#I wasn't expecting to have anything to publish this week

[stxrvel]

the outbreak

summary: your bruised heart and shattered mind have feelings for Bucky and you had planned to tell him very soon, however, the disastrous outcome of the last mission and a heated argument make you think the best option was to keep quiet.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

words: 8k or so

warnings: implicit reference of suicidal thoughts, some suicidal accusations, maybe like get your shit together kind of stuff, a lot of bad words, angst. there's just no happy endings in this account. mentions to explosions. also, there's a plot in the plot? that kinda got there out of nowhere, but i liked the way it turned out. probably do a second part later.

note: hey! i can't believe I actually managed to get one thing done and ready to be published in one day, i think i got lucky. im still working on the next part of how to break a routine in one year but it's been a rough journey, i don't know how it would end up in the end. still hope you like this and know that feedback is really appreciated! really love reading your comments and opinions 💜

1.5, part 2!

You were static all the way back to the Complex. Your ears were still ringing from the vibrations of the bombs that exploded near you and which, by sheer luck, didn't cause your death. You couldn't look up from your clasped hands and you couldn't shake the chagrin in your chest that hadn't left you since you saw the look on Bucky Barnes' face when you were found in the rubble.

It was supposed to be a simple mission. Extraction of information, no more than five hours and you would return to the Complex. But it got complicated when you were ambushed, as if they were already expecting an Avengers team to show up in that building and they were ready for anything. You weren't supposed to face anything that day, otherwise you wouldn't have gone on the mission in the first place.

You knew you were always going to be the team's priority when they went on an extraction mission, whether it was information or people. You weren't the most skilled or the most resourceful, so the team had to keep their eyes on you and the mission objective. That in itself felt like a burden, so you always tried to just do your job and not complicate things for the others.

This time, however, you couldn't keep yourself safe, not even despite the orders given to you by the team and the mission leader: Bucky. You were casually perusing the shelves of a room where you knew the information they were looking for, which was vital to knowing the enemy you were dealing with at the moment, was to be found. You were so close to getting it that electricity surged through your limbs and little shots of adrenaline coursed through your body.

But, at that moment, Bucky's voice reached your hearing.

“Y/N, get out of there right now and meet Wanda on the first floor.”

“Hold on a second. I've almost got it.”

“I told you to get out of there right now. It wasn't a goddamn recommendation.”

“Can't you wait a second, Bucky? This is the key to everything and you know it.”

“I don't give a fuck about those documents, Y/N! Get out of there right now!”

And you should have listened to him. You should have listened to him the first time. But you always had this constant need to prove yourself, to make your time count for others and for them to notice that you were worth something. That you weren't a burden on the team. For a while the line of that goal was blurred, you didn't know if you were trying to convince them or yourself. On that occasion, you decided to make the decision to prove your worth and stay to find out what they had spent weeks focusing their time on.

“Fuck,” you heard Bucky curse. “Wanda, can you come in for-?”

The sound of a large explosion caused horrible interference on the team's communicators.

Sadly, until that moment you understood that maybe you should have listened to the team leader. Still, you held your place for a few more seconds until you found your target. But it was too late by the time the building began to shake.

It had taken the team about twenty-five minutes to find you. They didn't even know how you had survived.

“Bucky, what happened in-?”

“I'll give the mission report to Fury later,” the man cut off Steve Rogers' words, walking past him without giving him a glance, and continued on his way straight to the entrance of the Complex.

Steve turned his gaze until his eyes rested on yours. You felt like you had a lot of words stuck in your throat, a lot of overflowing feelings that you couldn't control. You just looked down again and approached him to hand over the mission objective. For which you risked your life almost without thinking. Then you walked straight back to your little room and didn't leave for the rest of the day.

---

Your friendship with Bucky was great. From the moment you joined the group, he was the person you hit it off with the fastest, surprising almost everyone on the team. Even before you got to know Bucky, even though you didn't consider yourself an outgoing person, you would tell him stories about your day and mundane things you did every day. At first you didn't even know if the man was listening to you, you just knew he was there and never left until you were done talking.

The situation wasn't so bad. You were used to talking to yourself since you started living on your own, a couple of years before you joined the team. Sometimes when Bucky came into the kitchen or appeared in the living room, you were already mumbling to yourself about something.

For a while you never knew why he stayed to listen to you.

And months went by like that. Each time you would show up wherever he was or he would show up wherever you were and you would just tell him something. A story from your childhood, a story from your grandparents' lives, a news item from around the world, an extremely strange and bizarre fun fact.

That little interaction was something you quickly got used to.

That is, until outsiders had to dip their spoon in and stick ideas that didn't belong in your head. Ideas you weren't supposed to have or even consider once. You knew it, but you learned it again the hard way.

“Have you seen Bucky today?” you asked Sam Wilson once when you walked into the kitchen.

“No,” the man quickly replied, finishing his coffee.

You pursed your lips and were already on your way back to look for him elsewhere when Sam's voice reached your ears again.

“You hit it off pretty quick with him, huh? I thought he was a tough nut to crack.”

“Don't talk about him as a thing. And it's really not that complicated to get to know him. You just have to make an effort and not push.”

“Roger that, Captain,” Sam smiled and took a sip of his coffee.

Hearing that lit a light bulb in your head.

“And have you seen Steve?”

Sam shook his head as he lowered his mug to rest it on the kitchen counter. “No. They must be together because I haven't seen them since yesterday. Maybe they went out on a mission?”

You nodded at his words, thoughtfully.

“But he didn't tell me he had to leave today…” you mumbled, but it reached Sam's ears.

“Does he usually tell you what he does in the day, too?”

You turned to look at him, distracted.

“Something like that. He only does that when I ask him to go shopping with me.”

“He goes shopping with you? Really?”

“Sure,” you quickly replied focusing all your attention on his surprised face. “It's a dangerous world for women, you know? I can't take chances.”

“Clint goes shopping once a month. You've never ordered from him?”

“No, I like to walk around the supermarkets and look at every single thing on the shelves. Clint is very fast and boring.”

“Ah, so the only person you feel comfortable with at those times is Bucky.”

You shook your head in a nod, completely unaware of what the man was trying to imply with his words.

“Natasha once accompanied me, but because she flashed the knife hidden on her hip at every man who saw us for more than five seconds, she was banned from more than seven venues and the police were almost called.”

“Mmm,” Sam nodded. “Sounds very much in keeping.”

“So yeah, that's why Bucky is my shopping buddy. Steve is very inquisitive, Tony brags every two minutes about how quick and easy he could do the market from the app on his phone, Wanda gets lost in the movie section and I can hardly ever get her out and you just don't shop because you leave it all to Clint.”

“And Bruce?”

“He leaves a list for Clint or asks FRIDAY to take note of every time he says he needs something so she can forward it to Clint.”

“Wow, who knew the Avengers were such bad shopping buddies.”

“Yeah. Bucky just walks with me, reaches for things that are too high and does his own shopping quietly. Or sometimes we chat. About shopping stuff.”

“That's very domestic of him.”

You let out a short laugh, agreeing with his description. It was something you thought about from time to time.

“Bucky is a very domestic person, actually.”

“You seem to know him well.”

“Maybe so. Only from what I can see of him by his actions.”

“He's not very active with you in talks then.”

“Not very much. But if you can get to know him well, it's easy to tell what he means just by his behaviors.”

Sam gave you a nod, his coffee on the counter long forgotten.

Then, as if his mind hadn't processed what he meant, out of his mouth came the last words you would have wanted to hear in the world.

“You two would make a good couple.”

You snapped out of your head for a moment, almost abruptly. You turned to look at him as if he had a magnet that attracted your gaze and you almost pulled a lung out of your chest from how loudly you snorted at those words. That man had lost his mind.

“What?”

“What?” Sam repeated, his brow furrowing without losing the hint of amusement it caused him to see you so flustered for saying something so mundane. “It's no secret to anyone that you're the person he spends the most time with in the entire Complex. You do a lot of things together, including shopping. Like a couple would. You know what? You already act like a couple even if it's not official.”

“You have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Oh, but I do have an idea. We all have eyes here, Y/N. It's not hard to notice the look in both of our eyes when-”

“All right, that's enough!” you exclaimed, and Sam just shrugged. “I don't want you ever hinting like that again, is that clear?”

And he didn't do it again. But you should have paid more attention when he spoke in the plural. Even though he was the first, he wasn't the only one to express his opinion freely about your friendly relationship with Bucky when you didn't ask for it. It was as if Sam unleashed a horde of unwanted comments about the normal, domestic things you did with Bucky.

It wasn't long before you began to feel uncomfortable when the two of you were in some room in the Complex with some third party who was intruding.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asked you once you were in the common room of the Complex.

You remembered turning to look at him in bewilderment as you snapped out of your cloud of thoughts. You saw him sitting next to you, a safe distance away. Like two normal friends. You were telling him a story your mother had told you about your grandmother many years ago when you felt a look on your face. You ignored it at first completely because you were too engrossed in your story and felt you didn't care if anyone else came into the room.

But then you met Clint's eyes. And everything went into a tailspin.

“Yeah. All good,” you shook your head trying to play it down, but you underestimated Bucky's knowledge of you. “Why?”

“You were quiet.”

“For less than ten seconds,” you let out a nervous laugh. In that moment you felt like a pressure cooker, your mind moving anxiously like the lid blowing the air out.

You noticed out of the corner of your eye that Bucky averted his gaze and you turned to look at him to realise that he had focused his attention on the person sitting in one of the far armchairs with a comic book in his hands. He looked so deep in concentration that his presence in the room was barely noticeable.

“Does it bother you that Clint is here?”

“What?” you exclaimed, suddenly a little louder than you should have. “No, of course not, why would it bother me?”

Bucky arched an eyebrow.

“That's what I'm trying to understand.”

His unwavering expression couldn't give you any answer as to what was going through his head. You mentally berated yourself for trying to find out something you didn't want to know, that you shouldn't even be considering.

“Even if it bothered me that Clint was here, why would that be relevant?”

The man next to you raised his eyebrows as if you'd asked the question with the most obvious answer in the world.

“Because you're uncomfortable.”

You frowned.

“Do you care that much that I'm uncomfortable?”

“Yes, because you haven't finished the story. I still don't know what happened to the chicken.”

His words left your mind blank for a few seconds. You didn't know whether to be flattered, because he seemed genuinely interested in what you were telling him, or offended because he seemed to take it only as a method of entertainment. Either way, the important thing was that you had his attention, right?

Oh, no. No, no, no.

You were suddenly annoyed to realise that your thoughts were taking the wrong turn, being fully influenced by the words Sam and the others had let out about your relationship with Bucky. You couldn't allow yourself to drift slowly into a place you didn't want to return to, because you knew well the consequences and side effects. Even though sometimes you felt you were already in that place.

You were fine with the way you were, nothing else mattered. You were fine with the way you were, nothing else mattered. You were fine just with the way you were, nothing else mattered….

“Do you want to go somewhere else?”

“You know this is the longest conversation we've ever had?”

Impulsively you changed the topic of conversation. And you knew Bucky had noticed by the way his eyes narrowed and he didn't say anything for a few seconds. You stood in silence, a small staring battle, Bucky trying to make you give in, until he let out an exhausted sigh and averted his gaze.

“It's not the longest conversation.”

“Yes, it is. You talked to me more than five times.”

Bucky let out a short disbelieving laugh, his head jerking in rhythm with the sound coming out of his mouth. You watched him carefully for the duration of the gesture, because it wasn't something that happened very often.

“I'm sure we've had longer conversations.”

“The monosyllables you answer me with at the mall don't count.”

Bucky let out a breath and his lips pressed into a thin line. It was your turn to laugh, genuinely amused. His eyes flickered up to meet yours.

“You give yourself a lot more credit than you should,” you told him after a while, when your laughter had subsided and his expression was more serene.

“Yeah, whatever,” he mumbled. “What happened to the chicken?”

