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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 6 months ago

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More Than Just a Favor | Sebastian Sallow x Reader One-Shot

I CAN'T BELIEVE I HAVE 100 FOLLOWERS?

Might be a small milestone to some but I only made this blog a little over a month ago so I am just quite surprised, and honored! Thank you to every single one of you who chose to follow my silly little fanfic blog. To celebrate and as a little thank you, I've written a female mc x sebastian one shot for y'all to enjoy <3

Summary: Rumor has it, you're still a virgin. Sebastian intends to find out if the gossip is true.

Words: ~9,300

Tags: Modern AU, Confessions, Smut, First Time, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Sebastian x Female Reader, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House

It started the way most Hogwarts rumors did: with a fragile ego, a loose tongue, and someone who couldn’t keep their mouth shut.

Sebastian wasn’t one to keep track of the latest school gossip. He had better things to do—like beating Ominis at chess, ditching homework, or sneaking off to the Undercroft with you. But this time, he didn’t have much of a choice. This particular rumor wasn’t just background noise; it was everywhere. And it was about you.

Apparently, your ex-boyfriend, the prat Sebastian had barely tolerated even back when you were dating, had let something slip to one of his friends. It wasn’t just an offhanded comment, either. No, he’d told the guy—loudly enough to be overheard in the courtyard—that the two of you broke up because you refused to go past second base with him.

“Six months, and nothing,” the friend had gossiped afterward, his c oice carrying over the sound of students milling about after lunch. “No wonder he’s still bitter.”

From there, the rumor was all anyone could talk about.

“She’s still a virgin?” “You’d think she’d have gotten it out of the way by now.” “Didn’t they date for, like, six months? What was the point?”

The whispering spread like Fiendfyre. Even students who didn’t know you beyond your reputation—the girl who’d saved Hogwarts from Ranrok’s rebellion in fifth year, who seemed fearless in every sense of the word—were weighing in, dissecting your personal life like it was some kind of puzzle to solve.

Of course, it didn’t help that your ex was known for being pissed about the break up. People speculated he’d let the secret slip on purpose, unable to handle the fact that you’d dumped him in the first place. That made the whole thing worse, because now it wasn’t just about you—it was about him and his wounded pride, and the entire school seemed to be picking sides.

Sebastian overheard it for the first time during lunch, sitting at the far end of the Slytherin table. A group of fifth years down the way were giggling, their voices barely low enough to avoid catching the attention of a passing professor.

“Can you believe it?” one girl said, her voice dripping with glee. “Her, of all people?”

“What about her?” her friend asked, clearly out of the loop.

“She’s a virgin!” the first girl whispered, as though it were the most scandalous thing she’d ever heard. “Apparently, that’s why her ex dumped her. Six months together, and she wouldn’t even—”

Sebastian’s fork clattered against his plate, cutting the girl off mid-sentence.

She froze, glancing nervously at him as he slowly pulled the earbud from his right ear. His music—something dark and brooding, of course—cut out as he turned toward her, brown eyes sharp.

“What was that?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm.

The girl fidgeted with the sleeve of her robe, but her friend wasn’t nearly as cautious.

“You haven’t heard? Her ex said they broke up because she wouldn’t put out,” the friend explained matter-of-factly, not bothering to lower his voice.

Sebastian stared at them as a slow, creeping heat rose in his chest, though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what he was feeling. Anger? Maybe. Amusement? Possibly. Relief? …Definitely.

Not that he let them know that.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than talk about things that aren’t your business?” he asked, his voice low and even.

The girl fidgeted more visibly now, her face paling. Her friend, however, didn’t seem to share the sense of self-preservation.

“Relax, Sallow,” he said with a smirk, leaning forward conspiratorially. “It’s not like we’re the only ones talking about it. It’s everywhere.”

Sebastian’s dark eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he fought to keep his temper in check.

“Well, maybe you should be the first ones to shut up about it.

“Alright, alright,” the friend muttered, holding up his hands defensively. “No need to get all defensive. I’m just saying what everyone’s already heard.”

“Right,” Sebastian drawled, his lip curling in disdain as he leaned back slightly, letting his glare linger just long enough to make them uncomfortable. “Because if everyone is doing it then it's totally fine to continue parroting garbage.''

That seemed to do the trick. The pair exchanged nervous glances before muttering half-hearted excuses and scurrying off like rats abandoning a sinking ship.

But of course, it wasn’t just the younger students gossiping. For the rest of the day, he caught snippets of conversations in the corridors, in classrooms, even in the common room that evening. It was everywhere, and no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, his curiosity got the better of him.

That night, he found you in the Undercroft, just like he’d expected.

The moment Sebastian stepped through the arched entrance, the tension in his shoulders eased. The familiar hum of magic in the air wrapped around him like a blanket, muting the noise of the outside world. The Undercroft had always been your shared refuge—a place where the two of you could escape from everything else.

And there you were, sitting on the floor near the far wall, legs crossed with a book resting on your lap. Your back was straight, your expression focused, but the way your shoulders hunched slightly told him everything he needed to know. You weren’t fine.

Sebastian leaned against one of the stone columns, crossing his arms as he watched you for a moment. He could feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy like a storm waiting to break. Part of him didn’t want to say anything, didn’t want to push you when you clearly needed space.

But the other part of him—the louder, more stubborn part, the part that wanted the rumor to be true—refused to stay quiet, because the thought of you being with someone else—being close to someone else—had always tied him up in knots. And your ex? That prat? The six months you’d spent with him had been absolutely torturous for Sebastian.

He’d never told you, of course. He’d plastered on his usual smirk, rolled his eyes every time you mentioned the guy’s name, and thrown in the occasional jab about how you could do better. But every time you left to meet him, every time he’d see the two of you sitting together at meals or laughing in the courtyard, it had felt like a gut punch.

He’d spent more nights than he cared to admit lying awake in the Slytherin dormitory, staring up at the canopy of his bed with his heart pounding and his mind racing. He hated the thought of someone else holding your hand, kissing you, whispering things in your ear that he didn’t dare say aloud.

Not that he should’ve been surprised. Every guy at Hogwarts had pined after you since fifth year. You were fearless, funny, and maddeningly brilliant. You were the one who had charged headfirst into danger when Ranrok threatened everything, the one who’d become a legend among your peers before you even hit sixteen.

And on top of all that, you were beautiful. Not the kind of beauty that demanded attention, but the kind that pulled people in without you even trying. You didn’t seem to realize the effect you had on people, and maybe that’s what made it worse.

Because Sebastian had known, from the moment he met you, that you were going to ruin him.

And now, standing here in the Undercroft, watching you hunch slightly under the weight of a stupid rumor, all those feelings surged to the surface. The relief, the jealousy, the guilt. He wanted the rumor to be true—wanted it to be true so badly that it scared him.

"So..." he start slowly, "You want to talk about it?"

You startled slightly, your head snapping up to meet his gaze. For a moment, you didn’t say anything, your eyes narrowing as if trying to figure out his angle. Then you huffed, snapping your Charms textbook shut and tossing it onto the floor beside you.

“Not really,” you muttered, your tone sharper than usual.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a faint smirk despite the tension in his chest.

“Come on,” he pressed, his voice softer now but still laced with that familiar teasing edge. “It’s me. You can tell me anything."

Your expression darkened as you stood abruptly, brushing dust off your robes. “What’s there to talk about, Sebastian? It’s just a stupid rumor.”

“Is it?” he asked, tilting his head slightly as he watched you pace the length of the room.

You stopped mid-step, your shoulders stiffening before you turned to face him fully. “Yes, it is,” you snapped, your voice rising slightly. “But apparently, the entire school thinks it’s their business now.”

Sebastian studied you carefully, his smirk fading. He could see the frustration bubbling just beneath the surface, the way your hands clenched and unclenched at your sides. This wasn’t like you. You were always so steady, so unshakable, the kind of person who didn’t care what anyone thought. But now? Now you looked… rattled.

“They’re idiots,” he said simply, shrugging one shoulder. “You know that.”

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head as you turned away from him. “Doesn’t stop them from talking, does it?”

Sebastian pushed off the column, closing the distance between you with a few lazy steps. He stopped just a foot or two away, his voice low and careful as he said, “So… is it true?”

You froze, and for a moment, the silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. Then, slowly, crossed defensively over your chest.

"That's not your business, Sebastian."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smirk—too soft, too careful—but still undeniably him. He tilted his head, studying you with that infuriatingly patient look he reserved for when he wasn’t ready to let something go.

“Maybe not,” he admitted, his voice quiet but steady. “But you’re my best friend, so I’m making it my business.”

You glared at him, your arms tightening over your chest. “Why? So you can laugh about it like everyone else?”

That stung, more than he wanted to admit. His smirk faltered, his brows knitting together as he took a step closer.

“Come on,” he said, his voice softening. “You know me better than that.”

Your gaze flickered, uncertainty flashing across your face before you looked away, your jaw tightening.

Sebastian let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair as he searched for the right words. He didn’t want to push you, not when you were already on edge, but the knot in his chest refused to loosen.

“Look,” he started, his tone gentler now, “I don’t care what everyone’s are saying. They don’t know you—not really. And whatever your ex said? That just proves how much of a git he is.”

You scoffed, your eyes snapping back to his. “You hated him before this, Sebastian. Don’t act like this is some new revelation.”

“You’re right,” he said, his grin creeping back, though it was tempered by something warmer. “I did hate him. Still do. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was less fire in the gesture now, as though his words had chipped away at some of the tension in your shoulders.

Sebastian took another step closer, the space between you shrinking until he could see the way your hands trembled as you fidgeted with the fabric of your sleeve. He tilted his head, his eyes meeting yours.

“So,” he said slowly, “you’re not going to deny it?”

You hesitated, your throat working as you swallowed hard. “Why does it matter to you?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and charged. Sebastian’s heart thudded in his chest, the truth clawing at the back of his throat. He could feel it pressing against his ribs, begging to be let out.

But instead, he shrugged, forcing a casual grin. “It doesn’t,” he lied. “I just didn’t expect it, that’s all.”

“Why not?” you asked, your voice sharper now, defensive.

He hesitated, his grin faltering for a split second before he recovered. “Because it’s you,” he said, his tone quieter now. “You’re… you. Brave, reckless, brilliant—and gorgeous, by the way, not that you ever seem to notice.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you looked away, clearly caught off guard by the compliment. He couldn't really blame you. Sebastian almost always avoided saying anything that got too close to the truth of his feelings.

But he pressed on, his voice softening further. “You could have anyone you wanted. Hell, half the guys in school are practically lining up for a chance. So yeah, I just assumed…” He trailed off, shrugging again, though the motion felt heavier this time.

“Well, you assumed wrong,” you muttered, shifting your weight awkwardly.

The confirmation leaving your lips had Sebastian’s thoughts grinding to a halt, his mind caught somewhere between relief and confusion.

By principle, Sebastian didn’t care how many people someone had slept with—or if they hadn’t slept with anyone at all. It wasn’t something he judged people for. Hell, he was hardly a paragon of chastity. His own reputation preceded him—half the school whispered about his escapades, and he didn’t exactly go out of his way to deny the rumors. He wore the label of "man whore" like a badge of honor, not because he particularly enjoyed the attention, but because it was easier than letting anyone see the truth.

And the truth was simple: all of it—every fleeting flirtation, every casual hookup, every whispered name—had been nothing more than a distraction. A way to dull the ache of wanting something he could never have.

So when it came to you, his principles fell apart. The selfish, possessive part of him—the part he usually tried to shove into a dark corner of his mind—was pleased. Pleased that you were still untouched. Pleased that he might still have a chance to be your first, and if he had his way, he’d be your only.

He shoved his hands into his pockets so he wouldn’t fidget. “Well,” he said softly, his voice dipping into something quieter, something that wasn’t quite teasing but still carried the edge of a grin. “…Good.”

Your head snapped up, your eyes narrowing as you stared at him. “Good?” you repeated, your voice sharp with disbelief.

“Yeah,” he said, his smirk softening into something warmer, something real. “Good. It means you didn’t let that asshole have something he didn’t deserve.”

You blinked at him, clearly caught off guard by his words. For a moment, you just stared, like you were trying to figure him out, to dig past the layers of teasing and bravado to whatever truth lay beneath.

"You're oddly fixated on this." You observed.

Sebastian could feel the truth clawing at him, desperate to be set free, but instead, he forced a shrug, his smirk creeping back into place.

“I'm not fixated,” he lied, though the words tasted bitter on his tongue. “I just think you deserve better than someone like him.”

You rolled your eyes, though the gesture lacked its usual fire. “You’ve been saying that since the day I started dating him.”

“Because it’s true,” Sebastian shot back, his grin widening just enough to show a hint of teeth. “You’re amazing, and he… well, he was decidedly not.”

The faintest smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and Sebastian’s chest tightened at the sight. He would’ve given anything to see that smile directed at him forever.

“Thanks, I guess,” you muttered, though your cheeks were still flushed, and you shifted awkwardly under his gaze.

For a moment, the two of you stood there in silence, the air between you thick. Sebastian could feel it—the tension, the weight of everything he wasn’t saying—and he knew, deep down, that this moment was teetering on the edge of something neither of you could take back.

And then, because he couldn’t stop himself, he said, “You know… if you ever wanted to change that status, you could always come to me.”

Your eyes widened, and your mouth fell open slightly as you stared at him, clearly caught off guard. “What?”

He shrugged, trying to keep his tone light even as his heart threatened to pound out of his chest. “I mean, you trust me, right? And I’m…” He paused, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Well, let’s just say I have experience.”

You groaned, "Seb, I really don't want to hear about how you fucked three girls in one night in three separate broom closets, okay? You sexcapades are not exactly my favorite topic."

Sebastian blinked, caught off guard by your blunt response. Then he burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the Undercroft. It wasn’t the reaction you were expecting, apparently, because your glare deepened, but there was a flicker of something softer in your eyes—maybe amusement, maybe exasperation.

“Why not?” he asked, grinning wide, leaning slightly closer. “You don’t find my sexcapades entertaining?”

“No,” you shot back, though your lips twitched like you were fighting a smile. “They’re revolting. And the fact that half the school thinks you’re incapable of keeping it in your pants doesn’t entertain me nor scream trustworthy.”

Sebastian pressed a hand to his chest. “Ouch. Way to attack my character”

“Oh, please.” You rolled your eyes, though your cheeks were flushed. “You practically brag about it. You’re always smirking when people bring it up, like it’s some badge of honor.”

“Maybe I’m just giving them what they want,” Sebastian shot back smoothly, his grin softening into something more thoughtful. “You know how people are. They love a good story.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. “So you didn’t hook up with three girls in one night?”

Sebastian hesitated, his grin faltering for a split second. “Well, I didn’t say that.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” you groaned, dragging a hand down your face.

“Okay, okay,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “Yes, I have a bit of a reputation. But let’s be honest—none of it actually matters. It’s not like I care about any of the girls I hook up with.”

You frowned at him, your gaze narrowing. “Then why do it?”

Sebastian blinked. For a moment, his smirk slipped completely, and the air between you grew heavier. But then, just as quickly, he recovered, his lips twitching into that familiar, teasing grin.

“Well,” he started, his tone light but laced with mischief, “it’s better than getting myself off alone in bed ten feet from Ominis, isn’t it?”

Your jaw dropped, and you gawked at him, absolutely dumbfounded. “Sebastian!”

“What?” he said, shrugging innocently, though the grin on his face was anything but. “I’m just saying. Can you imagine?” He raised his voice, mimicking Ominis’s clipped, proper tone. “‘Really, Sebastian? At two in the morning? Some of us enjoy sleep.’”

You stared at him, torn between horror and the urge to laugh, your cheeks burning. “I didn’t need to know that!”

“Sure you did,” he said, clearly pleased with himself. “Now you understand why I’ve had to… broaden my horizons.”

“Broaden your horizons?” you repeated, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “That’s what you’re calling it?”

“Well, what would you call it?” he shot back, his grin widening.

“I’d call it—” You cut yourself off, groaning as you pinched the bridge of your nose. “Never mind. Forget I asked.”

Sebastian laughed, the sound warm and rich, and for a moment, it felt like the tension between you had lifted. But then his laughter faded, and he took a step closer, his expression softening into something more serious.

“Look,” he said, his tone quieter now, more honest. “What I’m really trying to say is that if…” He swallowed hard, and for a brief moment, he considered stopping—considered leaving it unsaid. But then he met your eyes, and something in your gaze spurred him on, despite every instinct screaming at him to shut up.

“If you’re planning on… you know, getting it over with,” he forced out, his voice low and uneven, “then I’ll help.”

You blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Help?”

Sebastian nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets to stop them from fidgeting. “Yeah. I’ll… I don’t know. Give you the dirt on whoever you’re thinking about. Tell you if they’re decent, or if they’re just going to make things worse for you.”

Your expression shifted from confusion to something closer to disbelief. “Seb, are you seriously offering to vet potential guys for me?”

“Well, someone has to,” he said, his grin returning, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I mean, let’s face it—your taste hasn’t exactly been stellar so far.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real heat behind the gesture. “Gee, thanks.”

“I’m just saying,” he pressed, leaning slightly closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “If you’re going to do this, you might as well make sure it’s with someone who’s not going to screw it up—or worse, brag about it to half the school.”

You stared at him for a long moment, your arms still crossed over your chest. “Why would you even offer that?”

Sebastian hesitated, the mask slipping for a split second as he tried to find the right words.

“Because you’re my best friend,” he said finally, the words tasting both honest and hollow at the same time. “And I don’t want you to regret it.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and charged, and Sebastian felt his heart thudding in his chest. The truth was, it wasn’t just about you. Not entirely. A selfish part of him couldn’t bear the thought of someone else being close to you in a way he wasn’t. Offering to help—offering to vet anyone you might consider—felt like a way to keep some semblance of control over a situation that made his stomach churn.

Because now he had a second chance at this. And if you went through with it, if you let someone else touch you, have you in a way that Sebastian could only dream of, he didn’t know what he’d do.

He told himself it was noble—that he was doing this for your sake, to protect you from making a mistake. But deep down, he knew it was self-serving, a desperate attempt to steer you away from anyone else while he tried to gather the courage to tell you the truth.

“Well, I’m not… planning anything,” you said at length, your voice softer now, almost hesitant.

Sebastian exhaled slowly, the knot in his chest loosening just slightly at your words. He hadn’t realized just how tightly he’d been wound, how much tension he’d been carrying since this stupid rumor started spreading.

“Good,” he said, his tone gentler now, though he couldn’t stop the faint smile that tugged at his lips. “Because honestly? Most of the guys around here are prats. You’d be better off waiting two months until after Hogwarts. At least then you won’t be stuck hearing about it in the Great Hall for weeks.”

You hummed thoughtfully, tilting your head as if considering his words. “And… if you were vetting yourself… would you approve?”

Sebastian froze, his usual quick wit momentarily failing him as his brain scrambled for a response. “I—what?” he stammered, caught entirely off guard. “That’s—that’s not—”

“Well, it’s only fair, isn’t it?” you cut in, your tone light but pointed as you smirked at him. “You were just interrogating me about my sex life. Why shouldn’t I get to turn the tables and question you back?”

Sebastian opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure of how to even begin responding. His mind was racing, caught somewhere between indignation, panic, and the nagging realization that he’d never actually considered it before—but now that he had, the answer was glaringly obvious.

He wouldn’t pass his own vetting.

Not even close.

If the situation were reversed, if someone like him were sniffing around you, Sebastian would shut it down faster than you could blink. He wouldn’t just give a list of reasons why the guy wasn’t good enough for you; he’d give a dissertation.

The reckless streak. The reputation. The countless rumors of broom closet escapades. It didn’t matter that most of them were exaggerated, or that none of it had ever meant anything.

And that wasn’t even scratching the surface. Because beyond the gossip and the bravado and the endless teasing, Sebastian knew himself. He knew the flaws that weren’t just rumors. The impulsiveness. The temper. The way he threw himself into things without thinking, consequences be damned.

If he were vetting himself for you, the answer would be painfully clear: absolutely not.

But here you were, watching him with a raised eyebrow and that infuriating, knowing little smirk, like you were daring him to come up with an answer that didn’t make him look like an idiot.

“Well?” you prompted, your tone light but laced with curiosity. “Would you pass?”

Sebastian cleared his throat, stalling for time as he shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “That’s… an unfair question,” he said finally.

“Why?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.

“Because you’re not trying to get with me,” Sebastian said, forcing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. The words tasted bitter as they left his mouth, like he’d swallowed something he couldn’t spit out.

But then something happened that he didn’t anticipate.

You didn’t respond.

Your mouth opened, as though you were about to say something, but no words came out. Instead, you just stared at him, your eyes wide and searching, your expression unreadable. Slowly, your cheeks began to flush, a deep warmth spreading across your face.

Sebastian froze, his own grin faltering as confusion flickered across his face. “What?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You blinked, quickly snapping your mouth shut, and for a moment, it looked like you might try to play it off. But the blush only deepened, spreading to the tips of your ears as you looked away, fidgeting with the sleeve of your robe.

Sebastian’s stomach flipped. He didn’t know what to make of this—of you.

You, who could go toe-to-toe with him in every argument, every tease, every prank. You, who always seemed so steady, so sure of yourself, now standing there, cheeks aflame and uncharacteristically quiet.

“Wait,” he said slowly, his voice dropping as he stepped closer, his brows furrowing. “What—"

“It's nothing,” you said quickly, your tone higher than usual as you avoided his gaze.

Sebastian blinked, his mind grinding to a halt as he stared at you. Slowly, like puzzle pieces falling into place, the realization began to wash over him.

“Is it?” he asked, his voice quieter now, the teasing edge gone.

You froze. “Sebastian, don’t,” you said softly, but there was no bite to your words—no real protest.

Sebastian’s heart thudded painfully in his chest. It certainly was not nothing.

“Holy shit,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t agree with me.”

You winced, your cheeks burning even brighter as you finally glanced up at him. “Seb…”

“No, no, hang on,” he said quickly, his mind racing as he took a step closer, his dark eyes locked onto yours. “Are you—wait, are you saying that you would—” He cut himself off, his voice catching in his throat as the weight of the moment hit him. “Bloody hell—"

“Sebastian, please,” you cut in quickly, your voice rising just enough to interrupt him. Your hands flew up as if to stop his words before they could leave his mouth. You were panicking now, trying to salvage the moment, the heat in your cheeks only growing more intense. “It’s not— I didn’t mean— Look, it’s nothing, alright? Just forget I said anything.”

“Forget it?” he repeated, his heart was pounding so loudly in his chest that he was sure you could hear it. “Are you serious? You expect me to just… move on like you didn’t just almost admit—” He stopped himself, swallowing hard, his voice dropping lower. “Like you didn’t just make me think that you might—”

“Sebastian, don’t,” you interrupted, your voice trembling as you took a half-step back. “This is stupid. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“But you didn’t even say anything,” he countered, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took a step closer, closing the distance you were trying to put between you. “You didn’t have to. I saw it on your face.”

You flinched at that, your lips pressing into a thin line as your gaze flickered downward.

“Look at me,” Sebastian said softly, his tone lacking its usual teasing edge. “Please.”

You hesitated, your shoulders tensing, but eventually, you lifted your gaze to meet his. Your eyes were wide, brimming with uncertainty, vulnerability, and something else he couldn’t quite name—but it was enough to make his chest ache.

