanding, as Shanks respects her powers and never tries to control or limit them. He loves watching her perform feats of telekinesis and create stunning illusions with a flick of her wrist.

Shanks is always amazed by his s/o's ability to read people's thoughts and communicate with them telepathically. He finds it incredibly comforting to have someone who can understand him on such a deep level without even saying a word.

When his s/o uses her powers to give their enemies waking nightmares, Shanks is both impressed and slightly terrified. He knows she is a powerful witch, but he also knows she has a kind heart and would never use her abilities for malicious purposes.

Despite the dangers of her powers, Shanks feels safe and protected when he is with his s/o. He knows she will always have his back and will do whatever it takes to keep him safe. Together, they make a formidable team, using their combined strengths to navigate the treacherous waters of the Grand Line.

[takamimami]

Hi hi! Congrats on reaching the much deserved milestone! 🥳🥳🥳 here’s to much more success and followers reading your great great amazing fics!!!

I humbly request Eustass Kid x f!reader and “I can make you feel better” please and thank youuuuuuu!

Ahhhh thank you so much anon :3 Now, I just want you to know that I went a little OVERBOARD with this prompt, its nearly twice as long as all the other requests lol :3 that being said, thank you for this lovely request - and I hope you enjoy the read <3

Kidd x F!Reader - NSFW - “I could make you feel better.” STORY UNDER THE CUT - MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI 🔞 CW: SMUT; sex pollen trope, soft(ish) kidd, he just wants to help you feel better :3, kidd talks you through it, mating press go brrrrr --- word count 2.9k

You’d been rummaging through the drawers of Kidd’s workshop for a good 20 minutes now, your insides feeling like they were on fire as you tried to fight off the burning desire between your legs. 

You and Killer had returned from your scouting mission in the nearby forest 3 hours ago, and the entire time you’d been locked in your quarters, alternating through your regular arsenal of toys as you try desperately to satiate the need. You’d brought yourself to tears a few times as you unintentionally edged yourself, your mind unable to settle down and tip over the edge you found yourself at multiple times in the past few hours.

You stopped when the pain settled in, your clit swollen and inflamed from the constant torture. It’d taken you a minute to remember what even happened - how you ended up in this state, and then you smelled the plant on your fingers, the honey-scented residue still lingering as you cursed yourself for making that detrimental mistake.

Killer had only laughed as you swatted the plant away from yourself, the action spreading the pollen further into the air as you breathed it in and immediately felt a tingle in your spine. The sensation gradually worsened and by the time you were back on the ship you were convinced you’d die a slow and torturous death.

It was only after you’d exhausted all your own toys that you slipped on a baggy shirt and sweatpants and crept your way down onto the deck, slipping inside Kidd’s workshop where you knew he housed a fair amount of toys he’d either collected or made throughout the last few years at sea. Every sound outside the door made you flinch as you gathered different toys into your arms, barely paying attention to what you grabbed as you closed the trunk and headed for the door.

As you reached for the handle it began to turn, and your eyes went wide with shock and horror as a full frame filled the doorway, amber eyes meeting yours before dropping to the array of toys in your arm.

“Having a party without me?” He chuckles, and your cheeks flush immediately as he stalks into the workshop and closes the door behind him.

“I… Um… I was just-” you stuttered, trying to hide your mortification as Kidd strolls deeper into the room, sitting down at his workbench and turning to face you with an amused look on his face.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Y/N,” he chuckles, bringing his arm up and resting it behind his head. You tried not to gawk at the way his chest muscles rippled at the action, your core screaming at you as your eyes trailed down his torso to the lines leading under his waistband. Leave it to him to not have a shirt on at one of the most inopportune moments.

He cleared his throat and your eyes snapped back up to his, blush deepening as you see the devilish grin that has now curled onto his lips.

“Did you need something else, mouse?”

The honey in his voice had you turning on your heels, refusing to let your thoughts go any further as you offer him a feeble ‘thanks’ and disappear back out onto the deck. To your dismay Killer and House are standing a few feet away, the latter offering you a raised brow as you avert your gaze from him, tucking your haul into your shirt as you shuffle towards the stairs and back to your quarters.

It wasn’t until a few hours after dinner that you heard footsteps approaching the door, a gentle knock pulling you from your post-orgasm haze as you shuffle from your spot on your mattress. Your skin was slick with sweat, and you could smell the lingering scent of your arousal permiating in the room as you slipped your shorts back on, leveling your breathing before standing and approaching your door.

“Kil, I’m fine,” you call out through the door, reaching for the handle and swinging it open to find someone else entirely staring back at you.

Kidd’s amber eyes were rounded at the corners as he took in your disheveled appearance, his eyes unabashedly raking over your body and hovering over the peaks of your nipples that poked through the thin fabric of your tank top.

You cross your arms over your chest and Kidd’s eyes snap back up, his cheeks tinted a shade of pink as he clears his throat before speaking. “Killer filled me in on your… predicament. I… wanted to come check on you, see if you were alright.”