Over time, you learned to manage your awkwardness so that Bucky wouldn't suspect your uncomfortable behaviour and avoid questions you didn't want to answer. Sometimes, you thought you were excellent at hiding what your body wanted to show with its language, and other times you felt that Bucky just didn't bring up the subject to avoid making you even more uncomfortable. But surely he wanted to ask.

So that was the routine you usually had. It wasn't strange for anyone to see you walking around the Complex together or going out together, and it wasn't strange for you to see everyone with knowing smiles as you passed each other.

Even though it was difficult, you felt you coped well. Always ignoring that voice in the back of your head that tried to alert you that something had happened in the feeling system. If you just ignored it, then it was nothing.

Everything was still relatively normal.

Until that damned mission where you decided not to listen to him.

It had been a week since the incident and if Bucky had looked at you at least once when you were in the same place, that was a lot to say.

Sam had tried to ask you several times what had happened on the mission and why Bucky didn't even acknowledge your presence when sometimes you were right next to him, but you were never able to answer him. You didn't want to talk about it when every time you remembered the cold look he'd given you the moment Wanda removed the chunk of concrete that had almost fallen on top of you, only being cushioned by the wall you'd stuck to before it all came crashing down. His light eyes had always felt warm, made you feel welcome to him the moment you wanted to enter, but in that instant his eyes were watching you as if he wanted you to disappear from the face of the earth.

You couldn't bear the memory. Not when you were already used to his presence and his silences; to his short laughs and mumbled answers. Not when you were already starting to feel comfortable with the ideas you were getting in your head despite trying to convince yourself otherwise; that maybe Sam and the others weren't so wrong. That maybe… they might be right.

But they were just that. Ideas. Stupid thoughts that were going around in your head to salve your poor heart.

Ever since you came back from the mission, you knew how unlikely it was that everyone else was right. The only thing they saw between the two of you, that they talked about so much, was your own feelings bouncing off all the walls that Bucky had and that he hadn't dropped at any point like you thought he had. It was only the reflection of your adoration for him in his eyes. There was never really anything about him that gave them to understand that he felt the same way you did about him, it was only the extent of your love that covered him too.

But nothing was ever really reciprocated.

And coming to that conclusion wasn't as difficult as you thought it would be.

Being hopeful wasn't your style. Although you were always cheerful and tried to put your best face to the world, you weren't one to fall easily for the words and actions of others. That's why you kept your relationship with Bucky at bay for so long, because you knew it wasn't possible for him to see you with the love you longed to give him. You were always sure. But then, and you didn't really know how you got to that point, you began to think that, if other people could see it so clearly, then suddenly it might be true. Maybe Bucky could return your feelings and then the world wasn't just black and white.

Wrong.

For a moment you allowed yourself to forget and let your defences down for that little flame of hope, even though you knew you shouldn't have, that you hadn't done it in years for something and it didn't have to be any different this time. You did, and it was a mistake.

“So, what do you say?”

You raised your head to look at Wanda's expectant face. Her raised eyebrows and the way she moved her hands in her lap gave you a hint that she was feeling nervous. She was trying to hide it, but you could also see that she was a little afraid. Her light, barely perceptible voice gave you the feeling that she was afraid of unleashing a storm with her conjectures.

“That it's crazy.”

“It's definitely crazy,” the woman in front of you sighed, her eyes drifting from your figure to her surroundings trying to deal with the weight of the revelations she'd had these past few days.

Your body leaned against the armchair behind you, and you lowered your head until you could look at the book lying on your crossed legs. You looked at the letters and frowned as you tried to understand again what it was all about.

“That could also be just a story.”

“I don't think so,” Wanda mused, then raised her head to look at you. “There's a reason these books are here.”

“Yeah, just like there's a reason for us not to be in here.”

“Then why did you follow me?”

Wanda crossed her arms under her chest, an annoyed expression taking over her face.

“I didn't think you were going to show me something like this,” you admitted, taking the book in your hands and running your eyes over the text and figures once more. “I didn't even think it was possible.”

“I told you my dreams were starting to become more accurate.”

You shook your head in a nod, your mind trying to figure out what that could mean for your friend's future. You knew it was possible that Wanda was doing her best not to see the whole horizon of negative possibilities emerging from that situation, but you were also aware of the weight she must be feeling with all those thoughts running through her head coupled with the likelihood of not having an answer. Your head schemed for a possible solution that might not be welcome.

“Why don't you go talk to Strange?”

Wanda twisted her lips, the reaction you expected.

“I get the impression that the first thing he'd do would be to lock me in his magical dungeon.”

You wanted to contradict her, but it was partly true. You knew Strange to be a man who didn't see nuance in black and white. It was only about good and bad, with no in-between. But you suggested it because he was the only person besides Wanda who knew as much about magic and sorcery as she did, even more thanks to the position he held. His methods were questionable, probably, but the range of his knowledge was something greater than either of you could question.

You closed the book and ran your fingers over the material of its cover, so stiff and dirty that you could barely even try to guess what century it was from.

“Even if what this book says is true, we don't have the original book to confirm it. We don't even know if it exists.”

“The Darkhold is real,” Wanda contradicted you almost immediately, and the certainty in her voice sent a shiver down your spine.

“What, you've seen it in dreams too?”

When Wanda averted her eyes from yours, you had to restrain the urge to hit her over the head with the book you were holding.

“Wanda!”

“I'm sorry!”

You saw her quickly get up from the floor and start walking around the place you had taken over in the library you were in. From the outside, it looked like a small room with a few shelves full of books, but the further you went in, the less it seemed like it would have any end to it. It was one of the largest rooms in the Complex. And, courtesy of Wanda, you now knew that it was the only room with another hidden room that almost ninety-five percent of the Complex staff were barred from entering. You were convinced that only the Director, Maria Hill, Tony Stark and Stephen Strange were allowed in there.

Now, how could Wanda concentrate enough energy to find and open the hidden entrance to that place? A complete mystery to you.

“The Darkhold was the first thing I saw before my dreams started getting weird. It was only a couple of weeks ago.”

“After you dreamt about it, you started having the lucid dreams?”

“Yes, it was very strange,” Wanda shook her head and stopped her feet in front of you, her expression thoughtful as if her mind was conjuring up all her dreams at once. “Sometimes I dream things where I'm sure it's me, that if I looked in a mirror I'd be sure it was me. But other times, I feel like my dream is focused on showing me someone else's memories. Like I'm inside someone else's mind… but that person is me.”

The woman looked at you, her face contracted in confusion and exhaustion.

“Why didn't you tell me this before?”

Wanda sat back down on the floor in front of you, her legs crossed and her elbows resting on her knees. You watched her run her hands over her face repeatedly before answering.

“I didn't want to worry you. I didn't want to worry anyone. At first I had thought this was too crazy for anyone to believe me, but when I came here and found that book I started to fear for myself. I didn't want to get locked up if anyone found out.”

“Don't say that. No one's going to lock you up.”

You threw the book with the stiff cover somewhere on the floor and moved from your spot to approach your friend. You didn't hesitate for a second to wrap her in your arms and squeeze her against your body.

You didn't know how you had gone so many days without noticing the tiredness in her eyes and the dark bags under her eyes. You'd been so wrapped up in your own head that you hadn't even been able to notice when something was eating away at your friend's sanity. Being one of those things… mhm, you know….

“Don't worry. You're not going to go crazy and want to rule the universe. That sounds too surreal.”

“I'd like to know if my dreams are fabrications or visions.”

You turned away from the woman, your brows furrowing at the implication of her words.

“You're not going to become what that book says.”

“But what if…?”

“No, Wanda.”

“What if it's tipping me off?”

“And who's doing it?” you inquired as you sat back on your heels, your gaze focused on your friend's obfuscated expression. “The Darkhold? Some silly alternate version of yourself from another universe? Now that's crazy!”

Wanda turned her head away and her shoulders slumped.

“That would mean my dreams are unexplained. They're just dreams.”

“Maybe that's for the best. Even the multiverse theory hasn't been proven enough for us to conjecture beyond our own reality.”

“Still, isn't it strange?”

“Of course it is. It's just too weird. I just meant that it doesn't mean you're destined to become that bizarre alter ego.”

You saw her press her lips into a line, then nod her head slightly. She didn't really look convinced, and neither were you, to be honest. Of everything she had told you, you couldn't understand half of it, and the other half you could barely believe was true. The magic was a few levels above your understanding of reality and altering it all in a few minutes was proving to be a really complicated job.

Still, seeing her anguished face at the possibility of what her dreams and that book implied, you knew you had to say something to try to calm the thoughts in her head. Even if it was something tiny that couldn't even come close to being true. You couldn't let those evil ideas fill her head and make her think she was some kind of villain when it couldn't be further from the truth.

If that was the future, it wasn't the future of the Wanda in front of you, her gaze lost and her eyes full of fear. Someone who worried like that about what might happen, even if she wasn't completely convinced of it, only thinking of the slightest possibility, couldn't have an ounce of evil in her.

“Maybe you're right-”

“What the fuck are you two doing here?”

You cringed as you heard a new voice join in the room when you hadn't even heard the footsteps of anyone approaching. Least of all from the two people who had just appeared down the same path you and Wanda had come down.

“Uhm…”

Your voice came out shaky, not at the prospect of receiving yet another punishment for being in a forbidden place for the level you were at as an agent, you'd already seen that coming, but because standing next to a very angry Tony Stark was Bucky. And he was staring at you so hard you feared he might punch a hole in your soul.

You felt Wanda's gaze on you. You turned to see her slowly, as if making any sudden movements would upset the bundle of fury in front of you. You could almost see the veins in her forehead pop.

With one glance, you knew that Wanda had no idea that the room had any kind of sensor. Even though it would make sense for it to have one, it would be illogical because it's a door hidden with magic. Normal people wouldn't notice it by looking through matter or something.

Nevertheless, it was magic that was what it was all about. Surely Strange would have some magical failsafe, kind of.

“None of you are going to respond?”

“I believe the situation responds on its own,” Wanda answered him, and Tony's dark eyes settled on her in a matter of seconds.

For a moment you thought his face had faltered, that his expression had slumped, but just as quickly you noticed, just as quickly it was gone.

Then, his gaze wandered across the floor where you stood with a number of books around you, until it settled on the book you had been reading moments before his arrival. You hadn't realised where it had fallen when you threw it when you got up to hug Wanda, but that must have been your lucky day because it was far enough away to make him think that it had only been taken out, but not opened.

Tony moved quickly to take the book in his hands and then gave you a wary look.

“Did you open this?”

As if we were going to say yes.

“No,” you replied quickly, averting your gaze from the frozen man behind Tony.

“Good.”

You watched him tuck the small, stiff book into his jacket before glancing back at the mess of books on the floor.

“Move along. Strange isn't going to be happy.”

The two men moved sideways, clearing the way for you and Wanda to exit the way you came.

Without a second's hesitation, you both got up and started walking in the direction of the exit.

“How the hell did you know where the entrance was?” Tony questioned Wanda once you were all out of the hidden room, and the aforementioned turned around to watch the door slam shut before disappearing.

"I guess I got lucky."

Tony clicked his tongue, but said nothing more. He turned on his heels to begin his walk towards the library exit followed by Bucky who clearly didn't give you a single word other than judging looks.

Wanda nudged you lightly with her body, the previous topic almost completely forgotten, with a half smile on her face. You didn't know if it was good to drop the subject so spontaneously, but you did know that you didn't want her to continue to have those thoughts running through her head.

“You haven't spoken to Bucky?”

“I'm puzzled that the subject is funny to you.”

“I'm not amused,” Wanda tried to rectify, lowering her voice as she saw that the two men in front of her had stopped at the library exit. “But I don't think he's mad at you.”

“Today is your day of the wildest theories I've ever heard, how can he possibly not be mad at me?”

Wanda sighed and watched the back of the aforementioned, who was apparently talking to Steve Rogers.

“You scared us all that day. But Bucky was… terrified. I knew you were alive, and I told him, but he wouldn't believe me until he could see it with his own eyes. He was too scared at the time. And, to be honest, I think that scare made him realise something he doesn't want to accept now. That's probably why he's staying away from you.”

You watched your friend with narrowed eyes, your body turned in her direction.