“Are you serious?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me I’m not imagining this."

You opened your mouth, your throat working as you struggled to find the words. Sebastian thought you might deny it again, that you’d laugh it off and shove him back into the safe, familiar box of your friendship. But then you closed your eyes, exhaling shakily.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you admitted, your voice quiet but steady. “You’re not imagining things. But this… this doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Doesn’t mean anything?” he repeated, his brows furrowing as the words hit him like a punch to the gut.

“Not like that,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I just mean… it doesn’t have to mean anything. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Sebastian said, his voice firmer now, more insistent. “And neither am I.”

You blinked at him, startled by the intensity in his tone, and Sebastian felt a flicker of hope spark in his chest.

“Do you know how long I’ve been—” He stopped himself, letting out a shaky laugh as he raked a hand through his hair. "Fuck, I don’t even know where to start.”

“Sebastian...”

“No, listen,” he said, cutting you off as he stepped even closer, his voice dropping into something softer, more vulnerable. “I’ve been driving myself mad for years thinking that I’d have to spend the rest of my life pretending that I’m okay with just being your friend. And now you’re here, blushing like mad, trying to convince me that this doesn’t mean anything, when it’s the only thing I’ve wanted to mean everything.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the air between you crackling with tension so thick it was almost suffocating.

“Tell me I’m not wrong,” he said, his dark eyes locked onto yours. “Tell me that you’ve thought about this, about us. Because if you haven’t, I’ll let it go. I’ll never bring it up again. But if you have…” He trailed off, his chest heaving as he waited for your answer, every nerve in his body on edge.

You stared at him, your lips parted slightly as you struggled to find the words. And then, finally, you let out a shaky breath, your shoulders relaxing as you whispered, “I have.”

Sebastian’s heart stopped.

"So you... you want me?"

You huffed a laugh, your gaze flickering away. "Of course I want you,” you mumbled. “I’ve wanted you since we met."

The world seemed to tilt beneath Sebastian’s feet. His legs felt unsteady, his chest too tight to contain everything that had been bottled up inside him for years. All the late nights he’d spent staring at the canopy of his bed, wishing things were different. All the times he’d watched you smile at him, laugh with him, and ached for something he thought he could never have. And now, here you were, saying the very thing he’d been terrified to let himself hope for.

“Fuck,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair as a shaky laugh escaped him. He felt dazed, like he’d just been hit with a Confundus Charm. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Your brows furrowed, and the corners of your mouth dipped down. “Seb, if you’re about to make a joke—”

Sebastian didn’t let you finish. He closed the distance between you, his hands coming up to gently cradle your face as his lips crashed into yours.

You froze for a split second, caught off guard, but then you melted into him, your hands gripping the front of his shirt as if to anchor yourself.

Sebastian kissed you like his life depended on it, like you were air and he’d been suffocating.

And in that moment, he realized he had been suffocating, drowning in his feelings for you and his fear of ruining everything. But now, with you in his arms, kissing him back like this was where you’d always meant to be, he felt like he could finally breathe.

When he pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours, both of you were breathless. His chest heaved as he tried to steady his breathing, his hands still cupping your face as though he was afraid to let go.

"So... you want me too?" Your voice was small, almost uncertain, like you still couldn’t quite believe it yourself.

He let out a breathless laugh, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “I thought I made that pretty clear,” he said softly, his lips twitching into a small, crooked smile. “But yeah. I want you. I’ve wanted you since… well, since the first time you insulted my dueling form.”

A laugh bubbled out of you, the sound light and shaky, but genuine. “That was years ago.”

“Exactly,” he said, his grin widening.

Your expression shifted. Your eyes, still soft from the kiss, suddenly took on that sharp edge he knew all too well.

He’d seen that look a hundred times before—right before you suggested something outrageous, something that would almost certainly land the two of you in trouble. But this time, it was different. This time, the stakes felt infinitely higher, and Sebastian’s heart skipped a beat as he watched you, holding his breath.

“What?” he asked cautiously.

You leaned back slightly, studying him with that mischievous gleam in your eyes, and Sebastian swore his heart was about to give out.

“Well,” you started slowly, your lips curving into a playful smirk. “If we’re being honest about what we want…”

Sebastian swallowed hard, his hands still resting on your cheeks. “Go on,” he said, though his voice was rough.

Your hands slid down his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you leaned closer. “You said you’d help me if I ever wanted to change my…status,” you said, your voice dropping into something softer, something that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. “Does that offer still stand?”

Sebastian’s breath caught. His eyes widened slightly, searching your face for any sign that you might be joking, but all he saw was that familiar confidence, the same fire that had drawn him to you in the first place.

“You’re not serious,” he said, though his voice wavered, betraying the rush of emotions swirling in his chest—hope, fear, and something that felt dangerously close to pure, unfiltered desire.

You tilted your head, your smirk softening into something gentler, something that made his stomach flip. “Why wouldn’t I be?” you asked quietly.

Sebastian couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. He just stood there, staring at you like he was committing this moment to memory—like he needed to be sure it was real before he dared let himself believe it. Then, slowly, a small, crooked smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Well,” he said, his voice rough but tinged with a teasing lilt, “I’d be an idiot to say no, but..."

"But?"

Sebastian’s voice dropped, softer now, almost hesitant. “But if we do this… I need you to understand something.” His thumbs brushed gently over your cheeks, his gaze searching yours. "I don’t want this to be some casual thing. I don’t want it to be something we joke about tomorrow or pretend never happened."

Your teasing smirk faltered, your expression softening as the weight of his words sank in. “Sebastian…” you started, your voice quieter now, almost uncertain.

“I’m serious,” he interrupted, shaking his head slightly as though to clear his thoughts. "Fuck, I'm in love with you and I want you forever. I want all of you. And I need to know that this is what you want too. Because if we do this—if we cross that line—I don’t think I’ll ever be able to go back. I don’t want to go back. "

Your laugh was soft, shaky, but warm enough to chase away the tension tightening Sebastian’s chest. “Sebastian, you absolute idiot,” you said, your voice a mix of amusement and affection. “I love you too. You already had my forever."

Sebastian froze. You loved him. You loved him.

With a low, broken sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan, he pulled you to him, his lips crashing against yours.

"Then yes," he said against your lips, "The offer still stands."

His lips crashing into yours, Sebastian backed you up slowly until you pressed against the cool, rough surface of the wall. His hands slid down your sides, his touch warm and firm, before they found your thighs. With a low, breathless groan, he lifted you, his fingers curling around the soft flesh beneath your skirt. The warmth of your skin against his palms made his head spin, and a shaky moan escaped his lips as he pressed you tighter against him.

He was in heaven. After so much imagining, so many stolen glances and sleepless nights spent wanting this—wanting you—he finally got to touch you, hold you, have you. And the way you clung to him, your legs wrapping around his waist as your hands tangled in his hair, only made it better. Perfect, even.

Your kisses were desperate, almost frantic, and every press of your lips, every flick of your tongue sent fire racing through his veins. When you broke away from his mouth, trailing kisses along his jaw before latching onto the sensitive skin of his neck, he let out a deep, shuddering breath, his head tipping back slightly to give you more access.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice low and hoarse as your teeth grazed his skin. “You’re driving me mad.”

You didn’t stop, didn’t so much as pause, as you nipped at his neck, your lips soothing the sting with soft kisses before you sucked gently, leaving faint marks in your wake. Your hands slid down to his chest, tugging at the buttons of his shirt, and Sebastian could only chuckle breathlessly, his voice rough with want.

“Impatient, are we?” he teased, though his own hands were just as restless, roaming your thighs and hips like he couldn’t get enough of you.

“Shut up,” you muttered, your tone sharp but breathless as you finally yanked the fabric apart, buttons clattering to the floor.

Sebastian’s hands tightened on your thighs, his arousal growing almost unbearable as you continued your assault on his senses. His breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and he knew he couldn’t take much more of this—of you.

With a low, frustrated growl, he pulled back slightly, carrying you to one of the worn-out couches in the corner. The cushions creaked under your combined weight as he set you down gently, his body covering yours as he leaned over you, his hands braced on either side of your head.

For a moment, he just looked at you, his dark eyes roaming your face as though committing every detail to memory, because you were a vision, and the fact that you were here, with him, looking at him like he was the only thing that mattered, nearly undid him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his voice soft but filled with reverence.

Your lips parted slightly, a faint, breathless laugh escaping as you reached up to cup his cheek. “You’re not so bad yourself."

Sebastian huffed a laugh, and his lips found their way back to your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin with a newfound urgency. His hands slid along your sides, his fingers skimming the fabric of your sweater until they found the hem. He paused for just a moment, giving you a chance to stop him, but when you arched into him, your silent permission, he tugged the material upward.

The sweater caught slightly as he pulled it over your head, and you laughed softly, the sound muffled by the fabric. “Impatient are we?” you mocked breathlessly as he tossed the garment aside.

“Can you blame me?” he shot back, his voice low and gravelly as his hands immediately found your waist again, sliding up to palm you over your bra. His fingers curled around the soft fabric, thumbs brushing over the lace, and his breath hitched when you let out a soft, barely audible moan at the contact.

“Fuck,” Sebastian muttered, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he squeezed gently, his touch reverent, almost hesitant. “You’re perfect. I’ve thought about this so many times, and it doesn’t even come close to—” He broke off, his words dissolving into a groan as you arched into him again, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“You think too much,” you murmured, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear as your hands found their way to his chest, exploring the warm, firm planes of muscle beneath your fingers. “Just feel.”

Sebastian let out a soft laugh, though it was shaky and tinged with desperation as he pressed a kiss to your collarbone. “Oh, believe me,” he said, his voice rough, “I’m feeling plenty.”

His lips trailed lower, down the column of your neck and across your chest, lingering just above the edge of your bra. His hands slid around your back, fumbling slightly as he searched for the clasp, and you couldn’t help but laugh at his eagerness.

“Need some help?” you teased, though your voice was just as breathless as his.

“Shut it,” he grumbled, though there was no real heat in his tone. When he finally managed to unhook it, the fabric loosened, and Sebastian pulled it away slowly, almost reverently, his eyes darkening as they roamed over you.

“God,” he whispered, his voice barely audible as he cupped you in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your bare skin. “You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

Your cheeks flushed under his gaze, but before you could respond, his mouth was on you, hot and insistent. His lips and tongue worked in tandem, drawing soft gasps and whimpers from you that only spurred him on. His hands explored every inch of you, mapping out the curves and dips of your body like he was committing them to memory.

And Merlin, you were just as eager, your hands slipping down his back, your nails grazing his skin as you tugged him closer, your legs wrapping around his waist once more. Every touch, every kiss, every breath shared between you was electric, setting your nerves alight and leaving you both trembling with need.

“Sebastian,” you murmured, his name a plea on your lips as you arched into him, your hands tugging at the waistband of his trousers.

He groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder as he tried to steady himself, his breathing ragged. “You’re going to kill me,” he muttered, though the grin tugging at his lips betrayed the heat and affection swirling in his chest.

“Then die happy,” you shot back, your hands working to unbutton his trousers

Sebastian’s laugh was low and breathless, his hands momentarily leaving your body as he stood to slide the the fabric down his legs, and he decided that if this was the end, if you were the last thing he ever got to hold, he would die the happiest man alive.

His hands trembled slightly as they found your hips, his fingers curling around the waistband of your skirt. Slowly, almost reverently, he began to tug the fabric down, revealing more of you with each passing second.

His heart thundered in his chest when the fabric slid past your thighs, pooling at your knees before he finally discarded it onto the floor. Now, with both of you stripped down to nothing but your underwear, the reality of the moment hit him like a lightning strike.

His arousal, already insistent, became nearly unbearable, straining against the fabric of his boxers as his gaze swept over you. Splayed out on the worn couch, your hair spilled like a halo across the cushions, your chest rising and falling with each shallow breath, and every inch of you seemed to beckon him closer. The taut peaks of your breasts, flushed and bare to him, drew his attention, sending a sharp pang of need coursing through him. Your kiss-bruised lips, slightly swollen and parted, were enough to leave him breathless, but it was the way your thighs pressed together, your hips shifting slightly, and the soft flush painting your skin that nearly broke his restraint.

You squirmed under his gaze, your cheeks burning a lovely pink that traveled down to your neck, and Sebastian was certain he’d never seen anything more stunning in his life.

Sebastian sank down onto the couch, hovering over you once more, his arms braced on either side of your head as he took in every detail of your expression. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might break through his ribs. But when his eyes met yours, he faltered.

There, just beneath the heat and want in your gaze, was a flicker of something softer—nerves, apprehension.

This was your first time.

The gravity of it settled heavily on his chest all over again, eclipsing the raw desire that had been driving him just seconds ago. As much as he wanted to let his instincts take over, to lose himself in the sheer need coursing through him, he knew he couldn’t—he wouldn’t—rush this.

He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, one hand coming up to gently cradle your face. The tenderness of the gesture seemed to soothe the tension in your body, and he felt you relax slightly beneath him.

“We don’t have to do this,” he murmured against your lips, his voice soft and steady. “If you’re not ready—if you need more time—just say the word, and we’ll stop. No questions, no pressure. I mean it.”

Your lips parted as you stared up at him, the weight of his words sinking in. Your hands slid up to rest on his shoulders. “I want this,” you said, your voice quiet but sure. “I’m ready, Seb. I trust you.”

Sebastian closed his eyes briefly, exhaling slowly as relief and affection washed over him. When he opened them again, his gaze was softer, his brow furrowed slightly as he studied you. “If I do something you don’t like,” he said gently, “or if you change your mind at any point, just tell me. Promise me.”

“I promise."

Sebastian nodded, his lips curving into a small, reassuring smile. “Alright,” he murmured, leaning down to press a feather-light kiss to your forehead, then your nose, and finally your lips before he shifted back. After sliding your thong down your legs, his hands reached for your knees, his fingers curling around them as he gently urged your legs apart. His touch was firm but careful, like he was holding something fragile and precious.

When his gaze dropped to the space between your thighs, a low, guttural groan escaped him, unbidden. He braced himself with one hand on your knee, the other sliding along your inner thigh as though drawn there by instinct.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

“Seb…” you murmured, your voice trembling as you reached for him, your fingers brushing against his forearm.

He met your gaze, his expression softening as he smiled—a small, lopsided grin that carried all the affection and adoration he couldn’t put into words. “I’ve got you,” he said softly, his hand sliding to your hip as he settled between your legs. “I promise, I’ve got you.”

Sebastian leaned forward again, his hands framing your hips as he lowered himself over you. He felt your trembling hands move to the waistband of his boxers, your fingers brushing against his skin. He bit his lip, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he tried to keep his composure.

When you tugged gently, his hands left your body for just a moment as he helped slide the fabric down, discarding it carelessly onto the floor. He knelt there for a second, his heart pounding as he hovered above you, watching your reaction like it was the only thing that mattered.

The moment your gaze dropped, your breath caught audibly, your lips parting in surprise. Your eyes widened slightly before the surprise gave way to something deeper, something that made the heat in his chest bloom into something all-encompassing. The desire in your expression, raw and unguarded, left him completely undone.

Sebastian felt his face flush, a lopsided, slightly nervous smile tugging at his lips as he watched you take him in. “You alright?” he asked softly.

You swallowed hard, your eyes flicking back up to meet his, and he saw a glimmer of shyness there—so unlike the confident, unshakable version of you the rest of the world knew. “I’m... you're so..." he watched you swallow hard, hesitant yet heavy with want.

“I’m what?” he asked softly, his voice low and rough. He leaned closer, his fingers brushing against your hip, his touch warm and grounding. “Come on, sweetheart, don’t leave me hanging now.”

You swallowed again, your chest rising and falling with shallow, unsteady breaths. “You’re so big, I— will it hurt?"

Sebastian’s breath hitched at your words, a wave of satisfaction and desire crashing through him, leaving his heart pounding and his arousal almost unbearable. The raw honesty in your voice, the uncertainty paired with the compliment, made his chest ache with a mixture of pride and tenderness.

Still, the flicker of apprehension in your gaze snapped him back to the gravity of the moment. He couldn’t let the intensity of his need overpower what mattered most: you.

He exhaled slowly, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze.

“It might,” he admitted softly, his voice low and steady. “It might hurt a little at first. But I promise you, I’ll go slow—so slow—and I’ll stop the second you want me to. You just have to tell me, okay?”

Your lips parted slightly, your breath trembling as you nodded. “Okay."

“You’re everything to me,” he murmured, his thumb brushing gently over your hip. “I swear, I’ll take care of you. I won’t let it be anything but good for you.”

You gave him a small, shaky smile, your fingers curling around the back of his neck to pull him closer. “I know."

Sebastian let out a shaky breath, his forehead resting briefly against yours as he reached down to position himself at your entrance. His hand trembled slightly—not from hesitation, but from the sheer weight of the moment, the overwhelming intensity of finally being this close to you, of having you completely. His eyes flicked up to meet yours one last time, searching for any trace of doubt.

“Breathe, love,” he whispered, his voice soft and soothing as he pressed a tender kiss to your cheek. “I’ve got you.”

You nodded, your hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders, your fingers curling into his skin as you drew him closer.

With infinite care, Sebastian began to press forward, his body taut with restraint as he eased himself into you. The moment he felt your warmth enveloping him, tight and slick and impossibly perfect, a low, guttural groan tore from his chest, his head dropping to your shoulder.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice rough and breathless as he stilled, giving you time to adjust. “You feel… you feel so good. So fucking good.”

Your breath hitched, a soft gasp escaping your lips as your body stretched to accommodate him. There was a slight pinch at first, an ache that made you tense momentarily, but Sebastian’s hands were there, grounding you, one cradling your hip while the other brushed soothing circles against your thigh.

“Easy,” he murmured, his voice laced with both tenderness and the barest hint of desperation. “Just breathe, sweetheart. You’re doing so well.”

You nodded, exhaling shakily as you focused on his voice, his touch, the warmth of his body pressing against yours. Slowly, the discomfort began to fade, replaced by something deeper, something warmer.

Sebastian felt the change, the way your body softened beneath him, the way your fingers gripped his shoulders less tightly. He pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there as he began to move again, inching deeper with agonizing slowness.

“You’re so tight,” he muttered, his voice thick with awe and desire. “So warm. Fuck, you’re perfect.”

Your soft whimper in response had his restraint fraying at the edges and he fought to keep his movements measured. Every inch of you wrapped around him like a vice, and the heat and wetness of you was enough to drive him to the brink of madness.

“Sebastian,” you breathed, his name a plea on your lips as your hands slid up to tangle in his hair. “You can… you can move.”

He groaned softly, lifting his head to look at you. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice tight as he forced himself to hold still, his entire body trembling with the effort.

“Yes,” you whispered, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer. “I’m ready.”

With a shaky exhale, Sebastian nodded, his hands tightening on your hips as he began rocking into you with slow, deliberate strokes. The sensation was overwhelming—your body clinging to him, so snug and impossibly warm, every movement sending shockwaves of pleasure through him.

“Fuck,” he muttered again, his head dropping to rest against yours as he found a rhythm, each thrust measured and careful, ensuring you had time to adjust.

Your soft moans and the way your body responded to him only spurred him on, his movements growing just a fraction deeper, more deliberate, as he let himself sink further into you. The way you arched beneath him, the way your nails grazed his skin, made his restraint fray further, but he forced himself to hold on. This was about you—making sure you felt safe, cherished, and utterly adored.

“Tell me how it feels,” he murmured, his voice rough but laced with affection as his lips brushed against your ear. “I need to know you’re okay.”

“It’s… it’s good,” you whispered, your voice trembling but full of warmth. “Better than good. You feel amazing, Seb.”

The sincerity in your voice made his chest tighten, his heart pounding as he pressed a series of soft, reverent kisses along your jaw. “You’re amazing,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re everything.”

And as he continued, his movements slow and deliberate, Sebastian let himself savor every moment, every sound, every touch, etching the memory into his soul, and he swore he’d spend the rest of his life making sure you knew just how deeply he cherished you.

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nymphomatique · 2 years ago

Note

power play with miguel 🫣

OH EM GEE,,,,, yes but like not in the way u think. i’m envisioning a college au with loser boy nerd miguel (bc sub miguel supremacy🗣️) and reader where she makes him do her homework and out of pity let’s him fuck her hand in return 🤭

word vomit incoming omg wait

“o-oh my god, thank you s’much. thank you thank you thank you,” you hear miguel whimper as thrusts quite erratically in your hand.

“yeah, uh-uh,” you respond flat, scrolling on your phone with your unoccupied hand. “just make sure my cal homework is gone by friday. you’re taking way long today.”

this thing between you and your classmate has been going on for a semester already. you saw him, curly brown hair, squared black frames sitting atop his long and sharp nose, horrible posture and good grades, above all else.

you pranced around him in a tight mini skirt and high heels for weeks until you just so happened to ask him to do an assignment for you, because i just don’t have any time to myself anymore, and i’m so tired these days. and you’re smart aren’t you, miguel?

maybe you let it slip that if he objected, your mother, who just so happened to be on the board of education for your school district, might hear about his coming onto a classmate inappropriately, and we wouldn’t want that now would we?

that brings you to now, miguel and you both sitting on your bed, him having been fucking your hand for the past fifteen minutes.

“i c-can’t.. not until you tell me to finish..” he whimpers. you roll your eyes and throw your phone next to you on your dorm bed. you lean over towards miguel’s crotch and look up at him, flippant expression on your face.

“you’re gonna cum in my mouth, and you’re going to do it in the next minute. got it?” with that you begin to jerk him off and wrap your lips around his tip while maintaining eye contact.

“oh my fucking g-god, i’m gonna- ah!” and with that he spurts in your mouth, his load covering your tongue. miguel leans back on his hands spent and you pick back up your phone like nothing had just happened.

“time for you to go. just send me my answers by email, you know the usual by now.” you say to him haphazardly, scrolling through your contacts to find your best friend.

“oh.. can w-”

“hey, tiff! i’m freed up tonight, got my homework done fast so we’re on for the party.” you’re ignoring him now, and he decides to redress and make his way to exit your dorm. although it seems you’re paying enough attention to slam your room door in his face.

staring at your pink decorated dorm door, miguel can’t help but blush at the thought of you.

do we want a full fic? 🤭

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara drabble #miguel atsv #miguel atsv smut #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #sub miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader smut #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #you’ve got mail💌#<nerd!miguel3

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nameless-ken · 6 months ago

Text

Bucky Barnes x Reader - Part Six

Word count: 9.2K

Warnings: angst, smut!! (18+), fluff too, all the emotions

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Masterlist

The rhythmic clinking of tools echoes in your quiet apartment as Bucky, Steve and Sam work on replacing the shattered window while you are at work. A crisp draft from the afternoon air slips through the gap, making Bucky shift uncomfortably. He stands nearby, arms crossed, his sharp eyes scanning the street below for any signs of movement.

“You sure this place is secure now?” Sam questions, handing Steve a screwdriver. “Because that was one heck of an entry.”

Steve nods, securing the new pane in place. “We’re reinforcing it, but I think we need to figure out who did this, not just block it out.”

Bucky let out a low huff, his jaw tightening. “It’s not just a message. Someone out there knows too much—about me. About what happened.”