You took a step further out of your room and shut the door behind you, not wanting the musky scent to seep out into the hall. You kept your voice low as you answered him, keeping your eyes trained on his as you spoke.

“I’m… fine, I guess,” you mumble, noting that he was still shirtless as he stood before you, causing your mouth to go dry. “Just… hoping it passes soon, ya know?”

Kidd nods in understanding, running his fingers through his hair and letting it fall back over his forehead, his goggles that usually held it up no where in sight. 

“Do you… need anything?”

The question was awkward, but you knew there was good intent behind it. If you answered him honestly, it would risk crossing that thin line you had been constantly tip-toeing around with him for months, so you shrugged off his question and opted for humour to break the tension.

“A magic antidote would probably make me feel better,” you muse, unsure if anything of the sort even exists.

Kidd smirks and cocks his brow at your comment, licking his lips as he leans toward you ever so slightly. 

“Fresh out of those, mouse,” he croons, his voice dropping an octave as he swipes his tongue over his lips again, your eyes watching the movement and feeling the familiar need pool in your aching core once again. “But I can think of something else that might help.”

Its your turn to quirk a brow at him, this time licking your own lips at the image that began flashing through your mind of Kidd’s head between your thighs - amber eyes gleaming up at you as you ride his face to oblivion.

You feel your thighs squeeze together as the painful throbbing between your legs returns, and you swallow down a wince as you find your voice again.

“And what exactly do you have in mind?”

A flash of surprise flashes over Kidd’s face, but its gone in an instant as he returns to his signature unamused glare as he speaks again.

“I could… help you. I could make you feel better - offer you some… relief.”

It took all the might within you not to pounce on him at the suggestion, your nostrils flaring as you think about his hard body pressed up against yours. 

Your body betrays your attempt at remaining unfazed by his words, your nipples hardening to painful peaks under your top again, and Kidd doesn’t miss the subtle shift in your stance as you cross one of your legs over the other. 

Unable to speak, you turn and open the door to your room, leaving it open for him as you disappear into the darkness inside. Kidd follows behind you, biting down on his lip as he takes in the array of his toys scattered on the floor along the edge of your bed. 

Sensing your hesitation as you turn to face him, Kidd walks over to you and grabs your hips, leaning his head down to your ear as he walks the two of you over to the bed.

“Tell me what you need, mouse,” he whispers huskily in your ear, dipping his head down to nip at your jaw before trailing gentle kisses along the side of your neck. As your knees touch the edge of the bed you grip his bicep and pull him to the side, pushing him down onto the mattress as he gazes up at you. 

Still unable to speak you press his shoulders down onto the mattress, kicking off your bottoms as you crawl up his body and settle a knee on either side of his head. A wicked grin from Kidd has you blushing as you sink down onto his face, feeling his hot breath tickle your inner tights before he swipes his tongue along your soaking wet folds.

A sharp gasp escapes you as you hover above his face, unable to look down at him as he lifts his chin up higher, dancing his tongue over your clit as your hips begin to rock and guide him to where you wanted to feel him. 

“Relax, mouse,” he purrs from below you, hooking an arm around your hip to pull you down onto his face completely. “Stop running from me - let me make you feel good.” His voice was so gentle, not at all what you’d expected him to be as he nuzzles his face further into your warmth and presses his tongue into your entrance. You moan at the sensation of his tongue massaging your walls, the feeling sending sparks up your spine and your hips buck in rhythm with his movements. A moan rumbles from Kidd’s throat and you offer him one in return, your fingers flinging to his hair as he moves his attention back to the bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. 

“You taste incredible,” he groans in between licks, your eyes finally finding his as he watches you falling apart above him. His grip on your hips tighten as they buck against his face, a crescendo of moans falling from your lips as you feel the tight cord inside you snap, a wave of pleasure washing over you as Kidd’s assault on your clit works you through your orgasm. Once your hips still Kidd loosens the grip on your hips, allowing you to roll off of him and shift down his body to fidget with the bucket on his belt.

Kidd chuckles at your eagerness, the sound shifting to a groan as you tug him free of his confinement. His considerable size has your eyes widening, stroking him in your hand a few times as you contemplate if he’ll even fit inside you. You shove the worry aside and straddle his waist hastily, Kidd’s grin returning as you grind your cunt against the length of him, sandwiching his cock between your folds as you rock your hips.

“Take what you need, mouse,” he says, arm reaching back to rest behind his head as he watches you work yourself over him. Your clit was so sensitive that each rock of your hips sent a spark of pleasure through your body, looking down in awe at the precum leaking from the tip of his cock as you stroke him with your cunt. You could have sent both of you over the edge just from the movements alone, but you lift your hips and position the tip of his cock at your entrance, bringing your eyes back to Kidd’s as you sink down enough for the head of his cock to disappear inside you. Your eyes snap shut at the stretch of him, sinking down another inch before pausing, feeling your breath catch as you adjust to the feeling of him filling you. 