“Did you get inside his head?”

“Of course not!”

“Because that's wildly accurate, Wanda. How can you conclude something like that just by looking at someone?”

“I've had a week to do it,” the woman waved her hand in the air, downplaying the matter before resuming her walk when the men up ahead finally moved. “And I happen to be very good at reading people's body language.”

“Yeah, right.”

Wanda grunted at your tone of voice.

“I really didn't get inside his head, Y/N. I swore I wouldn't do it again and I'm keeping my word.”

“Alright, let's say I believe you,” you agreed and turned to look at her just as she rolled her eyes at your words. “That's not reason enough to talk to him.”

“And why not?” Wanda raised her voice, quizzical. “I practically gave you the answer.”

“Knowing doesn't make things any easier, woman.”

Wanda let out a whine so loud and exaggerated that several of the people walking past her frowned at her.

“The real answer is to just talk to him. Do you know how many problems are solved a year just by talking?”

You shook your head in denial. “He's avoiding me-”

“And you seem to be okay with that.”

“I'm not.”

“Then why haven't you done anything to change it yet?”

You knew she was right, but to be honest and to no one's surprise, you didn't want to deal with the confrontation and find out that what you always thought and the reason you kept yourself on edge was true. Even though it clearly was. But to have the chance to hear it come from his mouth directly? You were definitely past having that experience. You no longer doubted that his feelings for you were as non-existent as you first thought and that you should never have listened to people's words, giving yourself false hope. You didn't want to face your own mind and the fact that you got into this heart trouble on your own when you had always been so cautious. Weighing the risk of Bucky pushing so far inside your head that you knew the real darkness was reason enough to be a little content with silence.

Talking to him would solve a percentage of the situation, the professional. You would apologise another thousand times for not listening to him during the mission, you would tell him that you would do everything in your power not to react that way again, and that was it. But the other percentage of the situation would not be resolved; the percentage that involves you more than him. Even if you apologise and he accepts your apology, nothing could assure you that things would go back to the way they were before, that you would go back to being attached to each other as you have been since you met.

And that should be good, because you could finally get away from him and get all those feelings off your chest and out of your mind like you should have done in the first place to avoid the eventuality of him suddenly knowing too much about you, but at the same time you didn't want to end something that could have been so good. Even without getting romantic, your friendship with Bucky was one of the things you cherished the most, and you didn't want to make yourself forget it as if it had never happened.

“What is it that scares you?”

“That I was right all along.”

Wanda gave you her reprimanding look and paused to stare at you with that scowl on her face. You inhaled sharply and stopped in front of her, watching her expectantly.

“I'll take Tony,” she blurted out suddenly, not wiping that expression off her face.

“What?”

“I'm taking him and you better hope that when we meet again you have good news.”

“What are you talking about?”

Without answering, Wanda turned her body and walked in the direction of the three men who had stopped once again to talk. Bucky and Tony had their backs to you, but you could see the typical serious expression disappear from Steve's face to give way to surprise the moment Wanda landed in the middle of him and Tony with a big smile.

The woman shared a few words with the stunned blond, before turning to Tony and sending you a fleeting glance over the man's shoulder.

“Don't you think you're keeping Strange waiting too long?”

“How did you know that he-?”

“I didn't. But you already gave me the answer. We'd better go now.”

Following her order, Wanda curled her arm around the arm of a paralyzed Tony and started walking, waving goodbye to the others.

“Bye, Y/N! Don't stand in the middle of the hallway!”

You cringed as the gaze of the people walking past you landed on you, and gritted your teeth as you saw Steve's gaze on you. Without a bit of disguise, Steve ran his gaze over you and then over Bucky and back again as if he was having a short circuit inside his head.

You weren't too far away to notice Bucky's stiff shoulders, and you guessed he was saying goodbye to Steve when the blond turned his gaze to watch him. Seconds later, the black-haired man started to walk the way Wanda had gone with Tony, but Steve stopped him before he took any more steps away from the tense atmosphere.

“Wait,” you heard Steve's voice and flinched as you watched Bucky look down to see the Captain's hand clutch his left arm, then look up and give him a look that you knew would have chilled you from head to toe, but Steve seemed to ignore it as if it was an everyday occurrence. “Actually, since I've got you two in one place, I need to talk to you.”

You watched the blond shake his head pointing to the door next to him then walk in his direction.

You followed them from a distance and closed the door behind you. It was one of the small common rooms around the Complex. You still remembered how surprised you had been when you first arrived to see how many clear work areas they had in that place. Of course, to house and protect the peace of mind of hundreds of workers.

Bucky slumped into one of the green armchairs carelessly and Steve stood on his feet in the middle of the room.

“I spoke to Fury this morning,” the blond began, alternating his gaze between the two of you. “You'll be back on a mission next week.”

You raised your head expecting to see that Steve was referring to Bucky, but no. He was staring at you from his position.

“So soon?”

“What do I have to do with this?”

You and Bucky spoke at the same time, and you couldn't hide the pain that settled in your chest hard as you heard those were the first words you'd heard from him in seven days.

Steve pursed his lips and alternated his gaze again before speaking again.

“Fury agreed to let you go on the mission after a recon team inspects the site in case of possible attacks.”

You nodded slightly. That was a little ugly to hear, too. Just a little.

“You'll go with Clint and Bucky on the mission.”

You were expecting those words to come out of his mouth because there was no other reason to have locked them both in here. What you didn't expect (though you should have) was to see Bucky roll his eyes and drop his head on the back of the couch in the most horrible gesture of disgust and ennui you'd ever seen from him since you'd known him. During this week of being a zero to the left for the aforementioned, you'd noticed that Bucky was very expressive when he wanted someone to realise that they were strongly hated by him.

It wasn't something you wanted to know, really.

“Clint will be the backup so he'll stay inside the Quinjet flying over the structure in case of a possible attack. You and Y/N are going to enter the building and perform the extraction of one person.”

One person? That was new. You could hardly remember the last time you'd had such a mission.

“Why did he pick me?”

“I have no idea, Buck. He just gave me the order to tell you.”

“Who's the person we're supposed to extract?”

“That I don't know,” Steve replied. “Fury was very cautious with the information. Any minute now the report should reach you.”

“And you're busy?” Bucky asked again, his gaze focused solely on the blond standing in front of him.

At the time, you hated what he was doing. You understood that he didn't want to go on that mission with you because he didn't feel comfortable or just didn't want to see you, but it cost him nothing to have a little, just a little compassion enough to not try to get rid of you and that mission right in front of you as if you weren't listening to him.

“Bucky…”

Steve sighed, but the man in front of him didn't soften his expression or make any pretense of taking back his words.

“If you've got a problem with this, you should go talk it over with Fury,” the blond recommended, not answering his question directly, sending him a hard glare before turning to look at you again. “See you later.”

You nodded in his direction and the man quickly left the room.

The silence that followed was deadly.

You watched the man continue to sit in that armchair, his jaw tense, his hands clenched and his eyes fixed on the wall in front of him. He was so still he looked like a statue. It was scary.

You tried to take a tentative step in his direction, but noticing your movement roused him from his trance and he stood up quickly. He let out a sigh and walked out of the room without looking at you.

You felt a kind of courage catch in your throat when you called out to him.

“Bucky.”

“No,” the man replied almost instantly, his body near the door turning violently to stare at you and point his index finger at you. The angry look he gave you made you regret all the decisions in your life that had brought you to that moment. “I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to hear your apology. I don't want anything from you.”

With each word he moved closer to you until you had to start backing away. You were too surprised at how he had exploded just hearing you call out to him. He must have had too much pent up. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to do this at the time.

“If you want to blow off steam, talk to a fucking wall. But don't come near me or try to fix something you broke with your bare hands.”

You felt the air that entered your body freeze your lungs. His piercing eyes and angry expression shattered any willpower you had collected since Steve left the room, but it was the way his voice broke as he was finishing speaking that took the words right out of your mouth.

“You could have simply listened to me and you didn't. That's all. There is nothing you can apologise for because you yourself decided, within your will, that your life mattered nothing compared to the goal of that fucking mission.”

His eyes wouldn't leave yours and you hated the way you felt the prior sting of tears make your vision blurrier each time because you didn't want to miss a single detail of his face. He was so angry, furious, disappointed and... desperate to let you know how you had made him feel.

“And I don't know if you do, but I don't see what excuse is good enough to justify that.”

The thread of tension you felt in the air was choking you and you didn't know what to do to stop the tears from escaping your eyes. You would have expected anything but such an explosion of rage against you. It wasn't normal for Bucky to have such outbursts, and it also seemed that he knew exactly what points to make because you suddenly felt helpless in the way he was exposing his thoughts about you. Which perhaps weren't far from the truth.

“I didn't want to give you an excuse,” you were barely able to reply, at the tense look he was giving you. Your mind was working hard to avoid touching on the subject he was apparently trying to bring up.

“I don't see how that's any better.”

“I just wanted to apologise. I know I was wrong, okay? I think about it every day since we got back and I know I made a mistake. But I didn't throw my life away by just thinking about accomplishing the mission.”

Bucky let out a raw, lazy laugh without a hint of humor. You felt a shiver run through your body and it was unwelcome.

“I bet you didn't even think about the possibility of getting out alive after you heard the first explosion and that didn't matter to you.”

“It wasn't like that!” you replied instantly, raising your voice to match his, your head suddenly panicking.

“You didn't care because you were only thinking about the mission!”

“But how could we come back empty-handed, Bucky!? All that effort and time to be left with nothing!? Wasn't that worse?”

“Of course not! What the fuck makes you think we'd prefer an inconclusive fucking lead on a team member's life?”

“For God's sake, Bucky Barnes!” you roared and turned away from the man, a wave of anger coursing through your body burning away any trace of sadness you might have felt just moments ago. You knew that feeling and it wasn't welcome. You knew this argument wasn't going to end well, but seeing the look on Bucky's face you knew he wasn't just going to walk away if you asked him to.

Even though your mind was focused on avoidance, you tried to prepare yourself for the possibility that you might end up saying things you shouldn't, too.

“And don't give me any fucking shit about how you knew everything was going to be okay because I don't believe you.”

“Well don't believe me,” you exclaimed turning to look at him. “Don't believe anything that comes out of my mouth if that's what you want. That's not going to erase the fact that I do regret not listening to you and risking my life like that.”

“Lies.”

You half-opened your lips, your face contorted in disbelief. It couldn't have been that easy for him…

“I just told you-”

“And less than twenty seconds ago you said how dare I even think about coming back empty-handed, instead of thinking about how I'd come back to tell the rest of the team that you were dead.”

“But I'm not dead.”

Bucky shook his head.

“Now, you're just telling me what I want to hear.”

“No, I'm telling you the truth.”

“You're not telling me anything, Y/N! Are you sorry for what you did? Good for you. But tell me something, would you do it differently if you had another chance?”

“What?”

“If you woke up tomorrow and we were on that mission again, me yelling at you to get out of the building, would you?”

You didn't even have to think twice to know the answer, but saying it out loud was much scarier than just being silent. Silence.

“I thought so.”

Still, even knowing you didn't have the upper hand in that fight, you tried to convince yourself otherwise.

“That doesn't explain anything, Bucky, I don't-”

“Stop lying already. If you really wanted to apologise to me you could have at least had the decency to tell the truth.”

“Fuck,” you muttered, the anger and irritability of your cowardice coming out to take it out on anyone but you. “You're a fucking genius then, aren't you? You know everything.”

“Well, it looks like you're the only one who doesn't.”

“You can't know what was going through my head at the time. You don't know everything!”

“Then fucking tell me: what were you thinking?”

Your mind went blank. And then words. Thoughts. Images. Nothing encouraging, nothing that would help your case. Again, fear came over you and you couldn't respond. You knew you were playing with fire, especially with him. Especially with the man who had learned to see beyond the cheerful, untroubled woman you were always trying to be.

“I was listening to you and I wanted to get out-”

“Then why didn't you?”

You didn't want him to keep pushing because you felt you wouldn't be able to keep running in the opposite direction. The weight of his words was more than the weight of your silence could bear. Silence.