“And they made it personal,” Sam adds.

Steve brushes his hands on his jeans. “We’ll track them down, Buck. But we’ve got to start smart. What’s the connection? Why now?”

Bucky doesn’t answer immediately. For your and Elizabeth’s sake, he tries to push down the storm of emotions that threatens to overtake him. “They’re tied to what happened to me. The people who took me. Could be Hydra… or someone trying to replicate what they did to me.”

“Then we’ll find them,” Steve says firmly. “Together. Like we always have.”

Sam leans against the wall, arms crossed. “And we’re not just talking about going after them, man. You need to let us help you—really help. None of this lone wolf act.”

Bucky’s lips press into a thin line. He nods, but the weight in his chest didn’t lift.

Steve glances at Bucky, sensing his tension but choosing not to press further. Instead, he redirects his focus. "Sam, make sure we log the details of the break-in. We might’ve missed something the first time through."

Sam nods and pushes off the wall, grabbing his phone. "Already on it. I’ll run the details by my contacts too—see if there’s been any chatter about suspicious activity in the area."

As Sam steps into the hallway, Steve leans closer to Bucky, lowering his voice. "You don’t have to carry this alone, you know."

Bucky exhales sharply, his metal fingers flexing unconsciously. "I’m not carrying it alone. I’m just… trying to keep it together."

Steve places a hand on his shoulder, grounding him as they walk out of the guest room and to the living room. "We’ll figure this out, Buck. You’ve faced worse and come out stronger. And you’ve got more people backing you now than ever before."

Bucky gives a tight nod. "I just don’t want anyone else getting hurt because of me."

Before Steve can respond, the sound of the front door opening draws their attention. You step inside with Elizabeth following you as you juggle a bag of groceries in one hand and your keys in the other.

“Looks like you guys got it all sorted,” you greet with a smile, though your gaze lingers on Bucky, who stands tense and guarded.

“Almost there,” Steve replies, straightening up and dusting off his hands. “We’ve reinforced the frame and added some extra measures to make sure it’s not so easy to break next time.”

Elizabeth bounds over to the couch, her backpack slipping off her shoulders. “Next time?” she echoes, her tone half-serious and half-curious.

“There won’t be a next time,” Bucky mutters, his eyes flicking to the guest room and then back to her. His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it that makes Elizabeth glance at him curiously before pulling out her homework.

“You picked her up?” Sam asks, returning from the hallway with his phone in hand. He glances at you and then back at Elizabeth.

“Figured it was the easiest and the least I could do while you all handled this,” you reply, setting the groceries on the counter. “Besides, it gave me a chance to get her opinion on snack choices. She’s got some strong feelings about granola bars, by the way.”

Elizabeth looks up with a grin. “Because chocolate chip is way better than raisin.”

Sam chuckles. “Kid’s got good taste.”

As the light banter fills the room, Bucky shifts, his arms crossing over his chest again. He watches the easy interaction, his tension visibly easing just a fraction. You notice and meet his gaze, offering him a small smile before pulling a loaf of bread from the bag.

“You’re welcome to stay for dinner, by the way,” you offer, glancing at the three of them. “It’s the least I can do to say thanks.”

Sam raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Depends. What’s on the menu?”

“Spaghetti,” you answer. “And if Elizabeth has her way, garlic bread too.”

Elizabeth perks up. “You have to make the garlic bread. It’s the best part!”

Steve grins, stepping closer to the counter. “Sounds like a solid meal. Count me in.”

Sam nods in agreement. “Same here. I’m not missing garlic bread.”

You glance at Bucky, who hesitates. For a moment, it seems like he might turn the offer down, but then Elizabeth pipes up, “You’ll stay too, right, Uncle Bucky?”

Her wide-eyed look cuts through his reluctance, and with a faint smile, he nods. “Yeah, I’ll stay.”

As you move around the kitchen, the atmosphere gradually softens. Steve and Sam take turns helping Elizabeth with her homework while Bucky keeps his position near the guest room, though he doesn’t seem as tightly wound as before.

“You know,” you say after a while, breaking the comfortable silence, “it’s nice having a full house like this. A little chaotic, maybe, but nice.”

Sam smirks. “Chaos is kind of our specialty.”

Steve chuckles. “True enough.”

Bucky, still standing by the closed door, finally turns away from it and looks at you. “You don’t mind us sticking around?”

You meet his gaze, your expression warm. “Not at all. Feels safer, honestly. And besides,” you add with a small grin, “I figure if anyone tries something again, they’ll regret it pretty fast with you three here.”

That earns a low chuckle from Bucky, and for the first time all day, there’s a flicker of something lighter in his expression. “You’re not wrong.”

Elizabeth glances up from her homework and adds, “Uncle Bucky’s the best at keeping people safe.”

The quiet pride in her voice makes him pause, his lips twitching into a faint but genuine smile. “Thanks, Bee.”

Dinner is filled with easy conversation and the kind of camaraderie that feels natural, even in the wake of the unease from before. By the time the dishes are cleared and the table wiped down, the apartment feels less like a crime scene and more like a home again.

As the evening winds down, Bucky finds himself lingering by the door while the others gather their things. He turns to you, his gaze steady. “Thanks—for dinner and picking up Elizabeth.”

You nod, your smile soft. “Anytime. You know that.” You lean in and kiss his cheek.

“Please call me if anything feels off. Don’t hesitate.” Bucky pulls you into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to your head.

“I promise. Thank you for everything.”

Later that night, Bucky is consumed by the quietness of his apartment, save for the soft hum of the heater battling the December chill. Bucky sits on the edge of the couch, staring at the empty tea mug in his hands. Dinner had been… nice. Uncomfortably nice. He can’t remember the last time he’d felt so at ease—laughing at one of Sam’s terrible jokes, watching Elizabeth light up over dessert, hearing your voice cut through the heaviness in his chest like it belonged there.

It should’ve been good. Great, even. But instead, it left him unsettled. Warmth wasn’t something he was used to, not in a long time but now it wrapped around him like a second skin, soft but unfamiliar.

Alpine pads up onto the couch, curling into his lap. Bucky absently runs his fingers over her fur, his metal hand resting stiffly at his side. It’s not that he doesn’t trust it—it’s that he doesn’t trust himself. Not with this. Not with people he cares about.

His gaze shifts to the hallway, where Elizabeth is staying for the night after she pleaded with her dad, his room door slightly ajar.

Pushing himself to his feet, Bucky crosses the room and gently nudges the bedroom door open. Elizabeth stirs at the sound, her small frame wrapped in a blanket as her stuffed bear rests on the pillow beside her.

“Uncle Bucky?” Her sleepy voice pulls him closer.

“Yeah, Bee, just me,” he says softly, crouching down to her level. “Wanted to check in before you head off to dreamland.”

Her brows knit together, her drowsy eyes searching his. “You look sad.”

Bucky lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “I’m not sad. Just thinking too much. Go back to sleep, alright?”

“You’ll keep us safe?” she murmurs, already halfway back to sleep.

His throat tightens at the trust in her voice. “Always,” he promises, pressing a kiss to her head and smoothing the blanket over her shoulders. “Nothing’s getting past me.”

Once she’s asleep again, Bucky quietly shuts the door and leans against the wall, dragging a hand through his hair. He could handle threats, danger, even his own ghosts—but this? The trust and love of people like Elizabeth and you? That’s what made him feel like he was walking on thin ice.

Back on the couch, the quiet feels heavier now. The mug is now cold, its contents long forgotten. He sets it on the table and leans back, Alpine shifting against his lap. His mind circles back to the warmth of the evening—Elizabeth’s laughter, your voice, the way you looked at him and how you reminded him that you're all in this together.

Together. That word clings to him, even now. It feels foreign, like a language he’s trying to relearn after decades of silence. But it also feels... dangerous. Trusting someone meant opening up, and opening up meant exposing the parts of himself he’d rather leave buried.

But you... you make it seem effortless. You see through his walls without tearing them down, slipping past his defenses like sunlight through cracks.

He glances at the leather-bound journal on the coffee table. A quiet ritual, one of the only ways he can sort through the noise in his head.

With a sigh, he picks it up and flips to a blank page. The pen feels heavy in his hand as he stares at the empty space, searching for the words he hasn’t said aloud.

I don’t know how to do this.

Dinner tonight felt like stepping into a memory I don’t deserve to have. Warmth, laughter, people who care—things I stopped letting myself believe in. But then there’s Elizabeth, trusting me to keep her safe. There’s Y/N, looking at me like I’m not just the sum of everything I’ve done.

It scares me.

Not the kind of fear I’m used to—the kind that keeps you alive in a fight. This is different. It’s... quieter. More patient. It whispers things I can’t ignore: What if you mess this up? What if you hurt them? What if they find out who you really are and walk away?

I can’t stop thinking about Y/N. How her voice cuts through the static in my head. How Y/N smiled at me tonight like I wasn’t broken.

I don’t know what to do with this feeling.

Bucky stares at the page for a long time before closing the journal. The words sit heavy in his chest, like a truth he’s only just starting to admit to himself.

As Alpine stretches and curls tighter against him, Bucky lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Tomorrow, the world would demand answers, plans, and action. But tonight, he allows himself this: the quiet hum of the heater, the softness of a cat’s fur, and the hope—no matter how fragile—that maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t have to do it all alone.

The next morning, Steve and Sam spread out across the living room, papers and laptop screens cluttering the coffee table. The remnants of breakfast—Elizabeth's half-finished cereal bowl sat off to the side, a stark contrast to the tension in the room. Bucky stood near the window, his arms crossed as his gaze flicked between the street below and the scattered information.

“This symbol,” Steve said, tapping a grainy photo on his screen. “It showed up on the corner of the broken window frame. It’s faint, almost like it was etched there on purpose.”

Sam squinted, leaning closer. “That’s not random graffiti. Looks like an old Hydra mark.”

Bucky stiffened at the mention, his fingers curling into fists. “That’s not just any Hydra symbol,” he said, his voice low. “That’s from the division that… experimented on me.”

The room fell into a tense silence. Steve exchanged a glance with Sam before speaking. “You think this is tied to someone specific from back then?”

Bucky nodded, his jaw tight. “There were scientists, mercenaries… a lot of people involved. But there’s one name that stands out.” He hesitated, the weight of the memory pressing against him. “Jakob Neumann. He oversaw the project that gave me this.” He held up his metal arm, the morning light glinting off its surface.

Sam frowned, pulling out his phone. “That name rings a bell. Give me a sec.” He typed quickly, his brow furrowing as he scanned through a database. “Neumann’s been off the grid for years, but…” His eyes lit up with realization. “A guy matching his description popped up in a report from Romania six months ago. It wasn’t confirmed, but there were whispers about him working on black-market enhancements.”

Steve frowned, straightening. “If he’s resurfacing, it could explain why they’re coming after you now. Maybe they’re trying to tie up loose ends—or restart their work.”

Bucky’s grip on the windowsill tightened. “If Neumann’s behind this, he won’t stop at me. He’ll go after anyone connected to me.”

Steve stepped closer, his tone resolute. “Then we take the fight to him before he gets the chance.”

Sam glanced between the two of them. “We need more intel first. Charging in without a plan isn’t gonna help anyone—especially with Elizabeth and Y/N caught in the crossfire.”

Bucky turned sharply at the mention of your name, his eyes narrowing. “Y/N shouldn’t be involved in this. I won’t let her get hurt because of me.”

Sam raised a hand in surrender. “We’re all on the same page, man. That’s why we’ve gotta be smart about this.”

Steve nodded. “Sam’s right. Let’s track down where Neumann was last seen and see if we can get a trail on him. And Bucky…” Steve’s voice softened. “We’ll handle this together. You’re not doing this alone.”

Bucky looked between them, his chest tightening with conflicting emotions—gratitude, frustration, and the ever-present fear that his past would destroy what little good had found its way into his life. “Fine. But we don’t wait too long. Every second he’s out there is another second he’s a threat.”

By midday, the living room had transformed into a makeshift war room. Steve had set up a detailed map on the coffee table, pinpoints and notes marking places where Neumann or his associates were rumored to have been seen. Sam worked the comms, reaching out to his contacts for any new leads, while Bucky stood off to the side, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable.

“Okay,” Sam said, straightening from the couch. “Here’s what we’ve got so far. Last confirmed sighting was in Bucharest, but there’s chatter about someone matching Neumann’s description heading east. Budapest, maybe.” He jabbed a finger at the map. “There’s also been talk of some underground tech trades—enhancements, biometrics. Sounds like his kind of game.”

Steve nodded, his gaze serious. “If he’s moving, he’s staying one step ahead. We need to figure out where he’s going next. Budapest could be a stop, or it could be a dead end.”

“We won’t know until we get boots on the ground,” Bucky interjected, his voice steady but tense.

Sam leaned back against the armrest, arms crossed. “And how do you suggest we do that? Can’t exactly hop on a plane and start asking questions without drawing attention.”

Steve’s brows furrowed. “Sam’s right. We need to be subtle. If Neumann’s involved in black-market tech, he’s probably dealing with the same players he’s worked with before. We could start there.”

“Which means infiltration,” Sam added. “We need someone who can blend in, look like they belong in that world.”

Steve glanced at Bucky, who raised an eyebrow. “You saying I look like I belong in a criminal underworld?”

Sam smirked. “If the arm fits.”

Despite the tension, a faint chuckle escaped Steve. “Sam’s got a point. You’ve been off the grid before. You know how to move in those circles.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. He hated the idea of diving back into a world that felt too close to the one he’d fought so hard to escape. But he also knew he couldn’t let anyone else take that risk. “Fine. I’ll go.”

“You won’t go alone,” Steve said firmly. “I’ll handle the logistics from here, and Sam will be your backup. We’ll make sure you’ve got everything you need before you head out.”

Sam gave a mock salute. “Guess I’d better pack my ‘blending in’ jacket.”

Bucky managed a faint smirk but said nothing, his mind already racing ahead to what he’d have to do. The thought of you and Elizabeth flashed unbidden in his mind, a reminder of what was at stake.

The evening sun dips low, casting golden light across the quiet street as Bucky approaches your apartment. He hears faint laughter through your front door, Elizabeth’s voice blending with yours, and for a moment, the sound eases the tension knotting his chest.

He knocks lightly, his metal arm making a softer tap than he intended. The door opens almost immediately, and there you were, a warm smile lighting up your face.

“Hey, Bucky,” you greet, stepping aside to let him in. “Perfect timing. Elizabeth just finished her homework, and we were about to start a game of Uno.”

Elizabeth pops her head around the corner, a grin spreading across her face. “Uncle Bucky! You have to play too. Y/N's not very good at bluffing.”

You laugh, mock-offended. “Hey, I’m plenty good at bluffing! I just happen to be honest when I play with you.”

Bucky chuckles softly, stepping into the cozy space. “You’re teaching her how to bluff? Pretty sure Steve wouldn’t approve.”

Elizabeth giggles and runs to grab the deck of cards. “He doesn’t have to know.”

You gesture toward the kitchen. “Want some tea before you take her home? I just put the kettle on and I have that Chamomile kind you like.”

Bucky blushes slightly from the thought of you purchasing his favorite tea for when he comes over. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

The two of you move to the kitchen while Elizabeth sets up the game in the living room. You hand Bucky a mug, your gaze lingering on him as he takes a sip.

“Long day?” you ask gently.

Bucky nods, his eyes fixed on the liquid in his mug. “Yeah. We’re… dealing with the intruder situation. Complicated.”

“Something dangerous?”

He looks up, your concern evident. For a second, he considers brushing it off, giving you the usual noncommittal response. But something in your steady gaze tells him you wouldn’t buy it—and maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t want to lie to you.

“Could be,” he admits quietly. “It’s connected to my past. And to people who might still want to use me—or worse.”

You set your mug down and cross your arms, leaning against the counter. “And you’re worried they’ll come after you. Or Elizabeth.”

“And you.”

Your breath catches for a moment, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. His blue eyes meet yours, searching, hesitant, yet brimming with an intensity that makes your heart race.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Bucky,” you say softly, stepping closer. “I’m tougher than I look. But you don’t have to carry all of this alone, you know.”

He exhales sharply, his shoulders tensing as though resisting your words. “I’m not good at letting people in,” he admits. “But the thought of something happening to you, to Elizabeth—it’s not something I can handle.”

Your hand instinctively reaches out, brushing against his metal arm. The coolness of the vibranium contrasts with the warmth of the moment. “You don’t have to handle it all alone. You’ve got Steve, Sam… and me. We’ve got your back, Bucky.”

He meets your gaze, his eyes holding an unspoken intensity, and without thinking, you lean in. You kiss him then, slow but sure, your lips finding his with a sense of quiet confidence. The moment feels natural, like something that was always meant to happen, and it’s as though the world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you in this brief, private space.

The kiss deepens, and his hand moves to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, the tension between you dissipating as you both lean into the intimacy of it. When you pull away, you don’t step back immediately. Instead, you stay close, your foreheads gently resting against each other as you both catch your breath.

“Y/N…” he breathes your name softly, the weight of it carrying more meaning than any words could convey.

Before you can respond, Elizabeth’s cheerful voice rings out from the living room.

“Uncle Bucky! Are you coming? I already shuffled!”

You both laugh quietly, the moment fading, but the connection still crackling between you. Bucky takes a step back, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Guess I’d better go lose at Uno.”

You smile, feeling your heart still race. “For the record, I’m definitely going to beat you both.”

As you both move toward the living room, you glance at him once more. The warmth in his gaze matches yours, despite the chaos happening in your lives.

The next Friday afternoon, the school is bustling with the usual end-of-week energy. Kids laugh and gather their things for the weekend as you finish up your last tasks in the classroom when you notice something out of place—an envelope wedged between the pages of a textbook on the corner of your desk. It’s a simple, unmarked envelope, but there is something about it that makes your skin start to prickle.

You hesitate, heart racing, and open it. Inside was a folded piece of paper, handwritten in a neat but unsettling script.

"We’re watching. It’s only a matter of time."

Your blood runs cold as you read the words again. The handwriting is unfamiliar, but the implication is clear. Your stomach twists in dread. You stuff the envelope into your bag, trying to shake the sense of unease that grips you. Elizabeth is already waiting by the door, backpack slung over her shoulder and a wide grin on her face.

“Ready to go, Y/N?” she asks, her voice full of enthusiasm.

You force a smile, nodding as you grab your things and follow her out into the hallway. The bustling school seems far too normal for what you're feeling inside. The tension from the note stays with you, coiling in your stomach. You glance over your shoulder one last time as you exit the building, scanning the hallway as though you might spot something or someone.

Elizabeth’s chatter helps distract you as you make your way to the parking lot. As you reach the front gates, you spot Bucky’s familiar truck idling by the curb. He leans against it, arms crossed, his eyes scanning the crowd with a kind of practiced vigilance. When he sees you, his expression softens, and he straightens up, pushing off the truck with a slight grin.

“Hey, you two,” he says, his deep voice grounding you for a moment, calming the nerves that have been rattling around inside you. “How’s the day been?”

Elizabeth jumps up and down, eager to give her answer. “It was awesome! I got 100% on my math test!”

You smile at her excitement but can feel Bucky’s eyes on you. There’s something in his gaze, something concerned, but you can’t quite place it.

“I’m proud of you,” Bucky says, giving her a playful ruffle of her hair as she beams up at him. Then, his attention shifts back to you. “How about you?”

You hesitate for a moment, the unease creeping back. You can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right. You glance at Elizabeth, then turn your gaze to Bucky, knowing there’s no way to keep this from him any longer.

Bucky senses your hesitation. “Hop on in Bee. You can watch the iPad on the way home.” He helps Elizabeth buckle in, shutting the door and stepping back up on the sidewalk near you.

“I found something today,” you say, your voice quieter than usual. “In my classroom. A note.”

Bucky’s brow furrows slightly, his posture shifting, the relaxed demeanor slipping away as he gives you his full attention. “A note?”

You nod, your hands subconsciously clutching your bag tighter. “Yeah. It was in one of the textbooks on my desk. No return address, no name. Just these words.”

You pull the envelope from your bag, handing it to him. Bucky doesn’t need to read it aloud; the message is clear as he scans it quickly, his face hardening with each passing second.

His jaw clenches, his free hand flexing as if he's holding something back. “This is...”

“Not a coincidence,” you finish for him, your voice barely above a whisper. “It feels like whoever’s behind all of this is getting closer. I don’t know what they want, but it doesn’t feel safe.”

Bucky steps closer to you, his presence both comforting and protective, his expression now fierce. “This changes things. We need to keep you and Elizabeth safe. I’ll talk to Steve and Sam. We’ll make more headway on who is behind this immediately.”

You nod, the weight of his words sinking in. For the first time, the realization hits that you aren’t just dealing with some random threat. This is bigger, and it’s personal.

Bucky glances over his shoulder toward the truck, then back at you, his eyes softening as he steps even closer, closing the space between you. His voice drops low, his gaze never leaving yours.

“I don’t like this, Y/N,” he says, his hand brushing against yours. “But I’ll make sure we figure this out. Whatever it takes.”

You nod again, but the unease lingers in your chest, the weight of his words sinking deeper into you. It's not just the threat, but the quiet protection he offers, the way his presence feels like a shield around you.

Elizabeth’s voice cuts through the moment, cheerful as ever. “When are we gonna get to eat? I’m starving!”

“We’ll figure something out, Bee.” Bucky chuckles softly, shaking his head. “She’s got a point. I think we all need some downtime this weekend.”

His eyes flicker to the sky, then back to you, his expression softening again. “Listen, I’m gonna drop Elizabeth off at home and promise to make up our usual Saturday mornings to her later, then I was thinking…” He pauses, his tone turning a little more uncertain, as if he’s considering the best way to ask. “Maybe you want to come by my place afterward? I’ll make dinner. We can just… hang out. Take a break from all this.”

You glance at him, surprised but grateful for the offer. You’re tired, emotionally drained from the constant worry of the past few days. The idea of a quiet night, just the two of you, feels like the perfect way to reset.

You meet his gaze, and there's a soft warmth in his eyes as he waits for your answer.

“I’d like that,” you say softly, your voice filled with relief. "I think I could use some quiet time."

Bucky nods, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small, reassuring smile. “Alright, I’ll take care of everything. You don’t need to worry about a thing. Just relax.”

You feel a wave of gratitude wash over you, the stress from the day slowly starting to lift. With Bucky here, you know things will feel safer, even if just for tonight.

“I’ll see you later, then,” you say, taking a step back toward the truck as he moves to climb into the driver’s seat.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer. “Be safe driving and if anything suspicious happens again, please call me.”

“Promise.” You lean in and press a kiss to his cheek, before stepping back and waving to Elizabeth.

As he pulls away with Elizabeth’s excited chatter filling the truck, you watch them go, feeling a sense of calm you haven’t had in days. It’s a small, but welcome, piece of normalcy.

The tension from the day slowly begins to ebb away as you settle into Bucky’s cozy apartment, the warmth from the stove, and his presence feels like the perfect safe space, and for the first time in a while, you don’t feel the need to constantly look over your shoulder.

You curl your legs beneath you, making yourself comfortable, and watch him move around the kitchen. He looks so at ease, and yet, you can tell there’s something lingering just beneath the surface.

“Need help with anything?” you ask, breaking the silence.