Kidd watches you, keeping his hand behind his head as he lets you work your way down his shaft. “Take your time, mouse,” he croons, “You’re taking me so well.”

His praise has your walls clamping down around him, a hiss escaping his lips as you feel his cock twitch in response. You move again until he’s fully inside you, your hips coming flush to his as you lean forward and rest your hands on his chest. 

“That’s it, mouse, take it all,” he encourages again and you lift your hips up, the drag of his cock against your walls pulling a moan from you as you sink back down onto him and repeat the motion. Your pace increases steadily, and you brace yourself on his chest as you ride him. Kidd’s eyes drop to where the two of you are connected, licking his lips as he watches how he disappears inside you with each bounce of your hips.

“You like the way my cock feels, mouse?” he purrs, and you whimper in response, your arms beginning to shake after a while. Kidd reaches his hand to your hip to help guide you along his cock, supporting enough of your weight that you lean upright and throw your head back in ecstasy. 

He bends his knees and moves his hips to meet your’s, thrusting up into you as your moans and the sound of skin slapping together fills the room.

“Right there?” he questions, the clench of your walls around his cock enough of an answer as he snaps his hips up into you harder, his cock brushing along the gummy walls of your g-spot as you drop your finger down to rub at your swollen clit. 

“That’s it,” he growls as his grip on your hip tightens, his pace increasing as you reach a hand up your top and tug on one of your nipples, loosing yourself completely in the feeling Kidd was providing you. “Come on my cock, mouse. Let go for me.”

His words tip you over the edge, and you shatter above him as he leans forward and wraps an arm around your hip, still thrusting up into you as your body spasms around him. Stars dance behind your eyelids as your orgasm rakes through your body, the bucking of your hips slowing as Kidd works you through your orgasm. 

You finally open your eyes as Kidd’s lips latch around one of your nipples, the sensation pulling you from your haze as he bites down on it gently before licking over the nub soothingly. 

He repeats the action on the other before turning you around and laying you onto the mattress, hovering over you as his eyes meet yours again.

“You want more?” he growls, and you nod, biting your bottom lip.

“Use your words.”

The command in his voice pulls a whimper from you as you squirm beneath him, managing to muster a feeble “please” as you claw him back down to you. A smirk curls on his lips as he slides himself back inside you, sinking his hips down into yours and nuzzling his face into your neck as you claw at his back, attempting to pull him impossibly closer.

“Good girl,” he purrs, his thrusts deep and precise as he snaps his hips into you, slower than previously. Your walls flutter around his length with every deep press of his cock, his tip kissing your cervix as he pants into your neck while trying to keep himself grounded. The bedframe groans under the pressure of each thrust, and you feel the cord begin to tighten once more as Kidd keeps his steady pace.

“Such a greedy girl, gripping me so tight,” he groans, the sentence held out with a growl as Kidd feels you tighten around him like a vice. “You’re taking me so well, mouse. You gunna come for me again?”

“Yes,” you rasp out, remembering his earlier command as you nod your head frantically. 

You throw your head further back into the mattress as Kidd leans back to toss your legs over his shoulders, pressing your knees to your chest and folding you nearly in half as he leans his weight down on your legs. The feeling of Kidd filling you in this new position has your mouth falling open, your brows knitting together at the brutal pressure of him pounding into you.

“Relax, pretty girl,” he growls, sensing the tension in your body at the new angle of his thrusts, “You can take it, just breathe.”

You moan as Kidd increases his pace, your vision starting to blur as the sound of skin slapping together mixes with the sounds of both of your moans. The cord in your abdomen tightens as Kidd reaches his hand down to thumb at your clit, the stimulation hurling you into another earth shattering orgasm as Kidd struggles to maintain his pace - his own orgasm rearing its head. 

“That’s it, mouse, just like that,” he grunts, managing a few more precise thrusts before his hips still, cock pulsing inside you as he empties himself inside you. 

His labored breathing is the only thing you can hear for a few heartbeats after that, and you’re relieved to not feel the overwhelming need burning in your core as he pulls out from you and sits on the edge of your bed.

When he stands and adjusts himself back into his pants you sit up to face him, confused about what to say as he makes his way over to slide his boots back on his feet.

“Gonna need a snack break after that,” he chuckles, looking over his shoulder to see you looking at him with weary eyes. “Besides, you didn’t eat dinner, so I’ll grab you something on my way back.”

“Y-you’re coming back?” you inquire, noting the way his smile softens at your question.

“Should I?”

You nod, not caring if the effects of the pollen were gone or not. Either way, you wanted him to come back - wanted to spend the rest of the night listening to him call you ‘pretty girl’ while he made you see stars.

“Thought so,” he snickers, winking at you before he flings open the door and heads to the kitchen for some food for the two of you.

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