“Now, with what face are you going to tell me you weren't lying?”

I'm sorry.

“This isn't fair.”

“Oh, so you're the one going through an injustice now. Funny.”

Your body felt his words hurt you, and too much, and instinctively your mind and your defence mechanisms leapt to take control of your words, even though you didn't mean to. Even though you knew you shouldn't because someone in that room was right and it wasn't you. Because you couldn't control the way your mind sought to get out and hide from the confrontations that questioned the way you lived. That was why you kept your distance. It was why you had boundaries with Bucky.

Damn the moment when you decided to believe what others said.

“Why does it matter now what happened back then? I'm here now, giving you an apology you don't want to accept just because I wanted to try to save what we had.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows and stood in a state of stupefaction for a few seconds. His eyes twitched and blinked rapidly as if his head didn't believe what he had heard and he mentally replayed it several times.

“What we had? What exactly did we have?”

“A friendship, Bucky! A mutual appreciation. A mutual respect.”

How you dare to talk about respect?

“Having a friendship implies that you worry and care about what the other person feels.”

Bucky watched you expectantly. His furious face gave no room for contradiction and you soon found yourself between a rock and a hard place. This man wasn't going to give up until he got what he wanted, and you didn't know how things would turn out when he did. You didn't speak, waiting for him to continue.

“When you were in that building, did you think about me, besides cursing me a thousand times for not letting you accomplish the mission while I was trying to save your life?”

Silence.

“Did you care, at any point, what would have become of me if you hadn't gotten out of that building?”

“Bucky, but that's not what-”

“Can you just answer…! Answer the fucking question.”

Silence.

“I… there was too much going on in my head at the same time.”

“But you weren't thinking about getting out of there!” he screamed.

“I thought I was a burden!" you screamed back, his hard stare breaking your self-control and you lowered your head. “I thought you always have to take care of me when I go on missions. I thought I don't really contribute anything important to the team. I thought I'd be a failure if I came back empty-handed when I was so close to making it. I thought… I thought nothing else mattered but accomplishing the mission.”

The last you admitted almost with shame. And though you struggled to think otherwise, your own mind accused you of not being strong enough to endure. You had to feel that shame because someone wasn't really supposed to know, not even for the fact that you had just admitted to him that you had crudely lied to him by excusing yourself behind a false apology, but because that was something that wasn't supposed to leave your head. Because they would always leave, they would abandon you, they wouldn't look back twice. And you were expectantly torn to see the moment when that would happen.

Bucky was just watching you. When you looked up to see him, you noticed that his angry expression had softened just a little. His gaze hovered over your figure for a few seconds until he let out a sigh.

“You've got a lot to work on, Y/N.”

And he left the room. You didn't try or think to stop him for a second. The stark truth of what you had said echoed off the walls and came back at you with such force that you feared it would tear you to pieces. But you did nothing about it. You let it come back because you didn't have the strength to move, you didn't have the strength to do more.

When you let your knees give way under the weight of your body, you curled up next to the couch and cried. You cried as if having said that to Bucky, finally getting those thoughts you tried every day to suppress out, had activated a little reason in your mind. As if, suddenly, you could no longer pretend that everything was all right and try to hide things behind a smile and a story.

You couldn't live your whole life believing that you could live behind a charade, after all.

[user2772636]

Douzième Fille

12th girl

××《☆》××

Having to be in pairs for a group project, two people with mixed feelings work together to create a presentation. Going into eachothers houses is easy until a certain cat wants to play cupid. Feelings erupt, and miscommunication has to be endured. A soccer game in the rain might prove that Descamps listens more than he should.

===

Joseph Descamps x Reader

Warnings: bullying (poor pichon), boys being boys, very confusing feelings, angst bcs of achilles and patroclus (maybe even joseph and reader???), miscommunication in the enemies to lovers department, swearing

This chapter has references to The Song of Achilles book (ik its not the right timeline, but we have to do this for the angst so bare w me)

===

===

Chapter three: He is half my soul, as the poets say

===

The scores of our exams are being published. I sit in my seat, eyes scanning the numbers and fingertips smoothing out the paper. Most of them are in the ranges of 12-16, which is good enough for me.

"As you know, this is a school where we like to experiment with new methods. Next week, we are going to try a new approach." I look up from my papers, interested in the proposal of something new.

"You're going to prepare a presentation, working in pairs. You'll be working with the classmate sitting next to you, and then you'll present your work in class together. And for a sense of free will, you can present about any subject. How does that sound?"

I look to the girl next to me. Her name was Louise. She's quiet most of the time and keeps to herself. I smile softly. She smiles back.

The teacher clears his throat, eyes on Descamps and Dupin. "You two, of which I already expect a chaotic presentation, will be paired with someone else." His eyes land on me and Louise. Please, no.

"Descamps and Pardine, Louise and Dupin. Please remember your partner." I internally groan, placing my head into my hands. I look to my side, already seeing Louise and Dupin waving to each other, Louise giggling. I groan again. I don't look at Descamps. He doesn't, either.

Pichon raises his hand. "What if we're sitting alone?" The class laughs. I look at Pichon in pity.

"Well, you can work with Ms. Sabiani." The teacher says in response.

"Look. Pichon is blushing. He's turned pink like a pig." Dupin says, and the class laughs again. Even Louise giggles. She likes him, it's obvious, but what is there to like? I roll my eyes.

"That's enough, Dupin." The teacher shouts at him, the smile on his face gone. Annick raises her hand.

"Do we really have to work in pairs?" She asks.

"That's the whole point." He answers. "And I'm warning you, half a pair's work will result in half the grade."

××《☆》××

As I walk down the stairs, I look up when I hear pigs oinking. I wasn't wrong. Descamps' group of friends are pigs.

When I spot Simone and Michèle in the bench under the tree, our usual spot, I make my way to them.

"Help me gain some decency to go up to Descamps and not punch him in the face." I groan as I sit on the bench with them.

"It's unfortunate for you. Our teacher could've picked anyone else." Michèle says, pity in her voice.

"Should I go talk to him now or later?" They don't answer because they see Descamps make his way towards us.

I fight the urge to start an argument with him. About anything, really. Just to get him to stay a bit longer. I clear my throat at the thought.

"Your place?" He says, now standing infront of us, hands in his pockets. I nod once, and he walks away.

"Thank god that was over quick." Something deep inside me knew I didn't mean that.

Jean Pierre walks towards us with a book in hand. I look at Simone with a teasing smile, but there's something in her eyes I can't really tell. Like she knows something.

"Here, this is yours." He hands Michèle the book. "I put it in my bag by mistake." Michèle thanks him. He walks away with a 'see you later'.

Michèle continues to complain to us about her grades. Simone sighs, mind floating away. I look at her confused. I'll ask her about it later.

I look towards Applebaum. We make eye contact, and I smile. He looks away, fear in his eyes. What's up with everyone today?

××《☆》××

In one of those rare moments, my parents are home for dinner. We sit in the dining table, enjoying our food.

"Someone's coming over tomorrow. I know you won't be here, but I thought it'd be better if you knew." I tell them, handing small bits of food to George.

"Oh? What will you be doing?" My father asks, cutting his food into smaller pieces.

"Group project. We'll probably just stay in my room." I pet George as he eats his food.

"Are we going to meet her even after the project?" My mother says, looking up from her food.

"He, actually. And no." This makes them pause, silence surronding the room. My father clears his throat.

"A boy? And both of you will be in your room?" He says, placing his elbows on the table.

I take time to process this. "Papa, no. It's not like that." I turn red in my seat. "Trust me, it's just a project. Nothing else."

"Of course we trust you. It's just, you know. You're a teen, and teens go through... stuff." My mother says, stuttering a bit. I cover my face with my hands.

"Mama, please don't make it weird." I groan.

"No, it's perfectly normal for your age. If you want, we can forget about it-" I cut her off.

"Yes, please. Forget about it." I cut my food aggressively, face as warm as my plate.

We stay quiet as we finish the rest of our dinner.

××《☆》××

"The league of nations, L.O.N..." I fade the rest of the discussion out, watching the way the sun rests on the trees leaves, the birds tending to themselves. Last nights conversation clouds my mind, and I catch myself smiling for no reason.

I sigh every time, biting my lip in my own embarrassment. I glance at Descamps. He's focusing on the lesson for once. Nothing will happen at my place, right?

He feels my gaze on him and gently turns his head. His eye meets mine, and there's a small quirk on the corner of his lip.

"Quiet at the back." Ms. Giraud calls out suddenly.

Descamps looks away. I purse my lips, something stirring in my chest. My breathing is faster, and I feel warmer. Have I gotten sick already?

Annick walks into the room, hair tousled and frizzy. Ms. Giraud shouts at her, and my ear drums are about to explode.

Ms. Giraud gives Annick detention, and with every word Annick said back, an hour or two more.

Ms. Giraud continues to piss me off every second of the day with her strictness and very clear jealousy towards Annick. She finally continues the discussion, and I (annoyingly) decide to finally listen.

××《☆》××

I wait right outside the gate for Descamps. He comes running to the gate but slows down when he sees me, acting like he wasn't just leaping to get here.

"Hey." He says, acting nonchalant. He even has his hand in his pocket.

"Hi. Let's get going." I keep my face blank as I lead the way to my place. We walk in silence, listening to our footsteps next to each other.

Once we make it to my flat's building, I go up the steps, stopping in front of my door and unlocking it.

We step inside, the flat looking warm with the sunlight entering through the windows. I lock my door and drop the keys on my kitchen counter.

"Your coat?" I reach my hands out. He throws his coat to me, the heaviness of it making me stumble. I scowl but hang it anyway.

"Head to my room. Down the hallway to the right." I say as I grab a few supplies from my father's office.

"Want me in your bed already?" He calls out once he's inside. I hear a yelp.

I run to my room. "Descamps, are you okay?" I ask worriedly. He stares at George.

"What is that?" He points to George, who's currently walking toward me. I bend down and pet him, planting a kiss on his head.

"This is George." I carry George and craddle him like a baby. I walk towards Descamps with the furball in my arms. I rock him slowly.

"You can touch him if you want. He doesn't bite." I smile at the orange cat, then look up at Descamps. He's staring at me with the most soft look I've seen him wear. My heart thumps in my chest.

He clears his throat, hand going up shakily to pet George. George purrs when Descamps pets him. There's now a smile on Descamps face, as warm as his stare.

I bite my lip at the proximity. I memorise as much as I can about him.

The way he was breathing, like he was on a bed so soft he could sink into it. The way he smelt like faded cigarette smoke and expensive cologne. The way his bones moved under his skin as he bent over to take a closer look at George. The number of times he's blinked, the number of times he's laughed under his breath.

I dive deeper into my trance as he looks up at me. The way he stared now is so different from the way he did all those times before. Like we knew something that we haven't acknowledged yet. Or chose not to.

Something falls in the kitchen, and we snap back to reality. My face warms up, the lighting from the windows making it clearer.

Descamps walks away from me, clearing his throat again. "The cat's ugly." This makes me snap my head to his direction.

"What did you just say?" My brows furrow, defensive of the cat sleeping in my arms.

He rolls his eye. "Nothing. Let's get the project started, I guess." I glare at him for a couple more seconds, then I gently place George down on the bed, excusing myself to get more stuff from my father's office.

When I'm halfway to my room, I hear whispering. I peek at the slit on my door, wondering what was happening behind it.

Descamps is petting George, whispering words as if he's hushing a baby to sleep.

My aura softens, and my heart bursts with admiration. I accidentally drop something and curse to myself. Descamps hears the thud on the floor and pushes himself away from George. George continues to sleep.

I open the door then close it gently. "Let's get started."

××《☆》××

"Do you have suggestions?" I ask Descamps. He doesn't answer, his head turned to the side. I sigh.

Before I could say anything, he talks. "What's that?" He nods to the book on my shelf. It was a copy of the story of Achilles and Patroclus, with a notebook strapped on the front.

"It's nothing important." I shake my head. He purses his lips in thought.