Bucky glances over his shoulder, giving you a small smile. “Nah, I’ve got it. You just relax.” He focuses on the pan for a moment, the quiet thrum of his concentration giving way to a slight sigh. He turns back to you after a beat. “How’s the job going this year? How’s the school year treating you?”

“It's going okay. The kids are great, but it's been a lot. It always is at the beginning of the year and with Christmas break coming up. I love it, though. I just... sometimes feel like I'm running on fumes.”

Bucky’s expression softens, and he walks over to the couch, sitting beside you. “Yeah… I get that. It’s like you’re trying to be strong for the people who need you, but sometimes… you just want to let go.”

You nod, feeling the weight of the words. He looks at you, his gaze soft but intense, and you sense that he’s not just talking about you, but about himself too.

“I get it,” you say quietly. “You don’t have to pretend, you know? You don’t have to always be the strong one.”

Bucky lets out a breath, leaning back into the couch, eyes searching the ceiling as if he’s looking for the right words. His hand rests on his knee, his metal fingers lightly tapping a rhythm against his skin.

“I haven’t always had that kind of space,” he starts, his voice steady but tinged with something raw. “Growing up, my family was... tight-knit. My mom, my sister... my dad was always working, but we were close. And then after the war, everything changed.” He pauses, as if that thought alone takes a toll. “I kind of shut them out. After everything that happened…I lost my mom and didn’t go to her funeral. My dad told me off and told me to never go back after that. I regret it everyday, for not showing up. For never saying goodbye.”

You look at him, your heart aching for him in a way you hadn’t expected. The same loss you both shared, though in different forms.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” you say softly, your voice gentle, understanding. “I can’t imagine losing so much... like that. I used to go back home to see my dad, but after my sister and nephews... it’s just not the same anymore. I don’t really have anyone anymore. I used to think family meant blood, but I guess I’m learning that it’s more about who’s there for you, right?”

Bucky looks at you then, his blue eyes steady, as if weighing your words. He nods slowly, understanding. “Yeah. I guess that’s true. Steve, Sam, and Elizabeth—they’re my family now. They’ve been my rock. And, well, now you, too.”

His words hang in the air for a moment, full of meaning. You feel the quiet sincerity in them, and you realize that, in some small way, you’ve become part of that family too.

A smile tugs at your lips. “I like that,” you whisper, your gaze holding his. “I like being part of your family.”

Bucky’s expression softens, and he turns toward you fully, his knee brushing against yours. He hesitates for a second, his hand flexing, as if uncertain about something. Then, in a quiet voice, he adds, “You’ve got a place here. For as long as you want it. This—this family? It’s yours too.”

You feel your heart swell, warmth blooming inside you at his words. Something inside you loosens, and you let out a slow breath. The connection between you two feels stronger now, like a thread that’s been woven between you and tied with care.

You reach out, your hand brushing his, and he looks at you with a mixture of surprise and something else—something deeper. His eyes flicker to your hand, and then to your face, before he gently takes your hand in his, his fingers warm against your skin.

Bucky lets out a breath, his voice quieter now. “I know we’ve... crossed some lines already, but I want to make sure you’re comfortable. I don’t want to push you into anything you’re not ready for.”

You smile softly at him, your thumb gently brushing over his hand. “Bucky, you’re not pushing me into anything. I trust you.”

He looks down at your joined hands, his metal fingers slightly trembling as he touches you, unsure of how to navigate the unfamiliar territory. But then you gently place your other hand on his, your fingers running over the cool metal of his arm. It’s a gesture of reassurance, and you meet his eyes, your gaze unwavering.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “I don’t mind. I want you to touch me, Bucky. In any way that feels right.”

Bucky’s breath hitches, his chest tightening as he gazes at you with something like longing in his eyes. Slowly, carefully, he leans toward you, his face inches from yours. And without another word, he kisses you.

It’s soft at first—gentle, as if testing the waters. But then you pull him closer, your hands moving to his chest as you deepen the kiss. He doesn’t pull away, and for a moment, everything else fades. The world outside doesn’t matter. It’s just you and him, connected in a way that feels like home.

Bucky’s hand, still unsure, finds its way to your cheek, the warmth of his touch mingling with the coolness of the metal on his other hand. And you welcome it, the mixture of both parts of him, feeling the whole of him in that moment.

When the kiss breaks, both of you are breathless, foreheads resting against each other as you try to regain composure. But neither of you says anything. Words aren’t needed right now. It’s enough to just be with each other.

And when Bucky whispers, “I’m glad you’re here,” you know he means more than just tonight.

“I think I’ve been waiting for something like this for a long time.”

Bucky’s eyes soften, and for a moment, it’s as if time slows down. He studies your face, his own expression serious but tender, as though he’s looking for something in you. Then, without another word, he pulls you closer, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as he kisses you again.

This time, it’s different. Slower. Deeper. There’s a weight to it, a shared understanding that goes beyond physical connection. His lips press against yours with a quiet intensity, and you feel the storm of emotions between you two—the hurt, the healing, the desire for something more.

You let your hands move to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. His metal arm rests on the couch again beside you, the cold steel a reminder of his past, but you’re not afraid. You reach out, tentatively at first, your fingers brushing over it before gently cupping his arm. You sense the hesitation in him, the uncertainty about how much he can give of himself without losing control.

But you smile, meeting his gaze. “It’s okay,” you whisper. “I want you. All of you.”

He leans down to kiss you again, taking his time. His lips are soft, but there’s an undeniable hunger in his touch, a yearning for something you both haven’t fully acknowledged until now. His metal arm comes around you, drawing you closer, and you don’t flinch. Instead, you press yourself against him, feeling the weight of his arm, the coolness of it grounding you as much as the warmth of his other hand that cradles your face.

There’s no rush, no urgency between you two, just the slow, deliberate connection of bodies and hearts. He takes his time, kissing you deeper, exploring every inch of you as if he’s memorizing the feel of you. You reciprocate, your hands threading through his hair, pulling him even closer as if you’re afraid this might all disappear if you don’t.

But then, suddenly, a sharp, panicked sound from the kitchen breaks the moment.

“Shit! The dinner!” Bucky mutters, pulling away abruptly. His face shifts from passion to surprise as he stands up quickly, his hand fumbling for his shirt as he rushes toward the kitchen.

You can’t help but laugh, a soft giggle escaping your lips. The seriousness of the moment vanishes in an instant, replaced by a sense of playful chaos.

Bucky hurries into the kitchen, his movements a blur as he scrambles to turn the stove off, muttering curses under his breath. You get up, following him into the kitchen, still smiling at the way he’s trying to salvage the meal.

“You might want to check the potatoes,” you tease, leaning against the doorframe, crossing your arms.

Bucky glances at you over his shoulder, his face slightly flushed from the rush. “I swear, I was so sure I had everything under control,” he says with a sheepish grin. “But then… well, you know.”

You smile, watching him move around, trying to salvage the dinner with a slight laugh in his voice. The lightheartedness between you both feels so natural, so freeing, and you feel more at ease than you have in a long time.

Bucky finally turns back to you, his hands still wiping off the remnants of whatever went wrong in the kitchen. His gaze softens as he looks at you, a slight chuckle escaping his lips as he walks back toward you.

“Guess we’ll have to make do with takeout,” he says, his voice light. "Any preferences?"

You shake your head, still feeling pleasantly warm from your earlier kisses. "Surprise me."

Bucky nods and pulls out his phone to place an order. As he talks, you let your gaze wander over him - the strong line of his jaw, the way his hair falls across his forehead, the subtle shift of his shoulders as he moves. When he catches you looking, his eyes darken.

He sets the phone down and moves closer, his steps measured and deliberate.

Bucky's eyes lock onto yours as he approaches, his gaze intense and full of longing. The air between you feels charged, crackling with electricity. Without a word, he reaches for you, his hands gently cupping your face as he draws you in for another kiss.

This time, there's no hesitation. His lips move against yours with heated urgency, and you respond in kind, your fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer. A soft moan escapes you as his tongue traces the seam of your lips, seeking entrance. You part your lips eagerly, deepening the kiss as your bodies press together.

Bucky's hands roam down your sides, leaving trails of fire in their wake. When they reach your hips, he grips you firmly and lifts you up. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you to the bedroom.

Bucky gently lowers you onto the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. There's an intensity in his gaze that makes your breath catch. He hovers over you, his weight supported on his forearms as he looks down at you with a mix of desire and tenderness.

"Are you sure about this?" he asks softly, his voice rough with want.

You nod, reaching up to cup his face. "I've never been more sure of anything."

That's all the permission he needs. Bucky captures your lips in a searing kiss, pouring everything he feels for you into it. His hands roam over your body, exploring every inch of you, discarding your clothes in the wake.

You arch into his touch, your body aching for more. Your nipples harden under his fingers, and you gasp as he pinches them gently. Bucky's mouth leaves yours, trailing kisses down your neck and chest. He pauses at your breasts, lavishing attention on each nipple in turn.

You moan, your back arching off the bed as he sucks and nips at your sensitive flesh. Bucky's hand slides down your body, tracing a path towards your core. When he reaches your panties, he hooks his fingers under the waistband and pulls them down, leaving you bare for him.

His eyes widen as he takes in the sight of you, his gaze lingering on your slick folds. "Fuck, you're beautiful," he breathes, his voice husky with desire.

Then, without another word, he's back to kissing you, his fingers mapping every inch of your skin as your hearts beat in time. There's no rush this time, only the quiet intensity of being together. His fingers slip between your legs to tease your clit, drawing out a moan from your throat.

When you can't wait any longer, you pull him down for another kiss. "Bucky, please..."

With a groan, he pushes back, his movements unhurried as he pulls off his own clothes. Your eyes drop to his cock, and he chuckles under his breath at the hungry look on your face. His hand wraps around the base of his shaft, stroking slowly as his eyes lock on yours.

"I don't want to rush through this. I want to feel you for the first time nice and slow." He pauses, his gaze flickering down your body. "Tell me you want that too."

Your mouth has gone dry, but you manage to croak out an assent. "Y-yes... yes, please."

Bucky nods, his teeth catching the corner of his mouth. Then he reaches to his nightstand for a condom and rolls it onto his shaft. You watch, mesmerized, as he slicks himself with lube.

The anticipation is driving you crazy, your body so sensitive with want. When Bucky finally slides a finger inside you, your toes curl and your hips jerk up off the bed.

"Oh god, oh god..."

He chuckles, his thumb teasing your clit. "Not yet. Just hold on and feel me."

You do as he asks, letting his touch wash over you as he works you open. Your nails dig into your palms as you wait, your heart hammering in your ears. He takes his time, his finger crooking inside you to hit the exact spot that makes you whine.

"Okay," he says, pulling his fingers out with a satisfied smirk. "Ready?"

You nod and he shifts forward, his cock nudging at your entrance. You open your legs wider, wanting him to fill you completely. Slowly, inch by inch, he slides inside you until he's fully seated.

Bucky buries his face in your neck, his breathing ragged. "Fuck," he pants. "You feel even better than I imagined."

You wrap your legs around him, your pussy clenching around his shaft. "Please move."

He groans, his hips pulling back slowly before he pushes forward again. "Okay, baby, okay..."

The friction inside you is exquisite. Every stroke hits your g-spot perfectly, making you shake and whine with pleasure. His cock hits deeper and deeper with each thrust, the sounds of your wetness echoing through his bedroom as he fills you.

As he fucks you, Bucky's kisses fall over your skin like rain. Your lips, your neck, the shell of your ear. His teeth nip at your collarbone, eliciting a startled cry from your throat. He smiles against your skin, his rhythm never faltering.

It feels like hours and only seconds at the same time, your bodies moving in perfect sync. When his teeth bite down on the flesh between your neck and shoulder, a sudden jolt of pleasure makes you see stars. Your body goes taut, your nails digging into Bucky's shoulders as you scream his name.

The sensation of you clenching down on his cock is all it takes for him to join you over the edge. Bucky gasps, his hips stuttering before he comes hard inside you. He moans, the sound vibrating against your skin.

You stay like that for a while, wrapped up in each other's arms as you come back down from the high.

After a few quiet moments, Bucky pulls you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly and carrying you to the bathroom. His touch is steady, almost reverent, as he sets you down gently. The sound of the shower fills the space as he turns it on, pulling you under the warm spray with him. His fingers brush against your skin, caressing your face as if committing every detail to memory, his blue eyes reflecting the unspoken tenderness between you.

He leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that feels endless, consuming. It’s not just desire—it’s longing, devotion, and the overwhelming need to keep this moment forever. The thought of being apart is unbearable. He presses you closer, his hands firm on your waist as he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and hoarse.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

His words send a shiver through you, and you meet his intense gaze, your heart swelling. You reach up, fingertips tracing the sharp line of his jaw before brushing soft kisses along his neck.

“Me either,” you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. “I’m so happy to be here with you. To feel this. To have you.”

The way he looks at you leaves you breathless—like he’s seeing every part of your soul and holding it in his hands. His eyes carry a depth that makes you feel seen, cherished, and claimed all at once. And you realize you want nothing more than to lose yourself in him, to become inseparably intertwined.

Bucky’s grip on your hips tightens slightly as though anchoring himself to the present, to you. His heart is pounding, emotions surging through him in ways he’s never felt before. He wants to tell you everything, to give voice to the feelings consuming him, but fear knots in his chest. How do you put something so profound, so earth-shattering, into words?

Instead, he holds you closer, his silence speaking volumes. And in his arms, under the cascading water, you feel it all—the unspoken promises, the yearning, and the undeniable truth that what’s between you is something neither of you can ever let go.

Bucky grips your thighs, pushing you flush against the wall, sucking on your neck as you moan loudly. His cock rubbing against you clit torturously.

"Fuck," Bucky moans against your lips. "Please, I need you again..."

You smile, knowing exactly what he's getting at. You lick his bottom lip, your breaths coming in short pants.

"Take me," you whisper against his lips.

Bucky growls and pushes inside you. You let out a high pitched moan, nails digging into his shoulders. The force of the thrust makes your thighs quiver. Bucky fucks you slowly in long thrusts. Each one sends waves of pleasure through your body. He reaches up and cups your breasts in his hands, squeezing them gently before pinching your nipples, making you arch your back and cry out his name.

The sound of your wet bodies colliding echoes through the room. Your cries of pleasure are loud, and Bucky grins, loving that he's causing that. That he makes you feel like that. He leans in close to you, breathing in the scent of your neck before biting it gently, making you squeal again.

He increases the speed of his thrusts as you feel yourself getting close, head falling back against the wall. Bucky runs his tongue along your neck to your collarbone, making you shiver.

"I'm close," you moan. "Oh god, I'm close..."

"Come for me," he whispers against your ear. "Come on my cock, baby."

He picks up the pace, slamming into you now. You moan loudly, the only thing you can think is how good Bucky feels inside of you. He's hitting all the right spots, sending pleasure running through your veins.

"Fuck, I'm going to cum..." Bucky pants against your neck.

"Yes, oh god" You squeal as you feel him stiffen inside you, and that's all it takes to push you over the edge. You cry out in ecstasy, body shaking against him. You can feel Bucky doing the same, his cock pulsing inside you. He presses you lips together, swallowing your moans. You stay flushed against the shower wall for a few minutes, the warmth of the water washing over you.

“You okay?” Bucky asks as he helps you stand to your feet, wobbling slightly as you steady yourself.

“Yeah,” Is all that you can speak, overwhelmed with your emotions at the moment.

“Let me take care of you,” Bucky murmurs, his voice gentle as he reaches for the shampoo. His touch is tender, his fingers threading through your hair with such care it feels like a quiet promise. He keeps the soap from your eyes, leaning in to press soft kisses against your damp face. The warmth of his affection draws a soft giggle from you, the sound making his lips curl into a small, content smile.

When he rinses the shampoo out, his hands trail down to your body, lathering a soapy cloth with delicate precision. His touch is delicate, as if every inch of your skin deserves his undivided attention. The intimacy of it—the simplicity of being cared for—sends a warmth through you that has nothing to do with the water. You gently take the cloth from him, mirroring his actions with the same tenderness, pressing kisses along the muscles of his back as you go.

Once the water is turned off, Bucky grabs a towel and wraps it around your body, patting you dry with the kind of focus that makes your heart ache with gratitude. He pulls his robe from the hook, draping it over your shoulders and tying it snugly, ensuring you’re wrapped in his warmth. With a towel secured around his waist, he takes your hand and leads you back to his bedroom.

You settle on the edge of his bed, watching as he rummages through his drawers. The way his brow furrows slightly in concentration makes you smile, the quiet intimacy of the moment filling the room with a palpable sense of connection.

“These should work,” he says, finally pulling out a soft T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He hands them to you, his fingers brushing against yours, lingering just long enough to make your heart flutter.

“Thank you,” you whisper, the words heavy with meaning.

He pauses for a moment, his gaze meeting yours, and you swear you see the slightest hint of a blush creeping up his neck. But in his eyes, there’s something deeper—a quiet joy in caring for you, in sharing this space, this vulnerability. And as you slip into the clothes, the scent of him surrounding you, you know that being here with him feels like home.

Bucky watches as you slip into the T-shirt and sweatpants, his chest tightening at the sight of you dressed in his clothes. It’s such a small thing, yet it fills him with a warmth he can’t quite explain. He tosses the towel aside and pulls on a pair of boxers, then gestures toward the bed.

“Come on,” he says softly, his voice almost shy.

You crawl under the covers, the crisp sheets cool against your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat that spreads through you when Bucky slides in beside you. He turns off the bedside lamp, the soft glow of the moon through the window casting silver shadows across his features.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The quiet hum of the night settles around you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It feels safe. Right.

Bucky shifts closer, his arm brushing against yours, and you instinctively roll onto your side to face him. He does the same, propping his head on his hand as his steel-blue eyes search yours.

“You comfortable?” he asks, his voice a husky whisper.

You nod, smiling. “More than comfortable. This… this feels good.”

Bucky’s lips twitch into a soft smile, but it fades just as quickly. His gaze drops for a moment, then returns to yours, something unspoken hanging heavy in the air between you.

“I…” he starts, then stops, exhaling a sharp breath. “I’m not great at this—at saying what’s on my mind.”

You reach out, your hand resting lightly on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. “You don’t have to say anything if you’re not ready. I get it.”

He places his hand over yours, his calloused fingers warm and grounding. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just… new. I’ve spent so much time keeping people at a distance, thinking it’s better that way. Safer. But with you…” His voice trails off, and he looks at you like you’re the only thing grounding him in this moment.

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his expression. You feel the same—a pull so strong it terrifies you. But you can’t bring yourself to say it either, not yet. Instead, you lean in, resting your forehead against his.

“With you, it feels different,” you whisper. “Like… I can finally breathe.”

Bucky closes his eyes, his jaw tightening as he fights the emotions threatening to spill over. His thumb traces slow circles over your hand. “I’m scared,” he admits quietly.

“Me too,” you confess.

The honesty lingers in the air between you, fragile but unbreakable. You both know there’s more to say—deeper truths waiting to be spoken—but for now, this is enough.

Bucky shifts closer, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into his chest. You nestle against him, your bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle. His lips brush the crown of your head, and you hear him whisper something so soft you almost miss it.

“Don’t let go,” he murmurs.

“I won’t,” you promise, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you.

And as sleep begins to claim you both, you realize that even though neither of you said the words, the feeling is there—strong, unyielding, and undeniable.

Part Seven

Thanks for reading! Please reblog & comment <3 would love to hear how you enjoy it and feel free to send in requests!

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motherraid · 11 months ago

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Rewards

((Sebek x Reader))

I'd JUST realized that I did not post this the way I intended to.... After a month of it just sitting in the void...

Kind of a part 2 to this?

(Sebek x Afab!Reader // Embarrassing ways of describing Afab!Reader parts >- >;;; // C*ckwarming // Kinda vanilla sex tbh // Overstimulation,, just a tad bit // Studying // But not actually studying // Basically just a more fleshed out version of the previous ask // Rambles shall hereby never be proofread no matter how desperately they need to be I am MUCH too lazy)

This was NOT the way to study. At least, this wasn't what you had thought you'd be doing when sweet innocent Sebek told Lilia that you both would be in his room "studying."

After witnessing you acting a fool with those irritating, skittle haired friends of yours DURING CLASS, he'd concluded that you need to work on your obedience and focus on your lessons. So, he'd decided to help you the only way your tiny, primitive, human brain could understand.

You're not even allowed to look at him. Only after you finish your work will you finally be "rewarded," and you can't cheat your way out of this. Every time you try to bounce even slightly, grind against him, or moan into his ear, he'll pull out of you and leave you clenching air, dryly stating that maybe you're beyond helping and the "session" should end here. Which leads you to beg him for another chance. This continues until you straighten up, pick up your pencil, and focus on your homework placed in front of you. He won't break. No reward for no work.

You could practically feel his eyes burning holes in the back of your head. In normal circumstances, this would be uncomfortable. Stressful, even. However, it's safe to say his behavior in this particular situation is more than understandable. After all, you're the one sat comfortably in his warm lap, with his even warmer dick nestled deep inside of you.

He starts off with his chest against your back, voice stern and commanding. When he'd point to the equations on your worksheet, criticizing every error you would make, his voice would rumble in his throat and bob his Adam's apple against your shoulder.

If the fact that he was buried deep into your pretty cunt wasn't enough to melt you alive at that point, then the close proximity would. From your thighs squished tight against his, to your back, where your heart would hammer against his sternum and encourage his to pound in tandem, and especially the warmth of your back, he seemed to like the state he'd put you in. He'd be reminded of it every time you'd clench around his cock. Whether on purpose or accident, both would earn you a smack on the thigh. He'd hiss a sharp reprimand through clenched teeth and try his best to disguise his shaky, pleasured sigh as a huff of aggravation.

Then, his resolve seemed impeccable. He was so laser focused onto the paper and almost never entertained your incessant whining. You didn't even dare try to plead with him, or else you'd be scolded, and he'd drag out your "study session" even longer.

But now, half an hour later, he didn't seem as strict as before. Whether his leniency is because he's decided to have some mercy on you, or because he's finding it rather hard to keep himself together, he leans back in the chair and tells you to finish the last three problems on your own since you're doing so well. And even now, you're still not allowed to look back at him. Every time you'd try, he'd grab your chin and pull your gaze back to your paper. Even a bit of your attention would make the tendon on the underside of his cock flex, and you can feel that bulge shift deep in your belly. He has to keep himself from snapping somehow.

You'd swear he was using magic on you in some way because every twitch in his muscles would light up your nerves like sparks. A shiver shakes a small whimper from your lips, and a deep grunt from his as he rolls his head against the back of the chair. His hands, instead of being wrapped around your waist, pointing out flaws and errors on your paper, or delivering a sharp smack to your thigh, were gripping the seat for dear life.

He may be a bit irrational, but he was damn sure smart enough to know that if his hands find their way to your body again, he'd crush you tight to his chest and stand up so he could properly bend you over the desk and satisfy his aching cock. But he couldn't. Not until you were finished. He can't reward you before you've earned it. Then you'd never learn, and you would never take him seriously (and what a great sentiment! Strange way of acting on it, but great sentiment nonetheless ig).