"Can I see it?" His question catches me off guard, his head finally turning to look at me. No one's ever showed interest in my books or notes. I stay quiet, then after a while, I nod.

He gets up from the bed and grabs the book. He takes the string that attaches the notebook to the copy off. He scans the back of the book and hums.

"We can base the project off of this, if you don't mind." He holds up the paperback and the notebook. I'm stunned in my place.

"It's really not that interesting-"

"It must be if you had a whole notebook dedicated to it." There isn't even a teasing tone when he said that. He meant it genuinely.

"Fine." I sigh, grabbing the notebook from his grasp.

"Good." "Great." "Amazing." "Piss off." "Whatever."

"Mind if you read it to me?" He says. "I have a feeling I'll understand better when you say it, since it's your work."

I nod, hesitantly. I opened the first page of my notebook. Most of the stuff I've written in it is a summary and a review of the book.

He leans back on my pillows. I let him. I started to read.

"Patroclus was a young prince, exiled from his kingdom for accidentally killing a boy, and was taken in by their neighbouring king, King Peleus."

George purrs as I pet him. I shift to a more comfortable sitting position. Descamps' eyes are on me.

"When Patroclus first saw Achilles, it was in a competition run by Patroclus' father. He described Achilles as if he was looking at a painting made with precision and grace." I flip the page. George walks over to Descamps' lap. I huff, ignoring it.

"When they met and officially talked, Patroclus thought he'd hated Achilles. Achilles and his beauty, his speed, his perfection. In the years that pass, they grow to be attached to the other." George meows. The meow that indicates he wants petting.

I pause my reading, and Descamps looks at me confused. "Why'd you stop?"

"George wants pets." Descamps makes an 'oh' sound and pets George. He meows again.

"Maybe he wants you." Descamps says, petting the fur baby on his lap. I sigh and lean in close to pet George. With the uncomfortable position, I shift to sit beside Descamps on the bed. I clear my throat and pet George. I continue to read.

"They knew everything about each other. What they'd prefer, like how I like the rain too much to cover it with an umbrella, but know I'll get sick without it. That's how the two worked. They knew every detail, every routine, every habit, every movement. A love you'd have to fight the gods for."

A page is flipped, smoothing out of paper echoes in the room.

"Achilles and Patroclus loved each other with every inch of their heart and soul. Quoting the book, Patroclus states, 'He is half my soul, as the poets say'. Along with the famous paragraph." My eyes switch to the next page.

Descamps shifts in his place, leaning back on the pillows, looking at the pages where I'm reading off of. I start to relax, leaning back, too. George purrs.

"I could recognise him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world."

I take a glance at Descamps, and he's already looking at me. George snores in his sleep, making the aura of the room warmer. More comfortable.

His eye dropped to my lips, and I could've sworn I was hearing a heartbeat as fast as the wind at fall. I glance at his, pink and soft, like a cushion ready for rest.

When we lean in, slowly, too slow, my heart drops as he pulls away and stretches. I furrow my eyebrows, a dread of realisation. He's been toying with me. I close my notebook and gather my things.

"Where are you off to?" He asks. I don't answer him.

"Hey," He grabs my arm. I take it back from him. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing." I say coldly. "I'll finish this project myself."

"What? No. This is a group project remember?"

"I can't keep doing this. You're too hard to work with." I stack the books and materials in my arms.

"We haven't even gotten anything done yet." He flops his hands in the air.

"Exactly. You're too distracting."

"What did I do? I've been quiet the whole time."

"Yeah, well, that's the problem. You're too quiet. You aren't suggesting things."

"What does that have to do with anything?" He raises his voice.

"Just shut up, okay? Just leave. I told you I'll finish the project by myself." I get up from the bed, heading to my father's office.

"But I don't get why you're suddenly mad!" He stands up, following me.

"You don't have to know. Just leave me alone, okay?"

"Fucking fine. You're being too stubborn anyways. Do all the work. Getting pissed off for no fucking reason." He grabs his coat from the rack, putting it on. He doesn't even glance at me, opening and shutting the door with a loud slam.

I even out my breathing. It was going fine. Then I think to myself, what was? Me and Descamps, going fine? I laugh at the thought. I hated that boy. I hated him with my whole heart. My mind travels to the notes I was just reading.

Patroclus had thought he hated Achilles in the start, too. I shake the thought out of my head, slipping against the wall to sit on the floor, knees to my chest.

I hear tapping on the floor boards. I look to my side to see George, meowing softly. I take a deep breath in, then reach my hand out to pet him.

I hate him. And I know I do. He lingers in my mind like a fog in the mountains. The way his aura had softened, his smile, his warmth. I hated the thought of him, but then he smiled, and like Achilles, his face was like the sun.

××《☆》××

Night comes, and I lay in my bed, windows slightly open for the wind to come through. I'm restless, not getting a blink of sleep. I'm halfway through the project already. If Descamps had helped, it'd take longer, I think to myself, trying to still feel angry.

I don't feel angry at all anymore. There's a sort of regret in me for pushing him away. But at the same time, it's what he deserved. We had leaned in, and I didn't even know what I was expecting. I should've expected him to pull away, but what was he going to do in the first place?

Was he going to whisper in my ear? If so, what would he whisper to me? Was he going to say something about how I write, how I speak? A thought so blurry pops up in my head, and I brush it off. But it felt warm, so safe, so soft. There was a scent stuck in my head as I reminisced on the thought, trying to figure out what I was thinking.

I fall asleep in the process, dreaming about the thought instead. Limbs touching, bending, adjusting. I taste cigarettes and strawberries. I smell smoke and expensive perfume. I feel something soft against my lips, hands cupping my face, my neck, my head, and my waist.

He felt warm, tall, and heavy against me. I hold onto the dream, relaxing.

××《☆》××

I wake up, sweat coating my skin. George sits on the window sill, the sun making him shine like gold. I sit up and stretch. I get off my bed and head to my bathroom.

My hair is messy, and I have a bit of dried drool on the corner of my mouth. I wash my face to give myself some energy. I take my clothes off lazily, tying my hair up and getting inside my shower.

Once I finish, I comb and fix my hair, head to the kitchen for a quick breakfast, grab my things for school, including the unfinished project, and head to the front door.

A stack of paper tied with string greets me. I furrow my eyebrows. There's no note. I squat down and pick it up. I instantly know who it's from.

It's an essay about Achilles and Patroclus, detailed and opinionated. Written on the last piece of paper, sitting at the bottom of the stack, it reads, "I bought a copy. Finished it for you."

I stood still, processing the words, flipping through the papers to double check if they're authentic. I let out a scoff of surprise. My head snaps to a nearby clock. I'm going to be late if I don't start walking now.

My feet carry me to the front gates of Voltaire, the familiar faces and light chatter calming me. I spot Simone and Michèle, and I make my way to them.

××《☆》××

Rain starts to fall. The rain always brought me comfort. The different sounds it made when hitting different objects, the way it sways with the wind, the smell it gives the grass after.

I lag behind Simone and Michèle as they make their way to the field. I look for my satchel, then remember I'd forgotten my umbrella. I curse to myself, finding the satchel. It felt heavier than usual. I look inside, then see a clear umbrella. I open it and twist it around, gaping in awe. There's a note in the bag. I open to read it.

"Don't get sick from what you love." The note said.

There's only one person I've told about my love for rain.

I head outside, hiding my red face once I see a drenched one-eyed boy. I smile to Simone and Michèle, spotting them seated on a bench. I glance behind me as I sit down, finding an eye already looking at me with a small smile. His smile drops, and he looks away when I catch him. I purse my lips.

We watch the match, getting my mind off of the boy with ash brown hair. Once the match finishes, we all make our way home. I look up, seeing the rain pattering against the clear umbrella. I smile, watching the water droplets slip off the plastic, hearing the pattering of rain.

××《☆》××

The next day, I repeat my routine. I thoroughly read through Descamps' essay, rewritting it to fit in with mine. I should be thankful, and I am, but Descamps is making my head hurt with the way he acts. I walked to school, going subject after subject, until our presentation finally came.

Earlier, I'd slipped him the script, tucking it in his bag. I hope silently that he's memorised it.

Annick and Pichon are presenting in front of the class. I smiled softly, impressed by the presentation, and refreshed with the dynamic of the two. If only things had gone differently with Descamps, we could've been good friends. But we aren't. I don't think we ever will.

Once they finish, our teacher calls me and Descamps to the front. My anxiousness radiates off my body. Simone and Michèle give me a reassuring look. I nod at them slightly.

My eyes meet Descamps, and we're standing at the front of the class. They're quiet, and my eyes scan all of them. Surprisingly, Descamps starts.

"Me and Pardine are going to present the story of Achilles and Patroclus and the debate of their relationship; romantic or platonic?" Descamps looks at me, his hand hovering at the small of my back for support.

I start, and faster than I thought, I finish the presentation. The room claps, as they do with the others. I glance at Descamps but see him already walking back to his seat. My smile dropped slowly, remembering I was still on his bad side, and vice versa.

I walk back to my seat quietly. I don't even hear the score because my mind is too occupied with the thought of him. Would we stay angry at eachother always? At the same time, it shouldn't matter. I hate him. Right?

I shake my head. I hate him, surely. I should. I dig deep in my head for a reason. Bullying Pichon and Michèle, toying with my feelings (feelings I'm not aware whether it's good or bad), the way he acts, and smells, and feels when he's near.

I fucking hate him. I really do. I hate him, I repeat in my head. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.

Then, like earlier, something inside me knows I don't mean it.

At the end of the day, I make peace with solitude. My mind wanders, and I notice that every time it does, they always end up with the face of a one-eyed boy.

Sure, Descamps gave me a finished essay for our project, and sure, he gave me an umbrella that was clear so I could see the rain. So what? I still hate him. Maybe just a little less now.

××《☆》××

End- Chapter three: He is half my soul, as the poets say.

Next- Chapter four: Flashy Magazines

××《☆》××

End of chapter three. Rollercoaster of emotions this one. It's a bit shorter than usual because i took out a bunch of the scenes in the series to focus on the emotions of reader and hopefully u guys get what im trying to give. Thanks for reading, requests r open, and see u next chapter!!!

[blorboazula]

The Hunger Games 2023 Renaissance and Gen Z's "Bad Media Literacy"

So, not sure how it's going on other social media, but The Hunger Games – that will be referred to as THG in this little "essay" – is having a massive "renaissance" all over TikTok. And I've seen, more than once, unfortunately, people saying that Gen Z people have bad media literacy.

My issue with that is one specific argument. One about the people who have been genuinely surprised with nuances and details they didn't notice in the first they read it.

Which's such a stupid argument. Even more when, as I've seen, made by people who read the books as they came out and watched the movies as they came out. They tend to be in the younger side of the Millennials.

Do you know when Gen Zs were born? Here:

So, let's say the specific years are from 1995 up to 2013.

Here's when the trilogy was originally published;

As you see: a significant part of this generation couldn't read or wasn't even born when these books came out. That's how young this generation is.

But also, the oldest ones were between 13 and 16 as the books came out. It's unfair to expect that a 13-year-old will read THG and see the same subtext and nuances and have the same interpretation as people 18-and-above.

It's not bad media literacy that someone in their mid-to-late 20s is seeing things in a trilogy they've read ten or more years ago.

I, for example, read these books in 2013. They came out in 2010/1/2 in Brazil. I borrowed them from a classmate who had the money to buy them as they came out here. I was 15. Then got my hands on PDFs and read them in English later in the same year, I was 16. I never noticed a lot of subtext and nuances and shit when I read them ten years ago.

Both because of course I wouldn't, I was a teenager. And I read it as an escapism for some stuff. They were fun. I read the trilogy in a week – which's fast when you have school, schoolwork, almost all the home chores and the responsibility of taking care of an adult – and I wasn't looking for anything but a distraction. For a little bit of fun.

People roughly my age are seeing these videos and talks and are learning details and nuances they didn't before. It's fun, it's nice. I'm having a blast to re-read those books aware that they're more than what I thought they were back in the day.

Don't belittle people for not understand deeper and more mature topics when they didn't have the age and maturity to understand those topics.

[lynnlovesthestars]

Hi! I’m new to your blog and have been loving all of your works!

If you’re comfortable with it, I was wondering how you think Astarion would react/feel about a virgin tav/reader who went through SA when they were younger, and wish to wait until they are both completely ready and comfortable with being intimate?

Hii, I can definitely do it, though i will merge it with another ask I received- asking to write hcs about Astarion learning Tav is a survivor.

I will say, making it with the hc has been a little easier on me, usually when i write about SA i spend an insane amount of time making sure i'm comfortable and you (readers) are as well, and i hesitate a lot before publishing it *(queue up scars and blood, that I wrote on an impulse after a nightmare, and it took me a solid week before publishing it)*

ANYWAYS.

ofc I hope this will be of comfort to you, and it won't trigger you.. sometimes all we want is to find solace into our favourite characters, so i wish tonight this will in a way comfort you...

and if anyone needs to vent, or talk, feel free to hit up my dm's, they are a safe space for anyone and i'll always offer up comfort.. we don't need to struggle alone, and sometimes being heard is what we need to make a new step forward<3

As always, my little stars, excercise kindness! we don't know who's gonna pass by this, and we don't know how hard it can be for them.

This being said, I hope you'll like it!

Headcanon: Astarion learning Tav is a survivor.

Pairing: Astarion x reader. Warnings: mentions of past trauma and SA. wc: 1.7k

-He starts suspecting something about it around the time of the tiefling party. He had offered to sneak out while everyone was asleep to "enjoy yourselves", but you refused right away. He definitely picked up some involuntary movement you did that told him there was more to the "I'm not ready". You probably flinched or jerked away, usually it would go unnoticed, but Astarion could recognize the subtle harshness hidden behind your reaction.

-He doesn't want to pry into it, as much as he needed to know as much as possible about you- he says for the sake of his undead skin- he wasn't entirely confident you trusted him enough to share your past. Also he wasn't sure he could handle someone confiding in him, but he would never admit it. At the end of the day, all he knew about social interaction were faint memories of his magistrate life, or means to survival. He simply wasn't sure he could have the empathy to deal with someone else's emotions, both in good and in bad.

-When you meet the gur, and you start peering into his past, he can't hide the very obvious rock in the shoe, Cazador and his spawn life, and it is because of the gur that you actually open up to him. When he starts going deeper and deeper into Cazador's orders to him and his repulsion towards sex, you do feel like you can share something so intimate, that's been heavy on you, well since it happened. 

-The first time you mention it though, you are very blunt.

-"And honestly I don't know anything else besides disgust for it" He'd admit as he bit the inside of his cheek.

"I'm sorry, Astarion" You'd start, you wanted to hold his hand to comfort him, cause that kind of pain you knew. "I understand how you feel though. If you need—" He cut you short, anger was bubbling quickly in his stomach. You swore his face almost reddened in anger as he raised his voice.

"No, you don't" He was one sound shirt from hissing at you. "You cannot understand what it feels like" He'd sneer at you. "No one can understand what it feels like to be stripped of your bodily autonomy". In a way the harshness in his voice was like a slap to your face, cause you did in fact know. From the other, you didn't expect your brain to beeline directly towards that sealed drawer in your brain where you tried to hide the haunting memory. 

“I went through it myself, you shithead” You got up, uncaring of whatever reaction he could have in that moment, and you just left.

-He was taken aback, on different levels, both because of your sudden shift in mood, because of the blunt reveal, and deep down because he was sorry, though again he’d never admit it out loud.

-You ignored him for the rest of the day, avoiding his stare and disappearing in your tent right after you were done setting camp, and that unsettled him so much that he was weighing the possibility of apologizing cause, of course, he didn’t know.

-You skipped dinner, and even when everyone else was asleep, you didn’t come out from your tent to take your usual nightly walk. The pang of guilt was becoming more like a stab as he saw the light in your tent still burning, and the faint shadow of you moving around restless.

-He prepared a peace offering, a bowl of the leftover stew, as he had to muster the guts to apologize. 

-”Sorry, I was an asshole earlier, I brought you food” He blurted out right after he knocked on the wooden support of the tent, and he was surprised when you still let him in.

-Initially it was awkward, cause you were eating and not saying anything, but after a while he mustered up the courage to offer his shoulder to you. “If you even wish to talk” He’d say.

-You told him a bit of what happened, without going too much into detail, since you were still shaken from the memories that resurfaced.

-Since then he started to learn your boundaries: how to catch your attention without startling you, what were triggering topics for you, how you liked physical touch, and how it triggered you as well.

-In a way he becomes very protective of you, especially if you open up more often about your trauma, and you can see it.

-He made sure everyone respected your boundaries, whether it was Gale with his weave thing pulling you too close, or a stranger breathing on your neck, he was always ready to remind them of their place. 

-”Don’t you see our dear captain doesn't want to be that close?!” “Keep your hands to yourself, they don't like being grabbed by the wrists” “Get away from her, before I stab you” 

-He noticed how you always double checked the perimeter of the camp before the sun would set, and before getting in your tent you’d always look around in the distance, trying to spot if something was out of place. So he joined you in your routine, helping you check around and make sure you were ready in case anything could have happened.

-As you get closer, and you both open up more to each other, he even suggests he moves his tent closer to yours. “I can keep an eye around” Was his explanation, when he first brought it up. 

-And it helped so much with your sleep, you felt a little safer.

-If you didn’t feel safe at night, he’d suggest putting your tents together into one. Maybe it was a way to keep you closer, or he needed reassurance, but he made sure you knew you could place your bedroll anywhere as far or as close to him as you liked.

-Eventually as your bond would deepen and deepen, and you’d grow fond of each other, you found yourselves rediscovering your touch together. It started with your fingers tapping on his arm as you were walking, or a strand of your hair being pulled behind your ear. Some nights you’d sit close in your tent, and would hold hands, caress each other’s cheeks, and slowly even reach out for a kiss or two.

-It was a slow process, where you really got to know each other like no one else ever did. You could read each other like a book, yet you never shied away from asking each other for consent for anything.

-”Can I hold your hand” “Can I kiss your cheek” “Can I rest my head on your chest”

-The thing you both struggled with the most, was falling asleep holding each other. You’d panic very quickly when you would feel your chest becoming tighter. He’d move away as quickly as possible, and give you the space you needed.

-When he confesses he has been falling for you, it’s time to approach the very delicate topic of sex. You opened up about the fact that you wanted to wait ‘till you were ready, and he agreed without hesitation. Of course because he understood where you came from, he never asked for any help either, if he’d feel like he needed some release, he’d disappear for a bit and deal with it himself, without making you feel like a burden.

“I just want to make sure we are on the same page on this” You’d say as you crossed your arms, almost as if you wanted to fold yourself in and away. “If you want to have sex, I can’t right now” You’d start saying, but stop on your tracks for a second. “Wait, not that I can’t. I don’t want to have sex at the moment” You’d correct yourself, confident in your statement, he wasn’t even thinking about it, though he respected completely.

“I get it, and it’s okay my love” He’d say, patting your shoulder, and wondering whether he wanted to hold your hand or kiss it, he wanted to let you know he truly understood. “I don’t want to either” He smiled, and in that moment it was like both you two finally breathed. You’d reach for his hand to hold it in yours.

“It’s not because of you though” You wanted to explain to him, you were so close it was something you were ready to share, especially since you were slowly walking towards a different level of intimacy together, he had to know. “I want to do it when we are both ready” 

“I understand, my sweet, there’s no need for explanations” He’d smile again, one of his fangs slightly poked out against his lip. “You said you don’t want sex yet, so it’s no” 

“I’m a virgin” You’d blurt out, and that was something he didn’t entirely expect.

“Oh” He’d say at first, but as he noticed your cheeks slowly warming up, he pulled you closer to him, his forehead against yours. “It’s okay, I don’t care about it” He’d exhale. “As long as it’s you, I don’t care about anything” 

-When you reach Baldur’s Gate and finally you settle in the elfsong tavern, you made sure you always had a corner of time dedicated to helping each other relearn touch. 

-You'd lay next to each other in different levels of nakedness depending on how you felt at the moment, and you'd spend your time tracing each other's features. Whenever you'd feel comfortable enough to venture into a new thing, he'd ask for permission. 

-"Would you feel comfortable if I touched your hips?" "Can I trace your scars with my fingers?” “May I pull you closer?”

-You didn't fight time, you didn't rush towards sex. It came slowly and it was a process full of ups and downs. Some attempts ended up with you both sobbing, too overwhelmed. Other's ended up with panic attacks. Eventually though, after a lot of work together, you reached a point where you'd be able to make love.

-it was a very soft moment between you two. It involved a lot of comforting, kisses and patience, but it was something so profound, it wasn't only about shared pleasure, but it was about connecting your bodies and your souls. In a way it was like a wedding for you two it was the peak of trust you could have with each other. 

-He'd whisper so many times how proud he was of you, how much he loved you, and how glad he was that you were the one that would spend their life with him.

-Tears eventually arrived, they were the tears of two souls that finally had reclaimed a bit of their freedom. It was the cries of someone that was finally healing. 

[discopaddock]

THE MAIN CHARACTER FROM MY BOOK - SEBASTIAN VETTEL

SUMMARY: reader is only a fantasy and romance writer and a huge fan of sebastian. he's fan of her book. when he reveals that to the public there's no way their fans are going to lose an opportunity to have them meet.

PAIRING: rbr!sebastian vettel and author!reader

GENRE: smau, fluff pure fluff!!!

WORD COUNT: +/- 1K

WARNINGS: none

AUTHOR'S NOTE: hiya! this was based on this request! also if you see any similarities to one of @hrts4scarr ’s recent works, that's because we got the same request! also go check scar’s work, it's so cool! once again, english isn't my first language so sorry for any mistakes!

“You’ve checked Twitter recently?” Senna, Y/N’s manager from the publishing house, asked extra happily. The author only shook her head between drinking water, exhausted from another day of signing books for long hours.

Of course it wasn't that she didn't like it! She loved it! But if she was doing it for eight hours six days a week for two months now it was getting boring.

“Then do it!” Senna said, almost shrieking.

Y/N only gasped but opened her laptop and searched Twitter to see her whole feed in Tweets of Sebastian Vettel talking about her book.

That Sebastian Vettel she had the biggest crush on and created him in her book series.

The author looked at the other girl with opened mouth and she only said:

“You're gonna see him tomorrow, we've already arranged it with Red Bull. Sign some books for him with special dedications baby”

Y/N only started smiling like a stupid teenage girl.

Oh what she was gonna do in front of Sebastian?

Nice is beautiful.

And so is Monaco.

Sebastian found himself in a car in the passenger seat. He wasn't sure where he was going. He only understood that there will be books? Like a lot of books.

He entered the library with his PR manager and some photographer and when he saw that one book on the poster, he immediately knew why he was there.

There weren't a lot of people.

The queue to the author desk wasn't too long, only five people before him.

Sebastian knew that the author of his beloved book was pretty attractive. He had seen her photos on her website.

But in real life she was even a hundred times prettier than in photos.

He was close to saying she was beautiful in that interview. So close but he didn't for his own sake. Now he could say it to the first person that walked beside him.

Finally the queue ended and he was standing in front of the girl.

“Hi, I'm Sebastian” he said only with a smile on his face and she quickly stood up from her chair and fixed her hair.

“Hello, I'm Y/N” she answered with a shy grin and shook his hand.

“I can say that I'm a fan of your writing,” Sebastian announced with a laugh, making her blush.

Mein Gott, she looks so pretty with rosy cheeks – he thought. My God

“Great, because I have something for you” she said and showed him all of her books excluding “Young and beautiful”. “For you, for the longer flights to Australia” she added.

Oh, Sebastian was speechless. He didn't expect to get anything from her, especially since he found out about meeting her like half an hour ago.

“Oh, thank you so much!” he said with a big smile and looked at all the books. The covers were pretty, just like her.

“I don't know if fantasy is your favorite, so I put here most of the romances I have” Y/N laughed a little, looking at him as he carefully watched all of the books.