At this point, he could excuse your shifting to get more comfortable and even your occasional whining, mostly because it's been so long, and you probably feel the exact same amount of agony he must be feeling. But when you buck your hips or grind your ass into his lap to relieve some of the pressure in your core, then you've gone too far.

His legs tense underneath you, and just when you think he might break and finally let go of this silly idea, another loud smack strikes your thigh, and red skin is made redder like a toddler getting spanked.

"Don't. Test. Me." He hisses.

You don't need to look back at him to know he's scowling at you. His eyes glare daggers at the back of your head as you lock in to finish your last question. He hears your hand scribbling against the desk, damn near burning holes in the paper and, to be honest, he preens a little knowing that your revived dedication for studying is a product of his "teaching". But was this really so hard to do in the first place? Maybe you two could have actually been having fun instead of being stuck in a chair for an hour.

You rejoice internally when you can finally tap him and croak out, "Finished."

Sebek pulls himself back upward and rests his head on your shoulder once more, his hand cozying against your thigh and gently rubbing against your sore skin (a silent apology). He nods and hums in approval, and you can feel a mix of pride and suspense blooming in your heart. As his eyes scan over the last question at an achingly slow pace, you feel tears welling in your eyes when he slides his hand inside your thigh upwards towards your crotch. Finally, some relief....

SMACK!

"Wrong," Sebek sighs, "Didn't I tell you before that you have to pay attention to your negative numbers? You threw off your whole equation."

He grabs your pencil and erases your incorrect attempt and demands you try again. He ignores your sobs, both from that painful slap and the fact that, at this point, it's been a whole hour and you haven't cum ONCE. It stings deep in his chest to hear you so upset, but you can't be rewarded yet. You're so close. Sebek can't break because this is genuinely all for you. He just wants to help you become the best student you can be. He knows you can achieve it, so if he has to sit here all day with you, then he will. Because he loves you that much.

There is no forbearance for your second attempt, either. Your marks are promptly erased, not even a minute after he looks it over. When he tsks and shakes his head, you feel like you're dying. He does sigh and gently wipe the tears from your eyes, but your cunt is sobbing as well, drenching his aching cock that you still swallow entirely. You soak the green, well trimmed hair at his base, and it dribbles down his balls, painful and all too ready to burst.

Sebek rests against the chair once more to keep you from leaning back into him. This prevents him from becoming too tempted to say "fuck it" to his plan and all his hard work and take you immediately. Now he gives you encouraging words, mumbling soft "I love you's", under his breath and, "Doing.. So well..."

"Keep going.."

"So close..."

The third time Sebek leans over and checks your work, he nods and slams his hands onto the table so hard your pencil goes flying. He shoots up from his chair, causing you to fall forward onto the black wood. You can't push yourself back up because a hand clamps down on the back of your neck and forces your head to rest against your worksheet. The slow drag of his cock as it slides out to the tip is the only warning he gives you before he immediately slams back into you. The force of his hips causes the table to jut out under your weight, and before it can even fully bounce back to normal he's already drilling his cock deep into you, sending the table flying forwards again, and again, and again. Sebek throws his head back and let's out a deep guttral moan as if he'd been waiting his entire life to finally stuff your pretty cunt.

His pace is relentless, and neither of you lasts longer than a few minutes. All the waiting and no relief built pressure deep inside the both of you that needed to be out. He folds over you and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling your back into his chest as he babbles on and on.

"Your reward..." He groans deep into your ear as he smushes a sloppy kiss against your lobe. "Do you like it? You get the privilege of carrying our hatchlings. Enjoy it, love."

That's your breaking point. You crumple in his hold, and his arms crushing your body into his as he fucks into you is the only thing currently keeping you from slipping off the table. Lord knows your now weak knees aren't helping any. Drool drags across your chin and smears directly against your worksheet. He went on and on, praising your patience and resolve, and telling you how happy he is to have a partner like you, but you'd barely registered anything he'd said after calling you "love."

You both fail to realize that, one, you might be a tad bit too loud for his dormmates and, two, now Lilia might be more than aware than ever that you two aren't actually "studying". Especially when you scream and cum hard on his cock, gripping the table edge for dear life as your orgasm rips through your body.

You're barely able to move, so you allow Sebek to use you like a fleshlight until he finishes himself (not long after you). His hips stutter and jerk frantically at first before he shoots, hot and deep into your core. Then, his instincts spurs him further; gentle, shallow grinding against your ass that leaves him shuddering.

Tears prick his eyes as he collapses on top of you, squishing your drool stained face against your currently damp and drool covered paper. The rest of his cum comes in spurts, and his hips tremble against your ass as he pushes himself as far as he can possibly reach into your pussy (which, given his size, means he's pretty cramped in there).

Once he pulls out, it takes a while for him to finally relax into your body. He breathes in huffs while one hand lightly rubs circles on your hip, and the other carefully stuffs his cum back inside of you. As much as he can manage while not looking, anyway. It's a bit overstimulating with him basically fingering you lazily after you just came, but you're too tired to do anything about it.

And after some time has passed, when he finally lifts his head to see your zoned out and thoroughly pleased expression, he smiles to himself.

See? You can focus on your work. You just need a little encouragement and a nice reward.

This blog revolves around Dead dove content.

If you're not okay with seeing that, this is fine! I just don't wanna hear about it, mkay?♡ Some people come here for this type of content, so you see something you don't like, just keep scrolling, dude. And if there's absolutely nothing dead dove about the current post, then don't tread my Tumblr and get all shocked when you see nasty stuff. Okay? Alright, thanks. :)

#sebek smut #sebek x reader #sebek zigvolt smut #sebek zigvolt x reader #twst sebek x reader #//Duke rambles #(?)#Does this really count as rambling?#twisted wonderland smut #twst smut #sebek zigvolt

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atinylittlepain · 1 year ago

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Prologue

jackson!joel miller x witch!oc

series masterlist

series playlist

He thinks he might fall in love with her. She can't let him fall in love with her. Or: a reimagined take on an infamous Practical Magic au by yours truly.

wordcount | 1.8K

series content info | 18+ slowburn-ish, strangers to friends to lovers to estranged acquaintances to ???, discussions of death and grief, a little magic, just a little, jackson era joel and all that entails, eventual smut, angst obviously, and love that requires a little elbow grease.

a/n | thank you folks for your patience while I was being a little worm about this. Very excited to kick off this series, and I'd love to hear what you think <3

....................................

There is the after, and there is the before. This is the before. In the before, there is a town nestled down in the purple-blue belly of a mountain, all shade and damp, cool green. A small town, everyone knowing everyone and everyone knew everyone as far back as history could reasonably stretch. And in this town sits a house at the end of a string of houses, sidewalk curling up in waves under the old force of tree roots, wrought iron gates and sleepy porches. Kids dare one another to step through the gate of this house. Only the bravest make it up to the porch, a quick clambering tap to the front door, wanting, but not really wanting, to see who might answer. All but one child, that is. She has no problem walking through the gate, but she’s learned to be quick in getting through the front door and slipping it shut behind her. The other kids like to throw rocks if she lingers, so she doesn’t. But there is always a sweet suspension of disbelief on the walk, before the gate, and the porch, and the slip through the front door. How nice, to have all her classmates walking her home after school.

“Did you get into any trouble today?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Well, always another chance tomorrow.” It’s just enough to coax a smile out of her, her aunt and all her tuts and tsks, turns of her nose and we need a brownie before we do your homework, little choice but to follow after her into the kitchen, warm and sticky, the smell of fresh yeast and something richer. Even now, even in the first gasps of Summer, a pot always boils on the stove, spoon stirring lazy inside it.

Her aunt moves like a bird she thinks. But not the delicate kind. She saw a blue heron once, at the lake outside of town. Like that, she thinks. Graceful but sharp, big and sweeping, the tails of a linen shirt, and the braid woven gray and black that hangs between her shoulder blades. All so familiar, she can’t help but sigh, cheek propped in the clammy cup of her hand.

“Something happened today.”

“You don’t say.” Her aunt, always knowing before she can tell her, sometimes even before she knows herself. She picks a chocolate chip out of the brownie split between them, holds it on her tongue and lets it melt.

“Andy Nichols broke his arm. He said there’s pins in his bones.”

“Is he the one who–” She nods before her aunt can finish her question. Yes, the one who never threw rocks at her. Yes, the one who would sit with her at lunch, not because his other friends dared him to, but because he wanted to. The one who, last week, sitting on the bleachers during recess, pressed a quick, there and gone kiss to her lips, all shy, all sweet, wings fluttering fierce in her chest. Yes, that one.

“Now he won’t even look at me. All his friends are saying I did something to him.”

“Oh, Maggie, I’m sorry. People can be, well, people suck, to speak plainly.”

“Did I?”

“Did you what?”

“Did I?” And the silence is enough of an answer, isn’t it? Her aunt’s eyes melt a little, lips pressed in a thin frown. Her aunt, who is as tired as she is, though she may do a better job of hiding it. After all, while she lost a mother, her aunt lost a sister. And the thing, that thing, this thing, that is threaded like a dark cancer through the sinew and snapping pulse of their hearts, contagious, careful or you’ll catch it. Everyone in town knows not to fall in love with a Campbell woman, a long history pocked with strange deaths, unexplainable misfortune. Her father wasn’t from town though, the first mistake of many.

‘It’s best if you don’t think on it, hmm?” Quiet and close in the kitchen, she does her best not to cry, feeling weak, a little wilted. One of those hugs that presses all the air out of her lungs, she needed it, breathing in deep, soap and sweat and soil and my little witch, we have work to do.

Homework doesn’t really mean homework in their house. Not the paper she’s supposed to be writing on the civil war, not studying for the math test she has on Friday. Homework means her and her aunt in the greenhouse, and her aunt quizzing her on the plants they tend to. What is what, what does what.

Lemon balm for stress and sleep. Also used to treat cold sores.

Echinacea for immunity.

Peppermint for nausea and headaches.

Belladonna for sleep, handle with care.

It comes easily to her, the same way that knowing things comes easily to her aunt. Plants, she thinks, make more sense than people do. It takes them a few hours to work through the greenhouse, night coming on in a swath of orange that smolders purple, cool shadows filtering in through green glass. They prune, they water, they propagate, and her aunt must think her extra pitiful tonight because she offers to teach her a few new tricks. The offer falls flat, however, when the prickled sound of scratching shivers up her spine. She knows it well, imagines that she could hear it from all the way across town at this point. The back door, nails skittering over its window panes, face pressed to glass, smeared shame, or maybe just a secret. All that’s needed, a look shared between them, no words. She stays in the greenhouse, closes the door behind her aunt, but leaves it cracked. She shouldn’t, but she likes to listen.

What she hears is always the same. Variations of desperation, I want, I want, I want, I need, I need, I need, him, him, him, her, her, her. How badly? So badly. Anything? Yes, anything. She’s watched a few times, peering around the doorway into the kitchen. All kinds of ways to meddle, to tangle threads, cut them loose, pick your poison, pick your pleasure. Her aunt tries to keep her away from it, the dark, crawling things, the needles, the wax dolls washed in smoke plumes. But she knows. Love is an ugly thing.

She doesn’t watch tonight, hardly listens either. Something else on her mind, in her hands. She plucks rose petals, lavender, rosemary, fills her hands with the rumpled things, says what she planned to say.

He’ll ride horses, talk to them too.

He’ll work with his hands.

There’ll be a streak of silver at his temple.

When we’re together, he’ll be able to stop time.

“Are you casting impossible spells again?” Her aunt catches her just as she’s stepping out into the backyard, damp grass and cicada thrum and the moon.

“I hope so. I hope it’s impossible.” They stand in the cool, damp grass, all that heat dropping down into a low mist around their ankles. And her aunt knows exactly what she’s doing. Afterall, she was the one who taught her this. Somewhere between a love spell and a prayer, though she hopes hers is more like a curse.

“There’s no taking something like this back, Maggie. Are you sure you want to do this?” She nods, says yes, and it’s enough for her aunt to stand down, giving her space to finish the rest of it. Intention, energy, that other word that people like to throw around She focuses on the words and the words become something other than words, and the petals and leaves lift from her hands. The moon takes care of the rest.

“I hope I never fall in love.”

The thing about spells is they always find somewhere to land, even the impossible ones. And somewhere in the before, that impossible spell found its target. Cupid’s arrow bent and broken, though still able to sting sharp. Somewhere in the before, a boy in another town in another life, young knees working hard to make the thin tires of a bike spin, already late heading home for dinner in the cooling night.

The boy’s mother hears him before she sees him, big, hot tears and ribs shaking with sobs she doesn’t often get to hear anymore, getting older, trying to get braver. The boy is bleeding, the boy is crying. The soft round of his palms scraped and stuck with gravel, and his knees no better, all down his shins, and he didn’t mean to cry, didn’t want to cry, but walking the rest of the way home, wrestling with the crooked handlebars of his bike, the feeling and the pain got too big, and he didn’t know what else to do with it.

“Oh honey, what happened?” His words come out in stops and starts, little stuttered gasps. I fell, gets strung into a few extra syllables, already ushering him upstairs and into the bathroom, the sharp smell of this’ll sting, cotton gauze getting stuck in the blood.

In the before, still young, the boy is a soft thing. He cries easily, and he doesn’t like that. Cries when he’s angry, when he’s hurt, when he’s frustrated. Cries harder when he cries because he wishes he wouldn’t cry, even if the words for such a feeling are still too old for him. Somewhere along the way, the boy will lose that. The boy will lose so much. But for now, his mother is making all the big and little hurts better, box fan humming in the cracked window in the bathroom, his brother, even younger, watching through the slivered opening of the door.

For now, the boy lets his eyes close, sticky with salt and the last wandering tears, and he wonders if he really saw what he thought he saw, what stunned him so snappingly that he flew head over handlebars onto the still-simmering asphalt. A blurred vision, blink and miss it, though even so, he’s still sure of what he saw. A rose bush, a sudden burst and bloom and flashbang, nothing and then something and then everything. Blooms that unfurled their skirts as fast as he was riding by, until what had been only green was blotted out entirely by heavy white petals. The boy will lose this memory with time, reasoning it away as an impossible imagining, something from a young mind that will no longer be his. But while the boy is still young, still a soft thing, he will think to himself with a kind of secret wonder that whatever he saw that night, it had to be magic.

......................................

taglist: @suzmagine @joelsgreys @vee-bees-blog @noisynightmarepoetry @kungfucapslock @iloveenya @evolnoomym @wannab-urs

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller au #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #apothecary gv

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python333 · 2 years ago

Note

Hello!! I absolutely adore your 141 platonic fics, I litterlay giggle and kick my feet when you post new storys about it. Especially since they're always gender neutral! Litteraly always check to see if youve posted a new fic, but anways!

I'm a really big sucker for found family mental health fics, especially when I'm experiencing rough times. If your comfortable with it, I was wondering if you could make the 141 catch Reader self harming or maybe just seeing the self harm on their arms accidentally and comforting them. Always love a comforting found family fic on cold nights.

If it's easier, I really love really any of your hurt/comfort type 141 fics with all my soul and eat them up anytime you post them. Especially since there isnt much gn!reader and TF 141 platonic hurt/comfort fics. So if you aren't busy than that's another option I would love to see!!

If your uncomfortable with it then that's fine and you can just ignore this post! Make sure to take care if youself aswell author. You're absolutely amazing! 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

self-slaughter — python333

— — — —

synopsis reader is a medic and is caught harming themselves by the 141 in the medbay!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 6.6k

warnings self-harm [specifically using a scalpel], self-harm scars, dark thoughts [nothing too bad, but thoughts of pulling off your skin and harming yourself], painful wound cleaning [with iodopovidone], 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note hello anon!! i too am a big sucker for found family mental health fics, and completely understand this request, and i will happily write it for you!! a lot of this is based on my own experiences with this, so i hope that's okay and that you enjoy the fic!! as well as this request, i'll use this fic as an excuse to write a few prompts on my bad things happen bingo card, which will be displayed at the end of the fic! the prompt used will be: painful wound cleaning! expect wayyyy more angst after this LMAO. also, if this feels like glorification or anything else inappropriate for a fic like this, then please let me know! since it's mainly based on my own experiences, i assume it wouldn't feel *too* much like that, but still!

It gets kind of old after so long of doing it.

Almost like it’s a chore—as if stealing glances at your medical equipment, tools meant to save the lives of others, and wishing that it were being used to draw blood from your body was just an inconvenience. You complain about it in your head like you used to about school, like it was nothing more than some homework that was due a minute before midnight.

Right now, you’re alone in the medical bay. It wasn’t often that you were, typically two bumbling idiots would stumble in every few minutes talking about how they got injured while sparring, but for the past thirty minutes it’s been silent. While you appreciated the break from the constant explanations of why the soldiers you were to tend to had gotten injured, with the silence came very unwanted thoughts.

And with nobody to focus on came your unwilling lingering stare at the sharp scalpel on the small metal equipment cart that was just a few feet away from where you sat. It didn’t help that you felt oddly guilty today, either.

Well, the guilt wasn’t odd. You knew where it came from. It just felt odd, considering the cause for it happened a week ago.

The cause had been on a critical mission last week, where you were responsible for carrying medical supplies and ensuring the team’s well-being and general health. The medical equipment wasn’t particularly expensive or hard to get, but it was still incredibly important.

However, on that same mission, right towards the end of it, you’d been caught in the midst of an intense gunfight. Distracted by the heavy enemy fire, you dropped the small bag you’d been using to carry the medical supplies, and hadn’t noticed you did until it was too late. By the time you and the others were out and heading back to base, you had just realized you left behind the medical equipment.

All week, your fellow task force members had reassured you that it was okay and that it wasn’t that big of a deal, considering nobody got hurt. Still, even a week later, you’re hung up on it. Had someone gotten injured, what could you have done? You didn’t have any supplies to help them, so what would you have done then? Just the thought of that possibility makes you shudder.

The scalpel looks so tempting.

It’s not like you hadn’t used it before—you have the scars to prove you had, ranging from small lines that could be mistaken for cat scratches to tiger-stripe length cuts that make your thighs look as though they’d been mauled by a large animal. As elegantly as you describe them in your head, the visuals of them aren’t nearly as pretty. With the help of that scalpel, a few sharp needles, and some medical scissors, you’d successfully made it look as though a bear had tried to attack you and tear your legs off.

Ironic, isn’t it? A medic harming themselves?

Your job is to literally save the lives of others, and here you are, staring at the closest thing you have to a knife in the medbay. It’s become as easy as blinking for you—which is scary, honestly, the way you’ve developed a tolerance for cutting yourself and stapling your skin back together if you’ve cut too long or deep.

It’s no longer enough to just scrape something sharp across your skin and watch blood bubble up from the broken seams of your flesh, no, now you have to cut even deeper to actually feel anything. You have to feel the scalpel being buried to the hilt in your flesh, and you have to see the way blood spurts out of the self-inflicted wound after you pull out the tool.

You continue to stare at the scalpel, sure that you look like you’re in some sort of trance right now.

It looks so tempting. You can remember the last time you used it—three days ago, the longest you’d gone without it in a while. Similar to cigarette-addicts, you often tell yourself that you’re able to stop whenever you’d like—that you’re able to quit at any time. It’s a lie, and you know it, but you still like to pretend that it’s true.

You’re still staring at the scalpel.

Its sharpened edge reflects the overhead light, creating a bright glow that strains your eyes when you stare at it for too long. The metal of the handle is worn down from use, even though it’d only been in the medbay for maybe a few months—something nobody had questioned yet, thankfully. The clean blade, replaced just yesterday, had no traces of filth or grime on it, making it even more tempting.

You blink. You hadn’t noticed the burning of your eyes until you forced them away from the small knife.

You move your gaze to your lap, where you fiddle with your fingers, gently tugging at a hangnail that’s been lingering on your thumb for the past few minutes. As you pull on it, you feel the sting that it brings, though that sting now feels dull compared to the other things you’ve done to yourself.

It almost feels like a small pinch compared to the ways you’ve mutilated your thighs on certain nights that didn’t allow you the energy to do anything else, or the ways you’ve carved apologies in the forms of lines into your arms to try and gain forgiveness for your thoughts and temptations.

You pull the hangnail off completely and watch the miniscule droplets of blood bleed through your flesh and meet your skin and nail. Before you only had the energy to do your job and harm yourself, you would’ve hissed at the sting pulling off the small bit of skin caused you and grabbed a bandaid immediately, but now, all you can think about is how it isn’t enough.

About how much better you’d feel if you pulled all your skin off. If you could feel every inch of your skin stretched to its limits and torn off of your body, because God knows you deserve it.

The thought makes you wince. That is… disgusting. Why am I thinking about that? You shake your head in hopes that it would shake away the dark thought, but instead the action makes it rattle inside your brain and break off into tiny bits in pieces, small unwanted thoughts of wounding your flesh rolling around your mind.

Similarly to Sisyphus and his boulder, you try to push those thoughts out of your mind, your hands starting to curl into tight fists, but you just can’t. Every time you push a thought back, it comes rolling back to the forefront of your mind, the momentum it gets from being pushed back so far only to get rocketed forwards making it even more unbearable to think about.

The fists your hands have formed become tighter.

Each thought that gets pushed back only jumps forwards once again, ricocheting around your brain, the effort of trying to ignore them making your ears ring.

Before you realize it, your gaze snaps back to the scalpel.

You don’t even notice the blood that begins to spill from your palms from how deeply your nails cut into your skin.

Every thought tries to be louder than the other, creating an unholy cacophony of sound; a terrifying harmony that only grew louder every second that passed. You stare at the scalpel. It continues to reflect the bright gleam of the overhead light, and it continues to make your eyes strain the more you look at it, but you can’t find it in yourself to be all that bothered about the eyestrain.

You unclench your fists and stand up, walking the short distance over to the metal medical cart where the scalpel lays, and you grab the handle of it with shaky hands. You look over at the door for a moment, and stay there for another few seconds.

Once you see that nobody’s coming in, you rush yourself to one of the beds, sliding open the curtains in front of it and sliding them back so that they’ll obscure anyone else’s view of you using the scalpel on yourself.

You sit on the bed and although the scalpel almost slips out of your hand because of the blood from your palms, you manage to keep held in your tight fist, holding it like you would a pencil; tucked under the base of your thumb, and going through the gap between your index and middle finger.

With your hands still trembling and your breath uneven, as well as a bustling mind that only grew louder as the scalpel in your hand grew closer to the skin of your forearm, you made the first incision. Almost immediately, your mind quieted, and your headache dimmed.

Quickly becoming addicted to the feeling of a clear head, you lift the scalpel from your skin, not waiting to watch the blood bubble up from your open wound like you usually would, instead opting to make another incision right next to it.

Being a medic, there was nothing you could really do to stop yourself from thinking about how deep each incision was, and how deep you were cutting into your flesh—so while you cut yourself, a train of thought begun.

Half an inch deep, You push the scalpel deeper, Now a full inch. Should take a month or two to fully heal. Wouldn’t scar.

The thought of it not scarring should make you happy, or at least, neutral, but instead the thought makes you frown. Some odd hunger that comes from the indefinite pit in your stomach craves evidence for the malice you’ve shown towards your own skin, something that would prove your self-hatred.

So, you go another half inch deeper. Scarring would be possible, but not as high of a chance as if you went another half inch. With that thought, you go the last half inch. There we go.