“I actually like it a lot, even if I don't look like it” he answered, holding in his hands the book where he was in as the main character.

He read the text at the back and when he saw a review from a Twitter user he couldn't believe it.

“Book is great, especially since Hugo gives me major Sebastian Vettel vibes”

“Haha, what is this?” he asked, showing her the review and she only blushed and shrugged.

“Well, I can say that I was lacking in character personalities” she wasn't, he put him in that book on purse. She was writing that book on Wattpad years ago before it was published, when she was watching him in Formula 3.5 and was dreaming of him.

As if she wasn't doing it now.

“Okay, I'll remember that,” he said and laughed. Oh, she loved his laugh. His laugh on TV wasn't as good as in real life.

She was in love with him.

She thought to herself that she was crazy.

But did he care? No, he didn't. Not at all.

“Can I get your number? I want to do something for you as a thank you” Sebastian asked and Y/M speechless and in shock, nodded and grabbed a pen and one of the books to write the number next to the dedication. “I'll text you, don't worry” he winked at her and left with his team and all the books in his hands.

Getting Paddock Passes for the European Grand Prix didn't sound wrong, did it?

And with that Y/N ended in the Red Bull garage in Valencia, extremely happy since it was her first Grand Prix in real life ever.

Also when the fans saw the photos of their little meet up in Nice they went crazy. She had never seen anything like shipping her with someone before that but did she like it? Yes, because Sebastian seemed to like her too.

And now he looked so hot in post race glow and champagne.

“Hey Y/N, I was thinking if you would want to join me at dinner after the whole post win thing?” Seb asked when he came back to the garage, covered in sticky alcohol.

“I don't want to intrude on you-”

“You won't! I'm the one who's asking you to join me” he smiled at her shy personality. She was adorable as hell.

“Okay, I'll go” Y/N said and Sebastian grinned widened and he left a kiss on her cheek.

“See you soon, pretty girl” he said and left to take a shower. She was just standing here without any words, red on face and with butterflies in her stomach.

Oh the thing that she had for Sebastian was big, very, very big.

masterlist

[sc0tters]

Old Ways Die Hard | Quinn Hughes

summary: Quinn finally learns how to settle down in life but when a girl finds him during a roadie it causes the biggest obstacle in your relationship yet.

prompt: "I never should have expected anything different from you."

warnings: minimal swearing

word count: 1.58k

authors note: really thought I was going to be publishing this when Quinn got the C but he didn’t and I still wanted to give this to you… hated making Quinn a dickhead like this but here it is.

Quinn never wanted to admit it.

Love was something that never truly made sense to him. People said it was him being a hockey player who was young but the thought of settling down never crossed his mind. The simple hook up seemed far more enjoyable that anything tangible. His playboy ideologies were all flipped in their heads the moment he met you.

You flipped his world upside down the moment he met you.

It was when he was actually meeting up with a tinder date when you walked in with a date of your own. Quinn noticed you getting a drink at one point in the night and he knew he had to introduce himself to you.

Both of you quickly left your dates for each other but at the end of the night when you told Quinn to have a good night so you could go your own way it made his jaw fall to the ground.

You were the first girl in his life who said no, he never pressured you into anything but there was the chase that he loved so much.

Over the next five months you kept him on his toes until you finally kissed him in front of his apartment. Two months later he had asked you out.

That started the best seven months of your life, when your lease expired you even moved in with Quinn. He truly seemed to be well on his way to the path of settling down.

This was why you were so surprised when he started to distance himself from you.

Insecurities got stuck in your throat as you thought about your boyfriend "where are you going?" You asked as you looked at him from your bed.

Quinn seemed to be getting ready to go out "boys want to go out tonight," he explained as he fiddled with the end of his shirt.

You couldn't help but frown as you had wanted to spend one of his last days at home before he departed for a two week road trip "what about movie night?" Your voice was barely a whisper as you cocked your head.

Since you were out at girls night tomorrow, this was your last chance to really spend time together.

It made Quinn roll his eyes "don't wait up for me tonight," he leaned over your shared bed as the hockey player kissed your forehead.

Sure it wasn't what you wanted, but you didn't have the energy to argue with him "Quinn." You called out as he looked like he was going to walk off.

Naturally the boy sighed as he turned back to face you "yes?" He crossed his arms as he waited to see what was so important that you stopped him.

You chewed that the inside of your cheek "I love you," you softly smiled not realising the fear that went through your bones as you waited for him to respond.

But that response never came, instead he walked out of your shared bedroom leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Feelings were always foreign to Quinn, even as a child when he was meant to be the calm and collected older sibling he never truly knew how he felt. Sure he understood what love for his family felt like but he never really understood the other stuff. When he was a boy he used to get so overwhelmed by the idea of emotions that he'd wind up sat in his mothers arms as he'd sob until her shirt was soaked.

That was why you were so captivating to him. Quinn never knew what it was like to feel the kind of love that was addicting until he met you. The morning after he met you the idea of talking to you again was the only thought in his head.

At first he blamed it on that you were the only girl who had said no, but he quickly realised that this wasn't the case. You were the girl of his dreams.

So Quinn looked past the feelings of fear, the increased level of comfort and stability that you brought him, but most of all how you were the only person he wanted to come home to at the end of the day.

Now the Canucks player never intended on falling in love with you. Not when you were the girl that most guys in town always did that double take of, nine times out of ten when they did it and Quinn was with you it wasn't because they were looking at Quinn.

You always seemed happy, nothing ever pointed him in a different direction but there was something that he couldn't let go.

Something in his mind told him that you deserved someone better, someone who could give you the universe, someone who didn't let his fears hold him back from loving you in the ways he should have.

Yet you remained oblivious to all of his doubts or at least until twenty minutes before Quinn was meant to be home. The Canucks had just returned from a two week roadie and you missed your boyfriend like crazy.

But what you never expected was that when you opened twitter you'd be tagged in multiple posts all of the same picture.

Quinn had his arm around some girl in LA.

He was kissing a girl that so clearly wasn't you.

To say that it hurt would have been the understatement of the century. Your friends had warned you about his playboy tendencies but you truly thought that you had changed him for the better.

This felt like a slap in the face and you weren't ready to be met with the truth that the man you were so deeply in love with didn't feel the same way about you.

So like the mature and put together woman that you were you sat on the couch and drank away your sorrows. It was what you had to do before you did anything truly stupid.

Quinn arrived back at the apartment unaware of what had happened. Guilt ate up at him as he replayed the moments in LA over in his mind. He hadn't gone onto anything because the idea of seeing you terrified him.

That stupid moment with that girl that Quinn didn't even knows name told him just how much he loved you, but here he was too little too late on the path of destruction.

You were now in the stage of acceptance that meant you were stood in the closet shoving a portion of your clothes into a bag "baby?" Quinn called out as he noticed the empty bottle of wine that sat without any glasses on the living room table.

He could hear you mumbling away to yourself as your voice echoed off of the wake "woah," the hockey players jaw almost hit the floor when he saw the state of the area.

Clothes were literally everywhere, even in your hand as you locked eyes with him "go fuck yourself Hughes," you spat as tears formed in your eyes.

It was tough, you had rage, alcohol and sadness all mixed with heartbreak "hope that girl was worth it," you added as your hand got caught in the shirt you were holding that only added to your frustrations.

Quinn knew that this was a delicate subject, he couldn't approach it deflecting blame like he so badly wanted to.

But when your helpless body slid down the the door of your cupboard until your ass hit the floor Quinn's feet instantly moved so he could sit with you "I'm sorry," the Canucks player mumbled as he wrapped his arms around you.

Tears streamed down your face as you turned his grey shirt dark "why are you even sorry?" You asked as you pulled away from him.

"Sorry that I caught you or that you did it?"

The question weighed on him as he knew his answer was the first one, this was a true turning point for him.

The guilt he felt no longer was due to him poorly covering his tracks but rather the fact that he made you feel so small made him feel like the worst man alive.

However his silence enraged you as you got up letting out a scoff "this shouldn't surprise me." A defeated laugh left your lips.

You didn't think you'd feel like such a fool when the day your friends warned you about came around "I never should have expected anything different from you." Those words rang through Quinn's ears as you grabbed the bad you had started to pack.

This wasn't how you wanted this to end, you prayed it wasn't the end. But for now you needed time "I'm gonna go stay with some friends for a while." You announced as you squeezed your hand around the strap of the bag.

What you had hoped for was that Quinn would follow you would out as he tried to win you back, that he'd tell you how much he loved you and needed you in his life.

Yet that hope quickly drained out of your body as you got past your bedroom door, the hallway, the living room, and eventually the front door with no Hughes boy hot on your tail.

The slamming of the front door was heard throughout the apartment and as Quinn's chest grew heavy he called the only person who wouldn't kill him for do that the stupidest thing of his life.

"Mom? I fucked up."

[lewkwoodnco]

"Slut!" - Lockwood x Reader

A/N: been having a lottt of thoughts about this song. it wasn't what I expected like for a lot of ppl but this is immediately my favourite?? like idk man those hints of her rep era beginning mixed with the emotional vulnerability of being in love mannn im going to be annoying abt this for a wholeee month. Reader is a Fittes agent, wc 5.4k!!

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 3.5 | Ch 4 | Ch 5

On paper, her employers had always commended her for her drive for excellence. What was usually glossed over was how it arose from an unhealthy obsession with perfection, not that it mattered. And yet, glowing articles about successful cases were rare and far between. She had led as many successful cases as some of her male colleagues, but those headlines were seemingly too dull for her sex. After all, who wanted to read about a woman showing up the men in her field? So the tabloids started to play dirty, spinning convoluted rumoured love stories from any and every photo of her in the vicinity of a man.

She remembered how devastating the first article was. Instead of publishing one of the many photos of her standing with her team, there was a shadowed, grainy photograph of her talking to their supervisor. She tried to tell anyone who asked her that no, they weren't kissing, not that it would have mattered if it did, but no one seemed much interested in listening. The shame burnt into the side of her face like a scarlet letter. A slut.

Eventually, she decided to just keep everyone at arm's length. Maybe if she kept her head down long enough they'd run out of knives to throw at her. And for a good two years, it somewhat worked, or at least helped. But then she met Lockwood.

She didn't think much of him at first - if anything, she resented his suave, silver tongue and how the press went nuts for his charismatic smiles. He tried to dazzle her with one when they first met, and she nearly scoffed.

"Anthony Lockwood, Lockwood and Co. And you are...?"

"Disgusted."

She tried talking to Barnes, throwing in some less-than-complimentary opinions on Lockwood, but he just waved her off. Eventually, she came around, but only because he was undeniably skilled, and it would have been unprofessional to freeze him out forever.

She remembered the first time he made her smile. Their supervisor was having them sign their case report, so she wasn't even looking at him. He whispered some inane remark which caught her completely off-guard, but it was enough to make her damage the tip of the fountain pen as she choked on a laugh. Her supervisor looked unimpressed, grumbling about the pen, but Lockwood's face had taken on an animated spark.

"Oh, good. I was beginning to wonder if you knew how to smile."

The smile is a foreign feeling on her face. Lockwood gently takes the report from her and starts talking in smooth tones that flow right over her head. She shakes herself and tries to pull herself together, trying to soothe the nervous flutter of her heart. She can only bear catching glimpses of his words and she struggles to string together coherent responses.

But then she hears the vans pulling up. Vans filled with news agencies and their bulky cameras. She's paralysed by a flash of fear and she jumps apart from Lockwood as if burnt, tripping over her words as she forces out some lame excuse of needing to check on her team. Lockwood looks mildly concerned, but she pushes it to the back of her mind.

They meet again a week or two later. She's sitting outside a conference room, waiting for Barnes to finish a meeting, and she realises with a start that the man in the room she's facing is Lockwood. To be fair, she hadn't seen him in an indoor setting before, and he seemed nearly unrecognisable with his typically crisp shirt dusty and wrinkled, with his sleeves rolled up his forearms. She watches him laugh over something with one of his associates as they leave the room, and she drinks in the sight like a man starved. There is something so desperately appealing about the vitality in his face and jaunty movements.