You slide the scalpel blade through your flesh, the blade cutting through it like it would a firm fruit like a pear. It’s easier to cut through skin when the skin is pulled taut, You think, If only I had an extra hand.

You pull out the blade and repeat. You feel less guilty already.

All that worry about fucking up during your last assignment washes away, like the wave of guilt that overcame you earlier receded and pulled back that worry with it, lowering the tide of shame and self-reproach within you. In fact, the tide lowers so much that it almost completely disappears from your mind—like it never existed in the first place.

Reminds me of a tsunami, You repeat your actions with the scalpel, When the tides get low, so low that the ocean floor shows and you could walk where you’d originally have to swim, it’s because a tsunami is building up.

You look down at your work. Your forearm is a bloody mess, crimson red dripping down to your fingers and threatening to drop onto the stark white sheets of the bed you’re sitting on. You sigh tiredly and get up from the bed, putting the end of the scalpel’s handle into your mouth—ignoring the voice in the back of your head that reprimands you for not thinking about bacteria or contamination—and biting down to hold it whilst you slide the curtains in front of the bed to the side, walking out of the small resting area.

You grab the scalpel and set it onto the metal medical cart by your desk, grabbing the gauze on that same cart, opening the small box it’s kept in with your non-bloody hand. It’s a struggle, but you manage it open, and you shake the roll of gauze out onto the cart.

In the middle of you attempting to pull the end of the gauze off of the roll so that you could begin to wrap it around the red lines decorating your forearm, you hear loud footsteps walking near the medbay. You freeze in place, the gauze roll in one hand, your eyes burning holes through the door with how intensely you stare at it.

There’s a knock. Then another.

The door handle twists.

You stare at the door, and everything feels like it’s in slow motion for a second.

The door opens.

“Hey, dae ye hae any—” Soap walks in, the sergeant taking one look at you before cutting himself off with a confused and immediately worried, “Holy shit, whit happened tae yer arm? Are ye alright?”

He rushes over to you and takes your bleeding forearm into his hand. You almost immediately rip it away from his grip.

“Nothing! Everything’s fine! Just an accident,” You lie, holding the blood-covered forearm close to your chest, “I was just about to clean it up.”

“Dae ye need help wrappin’ it, an cleanin’ it up, or anything?” Soap asks, eyebrows furrowed and his expression beyond worried.

“Nope,” You insist, “It’s fine. All good here.”

“... Ye sure?”

“Uh huh,” You nod your head, “All good. Don’t worry about it.”

“‘kay then,” Soap tilts his head and crosses his arms, “Whit happened?”

“Just a little accident with some of the equipment,” You nod down to the bloody scalpel on the medical cart, “That’s all.”

It must be obvious you’re lying, because Soap sighs and says, “I think we baith ken that that’s a lie.”

You stay silent for a few moments, before Soap speaks up again, “Ye ken if ye dinnae tell me, I’ll jist jump tae conclusions, richt?”

You take a deep breath before mumbling something under your breath. When Soap’s eyebrows draw together in confusion, you repeat louder, “I used the scalpel. On myself.”

“Ye whit?”

“I used the scalpel on myself,” You look away, and rush out, “and I’m really sorry, I just couldn’t help it, it’s not like— like a normal thing or anything, it’s just this once, I swear, and— and—”

“[c/n], calm down,” Soap quickly uncrosses his arms and sets both hands onto your shoulders, furrowed eyebrows now taking a more concerned shape, “It’s okay.”

You take a deep breath and look at him, looking at his nose instead of his eyes because you don’t think you could handle eye contact right now, “I’m really sorry.”

“Why would ye dae that tae yerself?” Soap asks, voice soft and almost pitying, which makes you want to curl up and die.

You shrug, not wanting to answer verbally.

“Dae ye— dae the others ken?” Soap questions.

“No.”

“I’m—” Soap looks conflicted for a moment, “I hae an assignment… I’ll get Gaz tae help ye, aye? An’ I’ll check in wi’ ye as soon as possible?”

You hesitate, but end up nodding in agreement, thankful that Soap offered to get Gaz rather than one of the others. The others seemed so oddly scary right now that you don’t even want to think about how they’d react to this whole situation. It’s all gone by so fast—one moment you were sitting on a hospital bed, the next you’re found out by Soap of all people—you’ve barely had time to think about the others.

“Okay. Okay, okay,” Soap repeats the word under his breath like a mantra, thinking to himself for a second before sighing and looking down at you again, “Jesus, fuck, okay. I’ll go get him, ye stay here, aye?”

You nod again, this time your vision begins to get more blurred.

“Ye’re gonnae be okay, okay?” Soap tries to reassure you. You nod once again, sniffling a little bit, making Soap’s gaze soften.

He takes his hands off of your shoulders and gives you one last sad look before turning around and rushing out of the medbay, his thundering footsteps growing quieter as he gets closer to Gaz’s location—most likely his sleeping quarters.

You wait a moment and when you hear no footsteps, your gaze goes back to the blade. It’s not like it’ll hurt to do a few more. I’ll stop when the others arrive.

You grab the handle of the blade, and as quickly as you can, akin to an addict scrambling for substance, you slice through the skin of your non-mutilated hand. You make several quick and deep gashes before dropping the scalpel onto the medical cart again, breathing heavy, the cuts this time actually hurting. It felt like fire was running rampant through your nerves, all stemming from the self-induced wounds, and you winced at the new pain. It wasn’t anything you weren’t used to, but still.

When you hear footsteps again, you can tell they aren’t Soap’s.

The door clicks open and in walks Gaz, already looking very worried—presumably from what Soap told him about your… situation—with another person in tow. Right behind him, Price walks in, expression neutral so far.

Gaz looks over at you, his eyes widening as he sees the bloody gashes in your forearms. Without a second thought, he rushes over to you, his hand reaching for your forearm. Before you can stop him, he grabs your bloody forearm and pulls it up a bit so that he can look at it closer. You flinch, and Price quickly walks over to you two before Gaz can even utter a single word.

“Let’s not, okay?” Price’s version of ‘knock it off’, “I’m here, I’ll take care of their… thing. You hand me what I tell you to. Understood?”

“Yup— Yes, sir. Captain,” Gaz corrects himself quickly, making a slip-up that in any other situation would’ve made you at least chuckle, but all you can do now is stare at the pair as you hold your bloody arms to your chest.

Price looks back over to you and nods over to one of the many empty curtain-surrounded beds and says, “Go sit over there and wait for a few seconds.”

You nod, not knowing what else to do or say, and immediately walk over there. It’s the room furthermost to the right, the one that’s also the closest to the door and the one you’d coincidentally gone into to cut yourself.

You slide the curtains to the side and sit down on the white bed, and just a few seconds later, just as Price said, he walked in as well. He sat next to you, Gaz in tow, the latter carrying a jar of cotton pads and balls as well as a bottle of Betadine.

Betadine—or iodopovidone, whichever name you preferred—was a sort of antiseptic that was generally used for cleaning cuts and wounds. Maybe not ones as deep as yours, but it would still work just as well.

Despite it not being alcohol-based, or really having any alcohol in it, it still hurts the same as rubbing alcohol would, which you were… definitely not looking forward to.

“Sergeant,” Price takes the jar and bottle of Betadine from Gaz, “Go and grab the skin stapler for me.”

“Yes, sir,” Gaz nods, walking out of the room once again. Price sets the jar and bottle of Betadine onto the bed beside himself after he leaves.

With you and Price now in the room alone, he turns to you and holds out his hand with his palm faced up for your arm silently. You carefully put your forearm onto his hand, watching as he gently pulls it closer to him, looking a bit closer at it before sighing through his nose and using his free hand to open the jar of cotton pads.

“How did this happen?” He asks, breaking the silence.

“Soap didn’t fill you in?”

“No.”

You think about what to tell him for a moment. What’s too straightforward? What’s too vague? How do I not overstep? How do I not sound like I just want attention?

Eventually, you settle on, “I was— … I saw the uh… scalpel, and I just… decided to use it a little bit. On myself.” Definitely not the best you can do, but what else could you say? ‘Oh, I cut myself with a scalpel because I felt guilty and if I didn’t I probably would’ve had a panic attack or a mental breakdown’?

“…” Price pauses for a moment, eyes twitching for a split second before he continues his movements to grab a cotton pad and questions you, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“You know what I’m asking, [c/n].”

He’s asking why you did it. There’s not one simple answer you could give him—sure, you could tell him that you felt guilty and it was a bad habit that you’ve told yourself you could stop but never tried to, but that wouldn’t be the whole truth.

You can’t fully express or dictate why you do it, you just do. It’s like when you cut slits into bread before baking it. Without those slits, the bread would crack and split at the seams on its own, but with them, the splitting and expanding of the dough is controlled.

Except, with you, it’s like you’re cutting yourself before the tension building inside of you makes you burst at the seams. Taking a blade to your skin has given you a sense of control—maybe that’s why it’s so addicting, You think, it’s the only way I’ve been able to control my feelings.

But you can’t just say all of that. Well, you could, but did you want to? Fuck no.

Instead, you opt for shrugging, which doesn’t satisfy Price one bit.

“I could see you thinking about it,” He sighs, “I know you at least have some sort of real answer.”

Well, fuck. “It’s a long answer.”

“I never said it couldn’t be.”

He doesn’t move to grab the Betadine at all, instead waiting for you to talk.

You purse your lips and think for another moment before finally talking again, “I was feeling really guilty and tense, and I guess it just got too much, so I just kind of… had to. Like I felt like I was gonna fuckin’… I dunno, have a nervous breakdown or something. And honestly, it’s a really stupid reason, because the thing that I��m feeling guilty about happened like a week ago, but still—I’ve been feeling really guilty about it. It—It’s not like I can’t stop, if I tried I could, I swe—swear, and I just— it’s been really easy to just— you know? I— honestly, it’s not that big of a deal—”

“Hey, hey—” Price brings a hand to your shoulder and softens his voice, “It’s okay. I understand.”

“I ju—st… I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Price reassures you, quickly bringing that same hand up to cup your jaw, “You’re okay. You don’t have to say sorry.”

“But I—”

“Shh.” You hadn’t even noticed how frantic your breathing had gotten during your small word vomit. And to just make things worse, there’d been tears gathering at your water line, well on their way to spilling over and creating tear tracks down your cheeks.

You can’t help but let go of all the tension in your shoulders the moment Price starts gently rubbing his thumb back and forth over your cheek. The moment he does that, it’s practically game over for you.

Those tears spill out from the corners of your eyes and you can already feel your next breath get caught in your throat, leaving you to just let Price gently guide your head to lean forwards against his chest, letting out small hiccups and trying desperately to hold back the sobs you want to let out.

It all happened so fast, you don’t even know how you got here. One moment you were doing a good job of somewhat keeping your guard up, the next your resolve was crumbled completely by the gentle and oddly caring touch of Price’s hand.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door, then someone walks in while you’re burying your head further into Price’s chest—Ghost. You can tell it’s him by the way he walks. He has long strides, he never drags his feet, and the moment he slides the curtains to the side to see you, his footsteps stop. They start up again a moment later, and he sits by your side, opposite of where Price is sitting—to your right instead of your left.

Gaz must’ve let him in while he was looking for the stapler, You think, sniffling against Price’s chest. Normally, you would’ve felt some sort of shame by now, but given the current situation, you didn’t find much room to give a shit.

You feel Price’s head move up slightly, and judging by the way he occasionally nods and sometimes moves his hands a bit, you can only assume that he’s having some sort of nonverbal conversation with Ghost right now. This conversation goes on for about a few minutes longer before you’ve managed to control your breathing a bit more.

Price can tell, and he asks just for confirmation, “Is it alright if I clean your cuts now?”

You nod and sniffle once before taking your head off of Price’s chest, looking down at your lap, simply holding out one of your blood-crusted arms to him. You can see Ghost stiffen up behind you almost immediately at the sight of it.

Price grabs a cotton pad from the jar he was handed earlier, as well as the bottle of iodopovidone, and soaks the cotton pad with said iodopovidone. Once it’s soaked with the antiseptic solution, he hesitates before pressing it to your bloody arms.

Almost immediately, you inhale a sharp breath and feel tears stinging your eyes again.

“It’s okay,” Price tries to calm you down, seeing the tears forming in your eyes again, “You’re okay.”

You sniffle and shift on the bed, trying to blink away tears that threaten to spill over your water line. Ghost, sitting by your side, puts a gloved hand over your shoulder, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your shoulder. His eyes twitch as you bite the inside of your cheek to muffle another sob while Price presses another Betadine-infused cotton pad to your self-induced wounds, and although you can barely see him, out of the corner of your eye, you still catch the glint of new tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as he watches you.

Gaz slips back through the curtains in front of the bed, this time with Soap in tow, and hands a skin stapler to Price. Seeing the skin stapler, something you used fairly often—often enough that the others knew how it worked and how to use it—automatically made your stomach turn.

“Told ye I’d come back for ye,” Soap murmurs, kneeling down to get about eye-level with you. You huff out the smallest laugh at his words and he gives you a small smile that makes you want to go lock yourself in a room with a scalpel and repeat what you’d done earlier all over again, his empathetic expression paining you more than taking a blade to your arm.

As a matter of fact, the expressions that you wish were pity coming from everyone around you hurts more than anything you could’ve ever done to yourself. Their concern was so unexpected—not that you don’t think they care, but you never thought they cared this much. You didn’t think that, if caught in the act, you would receive empathetic looks and solemn smiles, rather thinking that you would receive reprimanding. That you’d be punished for punishing yourself.

Price thanks Gaz silently with the curt nod of his head before turning back to you with a solemn expression that in all honesty makes you more guilty and disappointed with yourself than before. He holds the skin stapler like he would a hot glue gun, looking down at the open wounds in front of him, and holds your forearm closer to him so he can see the edges of the cuts better.

"Keep your arm like that," He murmurs, to which you respond with a nod and stiffening your arm so that it stays in the air where Price positioned it. He uses his now free hand to gently pull the edges of the cut you'd made closer together, aligning them the best he can before pressing the metal staple dispenser to the cut and pushing down on the trigger, stapling the two edges together with a click.

He holds it down for an extra second before releasing and pulling the stapler away from your skin, and although the process only took around three seconds, you'd never get used to the feeling of getting your skin stapled. You make a small, pained noise that has Soap wincing as well--as though he can feel it too--and Price looking more solemn than earlier.

“Finished with this one,” Price mutters as you swallow down another sob, holding his calloused-but-soft hand out for you to put your other forearm in. You do just that, nearly breaking into a fit of new sobs at the small ‘thank you’ Price utters.

You watch Price soak another cotton pad with iodopovidone with his free hand and suck in a deep breath as he presses it to your forearm, the originally white cotton pad almost immediately going red. Tears spill over your waterline and roll down your cheeks as he continues to clean and disinfect your wounds, and before you can move your free hand to wipe them away, Ghost does so for you, his rough gloved hand swiping below your eyes quickly.

You mumble a small 'thank you' that's barely even audible, sniffling as you can’t help but lean forward the tiniest bit into Ghost’s hand as it lingers on your cheek. He pauses, keeping it there for a second, before bringing that same hand up to the crown of your head and pushing gently on it to urge you to lean your head back. You do so, the back of your head quickly making contact with his Adam’s apple and the top of your head becoming tucked underneath his chin.

His hand goes back down to your shoulder and continues its ministrations of rubbing small circles into said shoulder, bringing you intermittent moments of comfort throughout the painful wound cleaning you had to endure.

Soap keeps a comforting hand on your knee as he’s kneeled down in front of you, his thumb occasionally copying Ghost’s, but otherwise remaining still on your knee, careful not to force you through too many different sensations at once.

Gaz watches you from by the curtain, seeming not to do and looking completely lost. He stands there for another moment, watching the others, seeing what they’re doing for a second, before giving Ghost a ‘one moment’ signal by holding up his index finger and stepping out of the curtain-surrounded area.

Right after he does, another painful sting shoots up your nerves from your forearm, and you make the mistake of looking down at it.

Wounds that only fifteen minutes ago had brought you to a calmer state of mind and were nothing more than incisions made by the scalpel you’d used to cut other people for entirely different reasons now almost hurt to look at. Once you could’ve compared them to marks left by wild animals, and you could’ve described them as though they were trophies, but now, as you stare down at them being cleaned by your own captain, they look nothing like the sort.

They don’t look like any of the pretty descriptions you’d given them. They don’t look like cat scratches you’d gotten in an accident, or like something you would get out of a fight with a bear—they don’t make you look strong and brave like you thought they did.

They look like tally marks. Sanguineous, gruesome tally marks, made by you, like you’d been counting down the days—or seconds, minutes, hours—until you’d had enough. Until you’d had enough of just carving your skin with medical equipment, and needed something more. Craved something more.

Price must notice you staring down at the wounds, because he pauses in his movements to clean them for a moment, the sudden stopping of the stinging sensation the iodopovidone-soaked cotton making you shiver. You look up at him, and see him already looking down at you, concerned.

“You’re thinking about something,” He points out softly, “Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

You hesitate and look back down at your arm that Price had stopped cleaning, before mumbling, “Just thinking about how these are gonna scar.” It’s not entirely a lie, but not entirely the truth either.

Price tilts his head to the side a bit, questioningly, “Do you know how they’re gonna scar?”

“Well, when you work in the medical field for a bit, it gets easier to tell.”

You can tell he wants to ask how they’re gonna scar, so you decide to just say, “They’re all about one-and-a-half to two inches deep, so they’ll heal fully and then scar in a few months. Once they do, they’ll be visible, but not too prominent. The scarring tissue will stick above the skin a little bit, and it’ll make it look a little bit puffy.”

“Alright,” Price hums, tone neutral, “So they’ll be… visible.”

He sounds disgusted, A voice in the forefront of your mind insists, while one from the back of your mind tries to tell you, You have no way of knowing that, just see where the conversation goes. He has no reason to be disgusted with you.

“Yeah.”

“Okay then,” Price sets the cotton pad down and grabs the skin stapler he’d been using earlier, “And it’ll take a few months to heal, you said?”

“Several months, yeah.” Price considers this for a moment, pausing in his movements to hold the stapler to your skin.

“Do you think you’ll need any help re-wrapping the bandages while they heal?” He inquires, resuming his movements after asking the question.

“…” You think for a moment, Will you?, and after a few seconds, hesitantly, you reply, “… Yeah.”

“M’kay,” Price hums softly, neutrally. “And would you want me to be the one who does it?”

You think for another few minutes. Preferably, you’d be doing them yourself, but you didn’t trust yourself enough for that—so getting one of them to do it for you is your next best option. You wouldn’t mind if it was Price doing it, but at the same time, you wouldn’t mind if Ghost, Gaz, or Soap did it either.

“It doesn’t matter,” You settle on, before tacking on, “As long as it’s one of you four.”

“Us ‘four’ being… ?”

“You, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz.”

“Got it,” Price nods. You see Soap smile softly out of the corner of your eye before he quickly stops, trying to purse his lips into a line. He’s probably thinking that he shouldn’t be happy about that, You think, almost amused. You feel Ghost’s thumb stutter on your shoulder as well, before it starts back up normally.

Your words affect them more than you thought they would.

Breaking your train of thought, Price staples your skin with a muted click, making you wince.

It’s silent for a few more moments before Gaz finally comes back, now out of breath and carrying a bar of chocolate. He hands you the chocolate bar and says, panting, “I almost had to spar someone for that. Why do you have to like the chocolate one of the other fuckin’ Lieutenants do?”

You take the chocolate bar with your free hand gingerly and blink at it for a few moments before setting it down next to you.

“Nobody told you to get it,” You shrug, before tacking on, “Thank you, though.”

“Uh-huh, yeah, totally, hey so uh—” He looks at Soap and jabs his thumb towards where the door would be behind the curtains, “We’re both needed somewhere else. Again. They said they forgot something… again.”

“Worst fucking timing ever,” Soap grumbles, before clearing his throat and standing up, looking down at you, “Right, I’ll check in on ye later, and help ye wi’ anything ye need me tae, aye? I’ll come wi’ mair chocolate than Gaz did, ‘cause I’m better than him.”

“Got it,” You smile up at him, making him grin back and pat you on the shoulder Ghost’s hand isn’t occupying, before heading out with Gaz.

Then, you’re left with Ghost and Price.

“I should get going too,” Ghost mutters, slowly taking his hand off of your shoulder and gently pushing your head back off of his chest, almost regrettably.

“M’kay,” You watch as he gets up and hesitates, looking like he’s about to give you a hug, before he decides to instead give you a simple head nod and head out the same way the two other operators did.

And then, it was just you and Price.

It’s silent for a bit, until Price speaks up.

“You think a lot,” Price comments, finishing up the last staple.

“Does that surprise you?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

You pause for a moment before sighing through your nose, ��It’s nothing. Just the same stuff I was thinking about before.”

“Wanna give me some more detail than that?”

“Not really, no,” You admit, letting your hand fall into your lap as Price lets go of it, “But I have a feeling you’re gonna want me to tell you.”

“I do.”

“It’s just something stupid, like earlier—”

“That wasn’t stupid, [c/n], that was you hurting.”

“I— I know. It’s just that this is actually stupid.”

“Well, tell me what it is, and I’ll be the judge of that.”

You think about how to phrase it in simple terms for a moment, before finally speaking, “I used to think that the scars sort of… symbolized how I was able to control myself and my emotions, and that made me feel…” You can’t think of any synonyms to make the simple words you want to say sound less childish, so you’re forced to say, “… brave. And strong. I just— I thought it showed that I was good at controlling my emotions and stuff, for some reason. But now I’m questioning all of that.”

“You’re very brave,” Price reassures you, and God, it sounds like he’s reassuring a child, “And you’re so strong. But this… this isn’t how you show that. This—cutting yourself—doesn’t make you either of those things. It doesn’t show that you’re either of those things. It shows that you need help.”

“But you just said that I was strong.”

“I did.”

“… Aren’t you contradicting yourself?”

“How would I be contradicting myself?” Price asks.

“You said that me— me… harming myself shows that I need help.”

“It does,” Price hums, and at your confused expression, he continues, “You needing help doesn’t mean you aren’t strong. Needing help and being strong aren’t connected like that.”

You open your mouth to argue but you close it, not knowing what to say. Price sees this and smiles knowingly, simply grabbing your hand to squeeze it once before getting up.

“I’ll check in on you later, okay? I need to get some stuff done, but as soon as I can, I’ll be back to keep you company. Or I’ll send someone else over—whichever you prefer.”

“M’kay,” You mumble, squeezing Price’s hand back before letting go. “You can do whatever. I don’t mind either one.”

“Sounds good.” Price pauses for a moment before leaning down and giving you a quick hug, and then beginning to slip past the curtains blocking any outsider's view of the bed you were sat on.

Before he can leave, you quickly say, "Thank you. For the wound-cleaning-thing."

He pauses at the curtain for a second, before smiling and replying, "You're welcome."

for those curious, the bthb card so far:

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harrington-stevie · 1 year ago

Text

trust you | anakin skywalker: episode III

Warning: mentions of grieving, injury, cursing

Word count: 1.6k

Previous chapter | Read on Wattpad

Anakin

I woke up to the bright lights of the medical room, my eyes slowly opening to adjust my vision. I felt my body ache like hell, as though I had been run over by a truck.

I also felt a sharp pain on my left side and on my chest. Fuck. It took me several seconds to realize I wasn't alone there. Looking over from the corner of my eye, I noticed someone was attaching my metal arm back again.

It was (Y/N). I took a sharp breath and inhaled loudly. She got caught up, not expecting to see me awake. "Oh- I'm so sorry, did I wake you?".

She didn't manage to finish attaching the piece as she waited for a response, and I shook my head. I could say I was glad I have finally gotten it back, but I was beyond pissed.

My mouth was dry, and I was feeling like shit. I tried to lift my torso and sit up, but she stopped me right away. I shot her a confused and annoyed glare.

"You're not supposed to be moving too much, Master" She said in a whisper. "Do you need anything? I- I can let the doctors know you're awake. Luke fell asleep on the couch".

Then I looked on my left side and saw my little boy all curled up, deep in his sleep. I sighed, he must have been really worried about me. Confused, too.

It was taking all of me to not call her out after what happened to me. But I wasn't going to do that, not in front of Luke.

"I want you to finish this-" I looked over my faux arm. "And I want you to be out". My voice came out hoarse from the lack of speaking and drinking water.

(Y/N) looked at me in complete shock, but nodded and didn't say another word.

As soon as she finished it - which didn't take her much, since she was professional at it - I watched as she stood up from her chair. (Y/N) kept her gaze on the floor the entire time, not even noticing when I gripped my metal fingers around her wrist tightly.

Her eyes shot up to where I was holding her, and she hesitantly looked at me. "This is-" I had to clear my throat as my voice wouldn't come out. "This is your fault, I hope you know it".

I let go of her, staring at her back as she made her way out of the room. I pinched the bridge of my nose and muttered under my breath.

Lukey was still out, and I didn't want to wake him up.

It took me two fucking days to actually get released from the medical bay as they wouldn't let me get out at all. My stab wound was barely healed, even though they made sure I would be able to be up and walk.

I spent almost the entire day with Luke, helping him with his homework, as well as playing with his toys or teaching him a few mechanic skills I learned back in Tatooine.

When I could finally do something rather than being completely useless, I headed to the office where we usually plan our missions. I walked past the door and Cal hurriedly came to meet me with a hug.

I groaned from the touch and he realized he pushed the boundaries. "I'm sorry, Master! Jesus, I forgot about it for a second there. I'm just glad you're up and good".

He started rambling, and I placed a hand on his shoulder, calming him down, "I appreciate it".

I smiled briefly before sitting down on the desk, releasing a low sigh. It's only been two days and I already missed being out there.

After discussing for a couple of hours, we were all dismissed for a gathering outside the Temple. I excused myself and made my way to the dining hall, where Luke should be having lunch with his few friends and C-3PO.

I felt my spine become rigid and my hand went cold as I saw him bonding with (Y/N), again. I couldn't help but roll my eyes in annoyance, trying to simmer down. I haven't forgotten I was pretty mad for what happened.

"Luke!" I called out in a rather loud tone and he looked my way. The boy waved at me and proceeded to get back at what he was doing with her.

She barely looked at me and I knew she was keeping her guard up when I was around. I walked toward them, watching as she managed to handle a T-16 skyhopper toy. It was probably his.

NO POV

(Y/N) felt her heartbeat go off too fast, and she could hear her blood pumping through her veins. After what happened between them two days before, she couldn't even handle being near him again.

And the fact she was found making company for Luke made the situation even worse. She followed his steps as he approached them and sat next to the boy.

It was like he was never really calm. He was constantly angry or frowning at everyone and everything. The only moments he seems to be at peace is when he's with Luke.

"What did I tell you the other day?" Anakin mumbled, not even disguising how he glanced at her. His son pouted and apologized.

"He came to me, asking to help him with hi-" (Y/N) was about to explain but he cut her off.

"Didn't I make myself clear the other day? You have to stay close to 3PO" He pretty much sounded coarse, although he wasn't yelling.

"He said she's trustworthy, daddy. And she was helping me set up my toy" Luke kept his head down the whole time, not daring to look up at his father.

This is ridiculous, she thought. What? He thinks she's gonna literally lose it and kidnap him? Or just vanish with the kid without anyone noticing?

He huffed, still not giving two fucks if she was there or not. Anakin tried to look indifferent by the way his son was literally trusting a person he couldn't trust. Someone who was strange to them. Well, quite like it.

"I'm sorry, I have work to do" She gathered her things and rushed out of the table without even looking back.

Anakin took the toy from his son's little hands and gave it a look. "What's up with it?".

Luke sat on his lap and pointed to one of the wings. "One of the wings is hanging loose. I thought she could fix it, since she fixed your arm".

He sounded frustrated, especially because his father noticed how low the boy's voice came out. Anakin felt guilty about Luke and swallowed hard.

Maybe he could fix it himself. Or maybe he could ask some engineer or a Droid to do it.

He just didn't want to have to see her again.

He was definitely frustrated. He felt like he wasn't being a good father, like he wasn't able to actually educate his son and be there for him all the time. Even though he had time to rest his body and heal faster, Anakin felt worn out.

Obviously he noticed the way people looked at him, even his fellow Masters. It didn't matter to him to be honest, he already made himself clear that he didn't care about that.

His eyes were holding a shadow of sadness and frustration with himself; they weren't vibrant with the same determination he had before. The blue irises became cold and sad.

He was in the training room, practicing his movements with the newly fixed robotic arm. Anakin couldn't actually complain about the job they had done, because it seemed to work better than before.

The limb was polished, even. He swooned his lightsaber around the room, avoiding any abrupt movement to prevent any harm to his wounds.

It was a lot easier when Obi-Wan was around. He definitely had a good mood to practice, he was always supporting his apprentice.

Sometimes, when it got too quiet, Anakin would hear his rough words shout out to his former Master.

"I hate you!" He had just lost the love of his life. "You were my brother, Anakin. I loved you".

"Were". "Loved". It felt like his heart got ripped out of his chest and stomped on.

After that, he promised he wouldn't trust anyone. Besides C-3PO and R2-D2, he knows he can barely trust the other Jedi he goes on missions with.

His mind goes way back. To the day his mother died. To the day Padmé died. To the day he felt betrayed by Obi-Wan. To the day Palpatine left him behind, beaten up and mourning for his losses.

It has been six years already. He should've gotten over it. He has Luke now. He has the Droids; and somewhat, he had Cal Kestis, who was a loyal Jedi and colleague.

His flesh knuckles were almost raw from the punches he was throwing at the punching bag. It was becoming hard to reach his relief that day. He let out a strangled groan as he threw his final jab, sending the bag flying.

Anakin fell to his knees, feeling defeated. He didn't want to cry out his sorrows, he told himself he was past that.

From the corner of his eyes, he felt like he was being watched. The shadow standing behind the closed doors was glancing at him with a knowing look.

They have been there before.

@jackie-on-the-loose @adorbzliz @himesuedi @kingdomhate

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker fanfic #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin fanfic #anakin fanfiction #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin imagine #star wars fanfic #hayden christensen imagine #anakin skywalker fluff #anakin fluff #anakin skywalker #usersavana #clonecaptains #userlace

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graciegoeskrazy · 7 months ago

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It was no use at all

(Matty Healy x Daughter!r)

Warnings: yelling, crying, breakups, angst, lowk just hurt/comfort???? Idk, reader is like pre teen ish, the ending is good at least so hm

A/n: I wrote this in two hours and I’m posting it now immediately after….idk what’s happening man

You were sitting cross-legged on the couch, a tattered math workbook spread out in front of you. The numbers on the page blurred together as you frowned, chewing the end of your pencil in frustration. When the front door creaked open, you looked up, relief flooding your face.

“Hi, Dad,” you called, watching Matty shuffle inside.

His response was a half-hearted hum as he kicked off his boots and tossed his keys into the bowl. He trudged into the living room, never meeting your eyes, collapsing into the armchair with a sigh. His fingers rubbed at his temples, and his whole posture screamed exhaustion.

“You okay?” you asked, your pencil hovering above the workbook.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice low and clipped. “Just tired.”

You studied him for a moment, noting the tight set of his jaw and the way his fingers trembled slightly as he ran them through his curls. Something was off, but you weren’t sure if you should press him about it.

Instead, you turned back to your workbook. “Can you help me with this?” you asked after a moment, holding up the page. “I don’t get it.”

He barely glanced at you before shaking his head. “Not now,” he said curtly.

“Please? I’ve been stuck on it for like an hour.”

He let out a sharp sigh, his hand dropping to his lap. “I said not now, alright?”

His tone made you flinch, but you tried again. “It’s just one problem-”

“For God’s sake, can’t you figure it out yourself?” he snapped, letting out a sigh after. “You’re not a little kid anymore!”

Your mouth fell open, the pencil slipping from your hand. “What’s your problem?” you asked, your voice trembling. “Why are you yelling at me?”

Matty leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “Because I’m tired,” he said, his voice muffled. “Tired of always having to—” He stopped himself, exhaling sharply.

“Having to do what?” you challenged, hurt and confusion swirling in your chest. “Help me? Be my dad? Do your job?”

His head snapped up at that, regret flashing in his eyes. “That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly, but the damage was done.

You stood, grabbing your workbook and shoving it under your arm. “Forget it,” you muttered, storming toward the kitchen.

“Wait,” He called after you, but you ignored him, slamming the door behind you.

…

After the fight, after you’d stormed off and left your dad sitting alone in the living room with the weight of his guilt, he pulled out his phone. His thumb hovered over the contact list for a moment before settling on George’s name.

The phone rang twice before George picked up, his voice crackling with familiar sarcasm. “What’s wrong now, Matty? Writer’s block or midlife crisis?”

“Neither,” Matty grumbled. “I need advice.”

“Should I be worried?” George teased, but there was a note of concern beneath the humor.

“Is Charli there?” Matty asked, leaning back into the couch and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, why?” George asked, and Matty could hear Charli’s voice faintly in the background. “Hang on, she’s coming.”

A moment later, Charli’s voice chimed in. “What do you need now, Matthew?”

Matty sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “I messed up. Big time.”

“Define ‘big time,’” Charli said, her tone shifting to something softer but still wary.

“I yelled at her,” Matty slowly admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Like, really yelled. Over nothing. She just asked me for help with her homework, and I lost it. And now she’s mad at me, and I feel like the worst dad in the world.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line before George broke it with a dry laugh. “Well, mate, you’ve definitely hit peak ‘dad meltdown.’ Congrats.”

“George!” Charli scolded, though Matty could hear the smile in her voice.

“I’m serious!” George protested. “It’s a rite of passage, losing your cool over math homework. Classic stuff.”

“It’s not funny,” Matty snapped, though his voice lacked bite. “I scared her, George. She looked at me like I was some kind of monster.”

Charli’s tone turned gentle. “Matty, she knows you’re not a monster. But you’ve got to own it. Apologize, explain yourself, and make it right. She’s old enough to understand that you’re human too.”

“Yeah,” George added, “just don’t get all sappy about it. She’s almost a teenager. They can smell weakness.”

Matty groaned, tipping his head back against the couch. “You’re both useless.”

“Hey, we’re not the ones yelling at kids,” George shot back, though there was no malice in his tone. “Seriously, though, you’ll be fine. You’re a good dad, Matty. Even good dads screw up sometimes.”

Your dad just hummed.

Charli didn’t hesitate. “We know so. Now go sort it out before she starts plotting revenge.”

Matty chuckled weakly. “Thanks, guys.”

“Just don’t call us when she starts asking about boys.”

“Goodbye, George,” Matty said firmly, hanging up before his friend could say anything else.

…

Your Dad made his way up the stairs and to your room. He knocked softly, the door opening slightly. He didn’t realize it was cracked open. You had a habit of eavesdropping and Matty wanted to bet you kept your door open to listen to his phone conversation. He didn’t mind though. To him it was proof that he cared and that you heard him.

He knocked on the door to grab your attention before leaning on the doorframe. You didn’t look up at him or did nothing to acknowledge his presence. He spoke anyway, “You still need help with that?”

He could see you thinking about it - the wheels processing in your head. You were stubborn, just like him, you weren’t going to give in that easily. Yet, you were still stuck on the same twenty problems you had been on an hour ago.

You nodded, still not meeting his eyes. He sat next to you on the ground and gestured for you to hand him the workbook. Once you handed it to him you brought your knees up to your chest. “Jeez, they’re teaching you these things already? I swore I didn’t learn this till algebra I.”

You shrugged, “I’m in the advanced placement class, remember?” you reminded him shyly.

He nodded, “Of course you are.”

When you finally solved the last problem, you leaned back with a small smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Got it,” you said softly, closing the workbook.

Matty ruffled your hair, trying to lighten the mood. “See? Knew you’d crack it. Smart kid.”

You didn’t swat his hand away this time. Instead, you stayed still, your gaze fixed on the closed workbook, playing with its frayed edges.

Something twisted in his chest. “You okay?” he asked gently.

You nodded quickly, but the way you blinked and turned your head to the side gave you away. Your dads heart sank when he saw the tear slip down your cheek, catching in the faint glow of the desk lamp.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, sliding closer. His earlier confidence evaporated, replaced by a protective urgency. “What’s wrong, love? Talk to me.”

You shook your head, swiping at your cheek. “I’m fine.”

Matty wasn’t buying it. “No, you’re not,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Is this about earlier?”

You hesitated, your hands fidgeting in your lap. “I just…” You trailed off, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to bother you. I thought maybe if I did the math with you, you’d feel better. But it didn’t work. You just got mad, and I-I don’t know.”

Your words hit Matty like a punch to the gut. His hands hovered awkwardly for a moment before he reached out, pulling you into a hug while you sat in his lap. You didn’t resist, but you didn’t relax into him, either.

He held you tighter, his chest aching. “You didn’t bother me,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I was being a selfish twat. None of this was your fault- not the fight, not anything. I was upset about something else, and I took it out on you, and that’s not fair.”

You didn’t respond, but your head dropped against his chest, your quiet sniffles cutting through the silence.

Matty pulled back just a bit. Enough for his thumb to catch the few tears that had fallen. He paused for a moment, searching for the words. “I… there’s something I need to tell you.”

You looked up at him, blinking in surprise.

He took a deep breath, the weight of the words heavy in his chest. “She broke up with me today.”

You blinked again, clearly processing. “What?”

Matty exhaled slowly, trying to find some clarity amid the haze of emotions. “It…it doesn’t really matter. But I was angry. And I thought I could ignore it, but I couldn’t. I didn’t know how to deal with it, and then you-” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard. “And I took it out on you. That’s not fair. I’m so sorry.”

You didn’t say anything for a long moment, just curled into him, quiet but comforting.

Matty pulled you closer, his hand gently resting on the back of your head. “I’ll make it right, I swear. You didn’t deserve any of that. You never do.”

You nodded, but there was a sadness in your eyes that didn’t fade.

He sighed, the weight of his earlier actions still heavy on his shoulders. He rubbed your back, a comforting motion, but deep down, he knew the words wouldn’t be enough this time. He had more to make up for.

“I’m sorry, love. I’m so sorry.”

You didn’t say anything for a while, but you didn’t pull away either. Eventually, as the quiet stretched between the two of you, you leaned back against him, your head resting on his chest.

After a long, quiet moment, you murmured, “I liked her, you know.”

Matty’s heart clenched, and he swallowed hard, blinking back the sting of tears that had nothing to do with his breakup and everything to do with the delicate truth in your voice.

“I know you did,” he said softly, his fingers brushing through your hair, his chest tightening. “She was good to you, wasn’t she.”

“I liked her,” you repeated, your voice quiet but sure. “She made you happy, and I liked that.”

Your dad smiled. He kissed the top of your head. “I know, love. But you make me the happiest. You’re the only girl I need.”

You didn’t reply, but you didn’t pull away either. The warmth of his embrace was everything, comfortable and safe in a way that made the sadness feel a little more bearable.

“You know,” he murmured after a while, “I can’t promise I won’t screw up again, but I’ll try. I’ll keep trying. We’re in this together, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered back, and for the first time in a while, the softness in your voice felt real.

Matty leaned his head down and kissed the top of your hair, holding you close. As the minutes passed, he let his heart settle, but he knew the work wasn’t over. There was still healing to be done, and he would be there, doing everything he could, every step of the way.

#literally 2 hours #I think it’s adorable tho #the 1975 #x daughter!reader #matty healy #matty healy x daughter!reader #matty healy x reader #matty the 1975 #matty x reader #george daniel

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katiekatdragon27 · 11 months ago

Text

People sleeping on this hypothetical tbh.

Oh, First King you grump and unaware old fart. You have no idea how scary and cool you look to these kids <33

Notes n stuff below cut:

I get all the jokes about FK being a zombie and evil n stuff, but like, not really?? He's just the FIRST KING OF THE GLADE that's all. He's probably been unjustly necromanced into today's world when he was just chilling with being dead. He would be the last thing from evil. Maybe kinda rude to other species, but that's normal for older people.

Idk, I just want grandpas in the world who actually want to help care and raise the next generation (cuz peepaw Polokus is doing daedally-shit)

Since I'm self-indulgent and biased to my own ideas, I had this silly idea that when FK was resurrected, he and Markus (the name for the Grand Minumus always hanging with Rayman for me), got into some arguments about just general stuff regarding the Glade and it's management. It might've gotten violent, and this got FK banished to the Livid Dead for a couple years, hanging out in the upper levels with Romeo, Shadi, and Goth (kinda).

When Big Mama found him there, she quickly brought him back to the surface and showed the Fairy Council. Betilla is very conflicted about him being back (cuz daddy issues), but she makes a decree that nothing harmful shall be bestowed upon him. So, he can do whatever without being sent back down to the Livid Dead.

Now, onto the school-related parts:

FK has a had a liking for kids ever since he was known as Aurthr Grandur (shameless The Sacred Dream plug sorry-not-sorry). So, when he was allowed back into the royal ranks, he began basically being everyone's royal babysitter when he wasn't listening in on Fairy Council meetings. That's where someone proposed for him to be a teacher, to which he took up the offer.

History has a tendency to be kinda skewed in the Glade, often neglecting the stuff predating Rayman and the rise of the Limbless race along with every other group in the Glade. Stuff that FK went through first-hand. He was not really vibing with the lack of diversity in the schooling.

As the magic school's history teacher, he always makes an effort to share all kind of history, not just Rayman's. This consists of every kind of creature in the Glade and of course his own. He even talks about the fairies as "kids" on occasion too. He is very well-liked amongst his students of all ages. Also, he doesn't give homework and does live-acting demonstrations of certain events with crazy swordsmanship, so bonus points there.

Many adults were wary about what they thought to be a nightmare teaching their kids but grew to appreciate him more b/c of his old-school "fuck around and find out" methods of teaching and discipline. Kids got better when in his class, which was something not that seen prior to him.

And in the background, he tutors students that show an interest in hand-to-hand combat. He loves seeing younger people actually using sharp weapons and learning the powerful method of channeling magic. He's an actually good PE teacher, I always thought those weren't real

Here is his full drip:

Enjoy the essay and have a good one fellas ✌️✌️✌️✌️

#gonna get so hung for these opinions probably /lh #but idk first king is one of my many pookies and i need more people to actually like him for him and not cuz he's a minimus evil or smth #the magic school has uniforms btw that's why they all wear red #also most of the teachers are the silkins and the principle is the grand wizard from rayman legends #the school did not have a very good history class beforehand and it was only fixed when fk got mad about the ignorance of the kids lol #also learning about the immense bullying problem and that *cough* teensy that came out of it pissed him off too so he felt he had to step i #iconic grandpa i love him #rayman #rayman: the sacred dream #the first king #teensy #teensies #teensie #teensy kids #teensy nobility #fan art #rayman fanart #headcanons #rayman the first king #katiekatdragon27

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minutewondertwist · 4 months ago

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Student file: "Phobos"

Phobos is one of the more troubling students at Night Raven College. He and his "cousin" continue to cause a ruckus, scare first years and ever since they've shown up an influx of scams have arrived alongside them. Despite this, neither of the two can get into trouble. I inquire you to read further for an explanation.

General information:

Age: 17

Pronouns: He/They

Class: 2-C

Voice Claim: Tanaka Ryuunosuke from Haikyuu (Yu Hayashi)

Club: Track and Field

Favourite subject: Flight lessons

Homeland: The kingdom of Heroes

Species: Presumably half-fae half-human

Height: 155cm

Birthday: 3rd of December

Dominant hand: Ambidextrous

Likes: Cursed objects, races, shoes, spicy food, hoodies, magenta.

Dislikes: Expensive stuff, being wrong, Riddle, Kalim, Leona, the colour yellow.

Personality:

Phobos is a very abrasive person. He's loud, brash and seems to enjoy terrorising first years and students they're not scared off. They do, however, walk the fine line of being cocky and being a coward. He runs at any sign of danger and sometimes he even hides behind Idia. Speaking of Idia, Phobos and Pavor seem to view him as above them and someone to listen too. They both seem afraid of repercussions if they go against him but have no issue talking back to teachers.

Behind his bravado Phobos seems rather insecure and quiet. He seems to live in a world of denial and is quick to use it if he feels like things are going wrong. They'd rather have others believe they mess up on purpose then let them find out he can be wrong. He's also very stingy with money, likely a result of their childhood. They won't tolerate any rumours being spread about him and deals with them as quick as possible.

If left to his own devices Phobos surprisingly enough, will try to do homework first and then tune in on more interesting things like watching a race. Occasionally he'll do both at the same time. He never asks for help or takes deals unless they're the one making them. Despite this, Phobos is drawn to darker more scary things in life, he's often seen taking naps near cursed objects.

Appearance:

Phobos has dark, kind of dusty magenta coloured hair with even darker horns. His hair reaches his chin and he always looks like he just brushes it out of his face and lets the wind do the rest. His eyes are yellow, which contrasts with the dark purple eyeshadow he wears. He also has sharp teeth.

His skin is slightly tan from the sun but compared to most people in Ignihyde he looks like he's been sunburnt. He's chubbier then his counterpart, he also has more scars though they're not very visible under his clothes. Scratches on his legs and elbows, nicks on his hands, some mildly concerning scars on his back. They're all old. The only really visible scar is on his tail, right before the fork there's a scar that he wears with pride. They won't tell you where it's from but it sure has their ego boosting.

Keep in mind:

Unique Magic: We are [blank]. Phobos Unique Magic is simple, but powerful. He can transform into near any living creature, provided he has seen it before. As well as other people, though this takes more energy and blot and is harder to do. However, he and Pavor have found a loophole and will often combine their UM's to disguise Phobos more effortlessly.

○ Phobos is dyslexic and near sighted but seems unaware of this fact

○ Phobos is autistic and has anger issues

○ Phobos has a tendency to mess up in classes on purpose. It is to be noted that some of these purposeful screw ups might not be on purpose but rather that they are embarrassed about failure and lack of knowledge.

Family:

Unknown parents, they grew up in Philocletes Grove Orphanage in The Kingdom of Heroes before running away. Records describe him as unsociable, hard to work with and lacking friends.

Pavor: Despite the two not being related in any way, the boys have taken a liking to each other and proudly display their familial relationship for everyone to hear. Apparently, saying they were brothers was too far-fetched, so they went with cousins. They can be antagonistic to eschother, egging each other on or selling the other out when they get caught, but Phobos is wildly protective of Pavor and always quick to shut down the others panicked train of thoughts.

Backstory:

Phobos is a street rat orphan. He and Pavor met in an orphanage, which they both ran away from. So far, the reasoning is unknown, but we can assume it has to do with the horns. Both boys took to trickery and thievery to stay alive and seem to hide behind the most powerful person they deem "safe." STYX sponsors the boys, as long as they keep an eye on the blot culmination that seems almost abnormally high around this school. In other words, the boys are financially dependent on STYX. Their stay at the school is a bribe, and it is important to note that Housewarden Shroud is kept unaware. STYX has noted that both Pavor and Phobos are code names but the boys were more then happy to give up their old ones.

Extra:

○ Phobos really likes watching any type of racing

○ They're rather insecure about how they can't seem to look "fancy" no matter how hard he tries so he forgoes collared shirts for hoodies

○ They're Bisexual, not that dating is in any way on his mind right now

○ Phobos takes a lot of odd jobs and is the main source of scams created by him and Pavor, despite the money and funding given by STYX neither boy trusts it and they seem to believe that the moment they leave NRC they'll be back on the streets with nothing.

#twst oc #pavor and phobos #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland oc #character bio #I'll have to work out the story more but this should work for now

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fleetwaystcmybeloved · 4 months ago

Text

I hated so much what It did with Metamorphia that I took the wiki and slap It on the text box just to get something canon out of It.

Seriously how do people let this do their homework and not correct nothing?

---

Metamorphia: The Shapeshifter’s Redemption

Metamorphia was created by Grimer Wormtongue on Dr. Robotnik’s orders, an artificial lifeform with the power to shapeshift her body into anything she desired. Whether she assumed the form of a terrifying beast or mimicked Sonic the Hedgehog himself, her ability made her a deadly adversary. But despite her vast powers, Metamorphia had a singular focus: to win Robotnik’s approval. She believed that, through her constant efforts to destroy Sonic and the Freedom Fighters, she could prove her worth to him.

Her first attempts at defeating Sonic included luring him into a trap disguised as a sweet bear girl, only to fall into the Grim Zone’s fiery pits—though she survived by transforming into a fireproof form. She returned in the guise of "Cosmic the Hedgehog," a rival hero with a cape and a bold challenge to Sonic’s title. Her plan was to isolate Sonic from his friends during a race in the Emerald Hill Zone, but Sonic, irritated by her posturing, easily defeated her. Metamorphia’s betrayal came when her own Badniks turned against her, and once again, she was defeated.

Metamorphia’s next scheme saw her taking the guise of "Tonic the Hedgehog," a spiky, brown hedgehog who claimed to be Sonic’s long-lost twin brother. Sonic was suspicious, but Tonic, playing the role of the innocent brother, tried to convince Sonic and the Freedom Fighters of his legitimacy. When Tails uncovered the truth, Metamorphia dropped the disguise and was swiftly outmatched by the Freedom Fighters once again. But this time, her failures were not simply a personal defeat—Robotnik showed his displeasure by sending her back to the Grim Zone, deeming her a failure.

But Metamorphia's journey didn’t end there. In time, she was assigned to destroy Shortfuse the Cybernik during "Mission: Cyber-Kill," and after a brief victory over him, she failed again when the factory she had helped defend was destroyed. Robotnik, infuriated by her failure, stripped her of her shapeshifting abilities and intended to process her into a Badnik. However, before the transformation could take place, Shortfuse stormed Citadel Robotnik to rescue Tekno, and Metamorphia was once again defeated, now powerless and rejected by Robotnik.

Then, something changed within Metamorphia. When she was next encountered in the Grim Zone, Tails was attacked by a Badnik version of her, only for the shell to be destroyed, revealing the real Metamorphia. This time, instead of continuing her villainous ways, she made a surprising declaration: she had grown tired of being manipulated by Robotnik and hated him for how he had used her. She turned her back on the evil she once served and, for the first time, sought to live a different life—one where she could be free from manipulation and failure.

Metamorphia’s decision to leave Robotnik’s side was not easy. She knew that it would be difficult to earn trust, especially from Sonic and the Freedom Fighters, who had seen her time and again as an enemy. But this time, she was determined to prove she had changed. Though reluctant at first, the Freedom Fighters allowed her to join their ranks after seeing her desire to redeem herself.

During her time with the Freedom Fighters, Metamorphia began to experience emotions she had never felt before. She found herself developing a small crush on Tails, the young and ever-positive Freedom Fighter. Tails, with his kind nature and sharp intelligence, reminded her of a time when she admired Robotnik. But this admiration was different—it wasn’t about power or dominance, but about genuine respect for his intelligence and courage. She began to look at Tails not just as a teammate, but as someone she wanted to protect.

Her infatuation with Tails, though small, was a reflection of the change she had undergone. She was no longer the cold, calculating creature desperate to prove herself to Robotnik. She was someone who could appreciate kindness, loyalty, and the bond of teamwork. Although Tails remained unaware of her feelings, Metamorphia was content simply being by his side as an ally—someone who had gone from being a weapon of destruction to a protector of Mobius.

Metamorphia’s journey wasn’t without challenges, though. She still had moments of doubt and struggled with her past, especially when faced with the specter of Robotnik, who would never truly accept her betrayal. But with the Freedom Fighters, she found a new sense of purpose. She wasn’t just fighting for approval anymore—she was fighting for a cause she believed in.

In the end, Metamorphia became an unlikely, yet valuable member of the Freedom Fighters. No longer the villain who failed to destroy Sonic, she was someone who had learned from her mistakes and sought redemption in the most unexpected of ways. And while she would never forget the past that shaped her, she knew that her future lay with those who truly cared for her—not because of her abilities, but because of the person she was becoming.

---

This version of Metamorphia’s story IS what I wanted. So at least this did It good.

#fleetway sonic #sonic the hedgehog #sonic the comic #metamorphia #tails the fox #chatgpt #reimagined

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steponmeinejghafa · 2 years ago

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Little Crow Pt. 4

Summary: What started as a good day goes south to the point where you display "concerning" behavious on the playground, which leads your principal to call your parents to school.

Your age: 10

Six of Crows x fem!child!reader

Note: Pretend Pekka still lives in Ketterdam, and never moved far far away.

Taglist: @winstonthecow22 , @ell0ra-br3kk3r , @trashmouthsahra , @myheartfollower

Warnings: Blood, mentions of sharp objects, prejudices, fighting, yelling, arguments

---

You sat at the breakfast table with Wylan, who was helping you with your math homework a little bit last-minute. While he taught you how to multiply decimals, you wolfed down your toast and eggs which Nina made for you.

"So, you think of the times tables while you do these, okay?" Wylan explained, when Kaz emerged out of nowhere.

"Come on, little crow," he said. "Or you'll be late."

You hastily put your math in your bag, gave Wylan a big hug and a 'thank you', before bidding everyone goodbye and following your father out.

"Papa, guess what?" You asked excitedly while he sat in the carriage beside you.

"What, little crow?" He asked, not bothering to feign any interest as you both stepped out of the carriage, with him holding your hand as you crossed the street.

"I might get top marks in my tests this week!" You grinned. "Uncle Wylan helped me with my Math and a bit of Science, and Auntie Nej did Social Studies with me, and Auntie Nina did the rest of Science! I'm super confident in class and no one, not even Sofiya Reznik could answer the questions the teacher asked us!"

"Reznik is the girl who's father is a professor, isn't it?" He asked. "I'm proud of you, Y/n."

"I need to go now, Papa," you said, nodding at his hand which was clutching yours tightly.

"Alright," he sighed. "But remember: never start a fight, always be the one to finish it, and please stay far away from Alby Rollins. I don't need Pekka breathing down my neck if you hurt the boy."

"I'm making no promises," you grinned and leaned against his side a little. "I've got this."

"Have a good day, little crow," he smiled slightly, letting go of you. Excited, you skipped in past the gates, running to greet your friends.

Kaz's skin prickled as he saw the children bustling about in the schoolyard. Almost all of them were mercher's children, and he knew they lived on the far richer side of Ketterdam.

Shaking off the feeling, he walked away, back into the carriage.

Your day commenced as it normally would. However, recess was the one part which caused your happy mood to sour.

You ran with everyone else on the playground, laughing as you all played tag. You'd been tagged, and chased relentlessly after a random kid from the other fourth-grade class.

You clapped him on his back and turned around swiftly, but you slammed bodily into Alby Rollins, Pekka Rollins' spoiled, rotten little boy.

"Sorry about that, Rollins!" You apologised hastily and tried swerving around him.

He shoved your shoulder and scowled, "Watch where you're going, Barrel trash."

You'd been called many names before, but that particular one struck your dignity hard.

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides as your e/c eyes blazed. "You take that back, Rollins."

He hit you on the shoulder, "Or what, slum rat?"

You noticed a sharp rock at your feet and picked it up, baring it at him. "Or I'll cut you."

His piggy eyes went wide, but he still held himself confidently. He kicked you on the back of your knees, causing you to tumble down onto the dusty ground. The stone in your hand cut a deep gash across your palm, but you didn't care.

"You'll cut me?" He scoffed, kicking you in the ribs. "You'll cut me? I don't think so, scum. Don't even belong here with us non-slum dwellers, do you?"

"I belong here just as you all do," you spat, trying to stand up, but he kicked you hard in the ribs again. You wheezed and collapsed again, arm clutching your abdomen.

"Think you're equal 'cause your Da owns a club?" He scoffed. "Kaz Brekker don't got nothing on Pekka Rollins."

But before he could even draw his leg back for another kick, you regained your posture and swung a fist at his nose with as much strength as your 10-year-old body would allow.

An audible 'crack' came from where your fist connected with his face, and he clutched at his jaw which you'd hit. The hit was cushioned by his round cheeks, but you weren't any older than him nor were your knuckles conditioned enough to handle a direct hit, and your fist pulsed with pain.

"You filthy Barrel rat!" He screamed, and knocked you down as he tackled you, his pudgy body weighing your down significantly. He threw punch after punch at your face and body, while you tried freeing your arms pinned under his knees. Around you, kids chanted 'fight, fight, fight!'

Of course no one was going to help. Your face was bleeding, and you could barely feel it anymore as he beat you bruised and bloody. Tears streamed down your face as you pleaded for him to stop. He didn't cease his relentless hitting, and no one dared touch Pekka Rollins' son anyway, so why would they attempt to now? You prayed desperately that someone went to get a teacher, and ignored every single insult he hurled your way. Regardless, a white-hot anger coursed through you, making you struggle harder.

You got an arm free from under him and caught his collar, before pulling him to the side hard enough to get him off one side of you. Wiggling out, you wiped a hand across your mouth for it to come down red with blood. Angry like a bull, you charged at him, fists swinging at his pudgy body as you hit and kicked every place you could reach. The other kids tried holding you back, but nothing would stop you from taking revenge for all he did to you.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF ALL THIS?" Exclaimed a teacher. Beside her stood Sofiya Reznik, looking worried for you.

"Miss!" Wailed Alby pathetically while you wiped the steadily drying blood from your knuckles. Dragging your sleeve over your face, you wiped off whatever blood you could, and had only just been able to think rationally and clearly, when another teacher seized you by the elbow and dragged you inside. It gave you some satisfaction to see that Alby was also being dragged with you equally harshly. Clearly these teachers weren't scared of Rollins the way the others were.

"I need some context on what happened," sighed the teacher who'd grabbed you, while you sat on a cot in the nurse's office, Alby opposite to you and mewling pathetically to the nurse and teacher.

You allowed the young man to start dabbing away at the blood on your face and replied, "He called me Barrel trash just because I bumped into him, accidentally. I apologised, but then he had to escalate it."

"...and then the shameless Barrel girl punched me!" You heard Alby bleat, while the nurse and teacher looked thoroughly done with is antics.

"It's on him cause he started it," you sighed, holding an ice pack to your eye, which was starting to bruise over. "He shouldn't have hit me."

"I didn't lay a hand on you!" He protested, but the teachers saw right through him.

"Silence, shevrati," you snapped, using the Suli insult you often heard Inej say. "That's what you are, anyway. A know-nothing."

"Kids, enough," the second teacher intervened. She glared at Alby, "And quit your incessant bleating, you've just got a bruised eye. A well-deserved one at that."

"How can you believe that-that slum rat over me?" He gaped.

"None of that, boy," scowled the male teacher. "Come on now, both of you, to the Principal. Goodness, the things you all do..."

You sat quietly outside the office, waiting, and heard the sound of branded leather boots against the tiles of the floor. You looked up to see Pekka Rollins hurry over to his son, and heard his angrily muttered insults towards you.

"Atleast now I know where he learned it all," you scoffed, looking at the man.

"Y/n?" A serious and familiar voice made you look up, and immediately your heart dropped to your worn-out shoes. Kaz was there with your Aunt Inej, Nina, Jesper and Wylan, and all of them looked beyond pissed.

"Hi..." you awkwardly said, holding up a hand to wave at them. However, it took you a moment to realise that their anger istelf wasn't directed towards you. Kaz was glaring past you and at Pekka, who was comforting his crying child.

"Not this stuff again," you grumbled and flicked Alby on the ear. "I didn't even break anything, so quit your bleating."

"Don't you even--" Pekka began, but was interrupted by the secretary.

"Um...are you Y/n's family?" She asked, peeking out of the office. Kaz and the rest of the crows nodded, and she said, "I need the father to come in, please."

"That would be something you don't want to do," Nina interjected. "Unless you want another fistfight on your hands."

She looked defeated, and replied, "Just- just decide amongst yourselves who is to come in."

They all looked at each other, and you facepalmed. You did regret it immediately, though, as your eye throbbed thanks to the bruise on it.

“Please, honestly, we just really need the fathers here,” said the young woman. Seeing their incredulous glares, she added, “I don’t make the rules.”

You tentatively gave Kaz a quick hug, before running back to the chair you'd sat in. He looked at you in a way that made your skin prickle with unhappiness

“Little crow…” Nina sighed, shaking her head. “You’re just like Kaz. Can’t back down from a fight.”

“Hey, he started it!” You scoffed, glaring at Alby, who stuck his tongue out at you.

You suddenly heard raised voices inside the office and shrank back against your seat, looking a little afraid. You’d never heard Kaz raise his voice like that, atleast not in front of you. To be honest, it terrified you to imagine your normally calm father standing there in front of Rollins, his eyes blazing and gripping his cane hard.

“Little crow, you’ve got a bruised rib!” Gasped Nina. “How did this happen?”

“He kicked me," you mumbled, pointing at Alby. The boy glared at you again, and you heard him scoff something which sounded like 'tattletale'.

Jesper knelt in front of you while Nina attempted to heal your bruised rib, and asked, "Did you win, little crow?"

You grinned and nodded, "Yeah, I did."

Wylan immediately smacked his boyfriend upside the head and scowled, "Jesper Llewellyn Fahey, we will not encourage this behaviour," he looked at you and sighed, "Y/n, I'm really disappointed in your decision today. Why did you hit back?"

"Because he--OW!" You exclaimed as Nina made a sharp turn of her wrists, fixing the rib which you'd bruised. "Auntie Nina, that hurt!" You glared at her.

"Listen to your Uncle, little crow," she frowned. "He's right. You shouldn't have hit back."

"He called me barrel trash. Why am I in the wrong here? Besides, I had apologised for bumping into him, and he just had to insult me." You scoffed at them all. "Papa would've understood."

"My little crow," Jesper spoke after a long time, startling you. "If someone decides to stoop that low, you have to control your own emotions and walk away."

"You guys fight people on a daily basis," you grumbled. "It's quite hypocritical for you to say that."

You were honestly livid with their behaviour, thinking they'd support your decision, but the more they spoke, the more you wanted to throw and break something.

You slouched in your chair and noticed Alby sticking his tongue out at you, as the crows looked at each other, their telepathic adult conversation going back and forth.

The secretary came in and gestured for you and Alby, saying, "Kids, the Principal wants to see you."

You stood up and glared at the rest of your family, who simply looked back at you the way grown-ups do when they want to make a point. You had no idea why they were against you on this, and felt another surge of anger go through you at their expressions.

Inside the office, you sat quietly next to Kaz, who was seething with anger. His rage wafted off him in waves, which made you scoot your chair as far away from him as you could. His eyes blazed with fury as he looked at Pekka, who held his son's shoulder as the boy sat down.

"Children," the Principal said gently, looking at the two of you. "Could you care to explain exactly what happened? Let's start with you, Y/n, dear."

You tried not to cringe at her tone. She spoke as if you both were in kindergarten.

"Well," you said, thoroughly tired of having to narrate the story over and over. "I was playing tag with my friends and I didn't hear Rollins behind me, so I bumped into him by accident. Naturally, I apologised, but he just had to hit me and call me 'barrel trash' and continued to bully me about my background, and he got physical, so I responded in self-defense."

“See, Mr. Rollins, I suggest you try to control the language you use around your child,” sighed the Principal, looking at the man.

“Yes,” said Kaz, his voice stone cold. “Preferably teach him not to mess with her.”

“Keep that mouth of yours shut, Brekker,” growled Pekka. “My son would never say such things! He doesn’t do it at home, why would he do it outside?”

“I can call one of our students in to confirm, if you’d like, Mr. Rollins,” the principal replied pointedly. She hated it when fathers excused their sons behaviour when they were so obviously in the wrong.

You glared at Alby, “Confess else I’ll do more than just bruise your eye. We both know what you did.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he scoffed. “She pushed me and just began hitting when I asked her to watch where she was going.”

“That’s a lie!” You shouted. Kaz rested the tip of his cane on your shoulder to warn you not to get up, for he noticed you tensing to hit again.

“We are dishing out a week-long suspension to you, Alby Rollins,” said the Principal, writing him a slip. “For starting a fight, greviously injuring another student, and for name-calling as well as bullying on the basis of their background.”

“You can’t do that!” Gasped Pekka.

“I run this school, Rollins,” said the woman, handing him a signed slip. “I do what I want. And I want to ensure your son doesn’t repeat this concerning behaviour again, because if he does, then he certainly will not have any place here.”

“Looks like you’ve lost this fight, Rollins.” Your father smirked at him.

“As for you, Y/n Brekker, I’ll be giving you a two-day suspension for retaliating instead of telling a teacher. Physical fights are not tolerated here. Please go to an adult the next time someone does something like this,” she wrote you a slip as well and handed it to your father, who looked at you angrily. It made you shrink in your seat, and you hastily avoided eye contact.

You exited the office with Kaz, your eyes trained on the floor. You didn't want to meet the furious eyes of your family members, and knew no one would really sympathise with you.

The carriage ride, too, was spent in silence, with Kaz glaring at you, his breath coming out in barely controlled huffs, while Jesper made futile attempts to lighten things up.

Back home, you waited for your father to start yelling. And he did.

"Why would you take a challenge with Pekka's son, when I specifically told you not to?!" Kaz bellowed, livid.

"H-he started it..." you said in a small voice, eyes fixated on the floor, while the other crows settled around the living room. You knew you had messed up, but did it really warrant this reaction?

Your father scoffed, his hands gripping his cane tightly. "Does that mean you will fight back? How many times must I tell you? Never interact with a Rollins!"

"But...but he called me Barrel trash and so many more names..." you replied in the same voice, not wanting to move at all, but at the same time, your whole body trembled as your defense mechanism to run kicked in.

"So you hit him?!" This time it was Wylan who spoke up.

"He hit me first!" You exclaimed, sick of being told that statement.

"And you hit back?!" Nina interjected. You met your aunt's green eyes which held an anger you had never seen before, and it terrified you. "Come on, Y/n!"

"But--but--" You stuttered, however, no one wanted to listen.

"Y/n," said Kaz, his eyes on you. "Why did you have to react? Do you realise how far this has escalated?"

"N-no..." you replied. And you actually didn't. From the time you'd started going to the local school, Kaz always told you to stay away from Alby, but he never told you why. You knew he had a feud with Pekka, so what did that possibly have to do with you?

"What part of stay away from Alby Rollins was unclear?" Kaz seethed, his body tense and taut as a bow string, while his grip on the cane increased drastically.

"He bruised my ribs," you choked out, finally gathering some courage. "He kicked me, insulted me, insulted you, made me look like an idiot in front of my entire school, and you wonder why I hit him back?"

Kaz took a step towards you, but you flinched away, afraid. A look of shock passed over all their faces at your reaction, and Kaz looked hurt.

"Why can't you just understand?" You sniffled and ran up the stairs to your room, slamming the door shut and curling up on your bed to cry softly. Your eye still hurt, as did your ribs, and everything Alby said echoed in your mind.

A soft voice came from outside the door, in a language which was gentle on your ears.

"Little crow?" Inej asked, her voice muffled through the wood of the doorway, speaking in clear Suli. "Can we talk?"

"No," you scowled, replying in Suli. "Go away."

"I'm on your side, my crow," she said gently. "But please, talk to me."

You sighed and opened the door, letting her in.

She came inside and sat on your bed, beckoning you to sit beside her. By force of habit, you did so and laid your head in her lap while her calloused hands stroked your hair comfortingly.

"Why can't any of them just understand?" You said, tears welling up in your eyes again. “I didn’t hit him just because I wanted to, I just was trying to defend myself…”

“I know, my little crow,” she said, “their reaction was way too uncalled for, but you see, your father just wants to protect you. Kaz and Pekka have had this feud going since a while now, and he just doesn’t want things to escalate. It might warrant your involvement, and he definitely doesn’t want that.”

You exhaled deeply and looked up at her. “I shouldn’t have hit him that bad, I know. I just—I felt so disrespected and so…pathetic…I didn’t know what else to do!”

“Look,” she said, “People will say what they want. As a female, and as someone from a slightly less privileged background compared to others, you’re bound to face this. People with closed mindset’s will treat you this way, and you have to develop a thicker skin as much as they have to recalibrate their way of thinking.”

“I think Ill go apologise to Papa, then…and to Auntie Nina. And Uncle Jesper and Wylan…” you trailed off. “I love you, Auntie Nej.”

“And I, you, my little crow.” She grinned and leaned down to press a soft kiss to your head.

You walked downstairs again with her and stood in front of the crows, who were assembled on the couch. You inhaled deeply and said, “I’m sorry for reacting like that. I know it was wrong of me to hit Alby, and Ill work on my temper a lot more from now on.”

“I’m sorry too, little crow,” replied Kaz. “I am aware that you don’t know what goes on amongst the adults and it was definitely wrong of me to assume you could figure it out.”

You nodded and went over to him, giving him a big hug, whispering, “It’s okay, Papa,” in his ear. The rest of the crows fell atop you two in a group hug, with both Nina and Jesper crying.

“So…as a way to shake off the horribleness of today…” Nina suggested when you all collected yourselves, “Why don’t we all go to the Kooperom for tea?”

“I could use a good plate of pie, to be honest,” said Jesper.

“Same,” you grinned, turning around in Kaz’s lap.

“Alright, grab your coats and let’s go,” smiled Inej, doing exactly that.

So, you all let go of your old anger and enjoyed together, laughing over plates of waffles and cups of tea till the sun began to set and the clouds turned grey with the onset of night…

———

I hope you all enjoyed this one <3

#shadow and bone #nina zenik #jesper fahey #inej ghafa #wylan van eck #kaz brekker #fluff #little crow series #six of crows #fem!reader #child!reader

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