As the smile fades, she recognises the exhaustion on his face; the kind that made her want to do nothing more than stumble home and crawl under the covers. But then he sees her, and he gives her a teasing smile that stokes her spirits. His associate gives her a tired wave and walks out.

"Waiting for me?"

She rolls her eyes and nods towards the conference room. "Waiting for Barnes. Going home?"

He jerks his head noncommittally before sitting down next to her. He looks oddly bare without his coat, and it feels almost too intimate to have him sitting this close to her. She sits up, alarmed.

"What, you need to see him too?"

"You look like you could use some company."

"Lockwood, it could be hours before he's done. Besides, you look like death. Go home, get some rest."

"Joke's on you, I always look like death."

She shakes her head but smiles despite herself. "You're incorrigible."

"Thank you."

They sit in silence for a while, long enough until her breathing evens out. She wonders if he's aware of the way his fingers drum restlessly on his thigh, or the ash coating the side of his face, or how both of those things make him utterly irresistible.

"How do you do it? Stay so young, I mean."

He considers his answer carefully. She takes in the sight of a Lockwood without a ready quip at the tip of his tongue. "I suppose it helps that I'm not singly obsessed with the dead, though it does get close sometimes. Who do you live with?"

"Oh, my family lives outside of London." Thank god. She couldn't imagine the looks on their faces if they heard half of what London's tabloids had to say about her.

"You live alone?"

"Yeah. But it's not so bad. There's a cat that wanders in the street below my flat at night." He doesn't look completely convinced, but he lets it slide.

"Really, I owe it all to my friends - oh, you'd love them. You should come over sometime."

"That's sweet of you."

"Our weekends are generally empty."

"Oh...I couldn't. I don't know where you live."

"35 Portland Row."

"Lockwood," she admonishes. "Don't you think this is something you should run by your friends first?"

"I've done worse."

"I'm practically a stranger."

"Then how else are we supposed to get to know you?"

Her mind tears her away from Lockwood's silhouette, to troubling piles of tabloids dragging her to filth. After months of them, she isn't sure where she ends and where the fabrication begins. She barely manages a whisper.

"I think you'd regret getting to know me."

She doesn't realise how tightly her fist is clenched until he brushes her wrist, and the tension flows out of her. His eyes are liquid and his touch is golden and she's paralysed with dizziness. In that moment, it was enough to be young and in love.

"Only one way to find out."

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

She takes him up on his invitation sooner than either of them expected. They had just finished a job at a house just a street over from Portland Row, and her team was walking with Lockwood & Co. on their way to the main street. She pauses as George fiddles with the frozen door while the rest of her team walk on, tiredly waving them good night. But just as she turns to leave, she slips on a patch of ice, falling into a pile of snow while Lockwood lunges for her.

"Dear god, you must be freezing. Come in and warm up."

"It's alright, I can catch a cab home-"

"Y/N, I am not above pushing you back into the snow."

Her laugh morphs into a violent shiver, just as Lucy walks over concernedly.

"Everything okay? Lockwood's not bullying you, is he?" She cracks a small smile, but Lockwood just impatiently ignores Lucy.

"Stay for breakfast. Spend the day. Lucy would love the company. Luce, tell her."

"It would be nice."

"I'm soaked through. I need a change of clothes."

"Lucy can get you a change of clothes. Luce, tell her."

"I can get you a change of clothes."

"I wouldn't want to be an imposition."

Lockwood inhales and turns to Lucy, who smacks the breath right out of him.

"I'm right here, Lockwood. Don't be ridiculous, Y/N, we'd love to have you over." Lucy exchanges a look with Lockwood, but it's so brief she wonders if she's imagined it, but it's just then that George forces the door open, and she gets jostled into their warm and dry home. Lucy helps her dry off and tosses her some clothes, including a spare oversized jumper, before bundling her and setting her down in front of the fire in the library.

It feels wonderfully cosy at first, and she only realises she's dozed off when she wakes up with a crick in her neck and beads of sweat on her forehead and neck. She pushes the blankets off her, sighing in relief as she starts to cool down. She hears the rustle of a page behind her and turns.

Lockwood is sitting in an armchair behind her, tie loosened and sleeves rolled up, a magazine on his lap. He smiles weakly at her, wincing as he rotates his neck. She was beginning to feel convinced that he ate, slept and worked in the same set of clothes. Her voice is gravelly with sleep.

"Still up?"

"Someone had to make sure you didn't roll into the fire. Besides, it hasn't been long."

She squints at the clock hung near the door. Unless the shadows were playing tricks on her, it was only a few hours from dawn. The glance he shared with Lucy earlier flashes in her mind, and she presses him about it.

"Say, you haven't told Lucy anything particularly saddening about me, have you?"

He waffles a bit. "I haven't said anything that isn't true."

"Lockwood."

"Fine...I might have mentioned how you live alone, and that you've only got a cold, dark home waiting for you. Alone."

"I didn't say that."

"So you're saying it's not true?"

She hesitates, and he quirks the corner of his mouth triumphantly. "It's no bother, Y/N. Lucy feels as bad about it as I do - George too. Just let us fuss over you for a while, I promise it'll soothe us."

She relents, but she's not happy about it. She watches him lazily flip through the pages with a becoming interest and decides that it's a nice change from the frantic energy running through him on cases. His eyes stay mostly fixed on the pages, but after a while the way he glances up occasionally makes her think his interest is waning. He looks at her strangely, and she unpleasantly realises that the jumper is likely his. She tugs at the hem, itching to take it off, but she isn't wearing a shirt underneath, so she settles for continuing to profusely apologise.

"I'm so sorry for burdening all of you-"

"Y/N, relax. As long as you're warm."

"Well...I'm awake now. And I won't stay too close to the fire. Aren't you going to sleep?"

"I'm a bit wired after the case. Might take a nap later in the day." He jerks his head towards the door. "My room's just down the hallway if you'd like to get some proper rest."

She flushes; talking about his bedroom while wearing his jumper feels too intimate to bear. "It's okay. I'd rather stay here with...you." She chews the inside of her cheek as soon as she says it, holding her breath as she gauges his reaction.

"That's a relief. I'd rather you be here anyway."

She doesn't understand how he says it so casually when she feels that she might run out of air. She tries to calm herself down, taking deep, long breaths. She could be normal if she tried hard enough. They spend the rest of the night like that, somehow never running out of topics to discuss. He tells her about Jessica. She tells her about her family. It's only as he gets up to get ready for breakfast that she asks him about the magazine in his lap. "What were you reading?"

Now it's his turn to look embarrassed. "Oh, er, I like to keep up with what's happening around town -"

"Is that...a tabloid?" She pulls out one of the magazines sticking out of the pile set to the side and blanches at the headline with a dramatically edited photograph of her. Shame burns the side of her face, and she wishes the floor would just open up and swallow her whole. She had stupidly assumed he hadn't heard of her before meeting her, but why shouldn't he have? The magazines beat her to making a first impression, just like they always have. Just like they always will.

"I can explain."

"No, no, it's fine." Was something wrong with her ears, or did her voice sound a bit too distant? "Lots of people read tabloids. It doesn't mean anything. Anyway, we should get ready for breakfast."

"Y/-"

"Lockwood. I mean it. Drop it." The cut-up look in his eyes is bad enough without an apology. What was he apologising for? For her being such For her being a laughingstock? He bows his head and shuffles out of the library. She stays there, frozen, sitting on the floor, until she hears George rattling about in the kitchen. She walks in, slightly disconcerted by the casual t-shirt Lockwood had changed into. So many of his hard edges and shadows in the the library seemed to soften into a more vulnerable outline that makes her regret snapping at him. She mumbles a greeting and George takes a long look at her. If he notices their matching eye bags, he doesn't comment on it, but while she's making tea, she hears a scuffle behind her and turns to see George standing next to Lockwood with the frying pan alarmingly close to his head.

"Eggs, Y/N?"

Lucy arrives soon after, and begins to spread jam on her toast despite George's aggrieved protests.

"Oh, Y/N, I hope you didn't spend all night on the hard floor. I didn't hear you come up to the attic."

"The attic?"

"Yeah, where the extra bed is." She brandishes her jelly-covered knife vaguely threateningly. "Lockwood told you about it, didn't he?"

The boy in question seems a bit too busy buttering his bread to look up. She mumbles an affirmative, but notices his reluctance to meet her eye for majority of breakfast. Still, she couldn't stay mad at him for long, and it didn't seem awfully polite to, either, not after he opened his home to her.

After breakfast, Lockwood left to scope out a potential client and George headed to the Archives for a bit of light reading, so she and Lucy spend the morning playing board games and watching crappy television while painting their nails. She hadn't felt so alive in months. After a few hours, Lucy suddenly remembers some paperwork she had to complete so while she's busy with that, she wanders around the stairs and hallways, reading every newspaper clipping and looking at every picture, eventually working her way down to the kitchen.

She hears a creak coming from the inside and looks in. Lockwood's returned from his excursion and he shrugs off his jacket, placing it on one of the kitchen chairs as she timidly steps in. He seems just as much at a loss for words as her. She tries to break the ice and, surprisingly, it works.

"Seems a bit full of yourself to litter the halls with your achievements." He gives her a small smile and she revels in the glimmer of success.

"Can't help that I'm especially gifted."

Emboldened, she takes a seat at the table as he pulls out an apple from the fruit bowl and a chopping board.

"Nasty business with the press, isn't it?"

She moodily fiddles with the thinking cloth. "Yeah, well. God forbid a woman be happy."

He looks at her like he's trying to figure her out. The attention makes her fidget nervously. They watch him slice the apple into halves, and then quarters, in silence. "Is that why you're so...highly strung on cases?"

"George tell you to talk to me?"

"Er, yes, but he didn't need to. I'm sorry about earlier, by the way. I have an uncanny ability of putting my foot in it."

"I'd never have guessed." She isn't even being sarcastic. She talks to the apple rather than him. "I hate it. They say all these...awful things about me. Not that I have to tell you." She blinks humourlessly. He sets down the knife.

"Y/N, if you think I believe a word those gossip rags have to say about you, I might be seriously overestimating your intelligence."

She swallows the lump in her throat. It's the nicest thing anyone has said to her in a long while. She never fully acknowledged it because that would mean admitting she cared, that she was weak. But she couldn't help it. She lived life forever looking over her shoulder, so wrapped up in what ifs that she could barely stomach what was, forever worrying that anyone would think it was true. Maybe it was true. Her self-perception contorts and convulses, until she feels strangely formless. But that was the beauty of the moment: hidden away in the dim light of the kitchen, with only Lockwood and God as her witness, she could be anything and everything.

Her hand trembles with repressed emotion. He steadies her by carefully covering it with his own.

And for one beautiful, transcendent moment, she thought she might love him.

She walks home in a pleasant haze, her senses enjoying the reprieve from their constant assault. She ambles by a florist, and she sees a rose. It reminds her of Lockwood. She buys the rose and takes it home, even though she knows she doesn't have a vase for it. Even after a day filled with the most fun she'd had in a while, a restlessness troubles her, making her feel feverish with some invisible affliction. She plucks the translucent petals one by one, holding them up to the setting sun streaming through her windows. She wonders what they would look like in his hair. She winces when one of the thorns break the skin of her thumb. She rubs the smear of blood onto her bottom lip. Looking up at the ceiling, her hair a mess, tangled with the rose petals strewn all over her wrinkled sheets, she realises what it means to be hopelessly and cluelessly lovesick.

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

She remembers the first time she cries in front of him. They were on a case at some billionaire's acres-large manor. She ducks under the tape cordoning off the area and freezes, seeing reporters unobtrusively yet steadily setting up their cameras. There had to be some sort of mistake, they're never here this early. Certainly not before they've even started the job. She feels her senses heighten and a faint buzzing teases her ears. She sees Lockwood glance at her and start walking towards her, and she all but flees in the other direction.

She stays a safe distance away from him until the rest of the agents arrive for their briefing. The billionaire's assistant hadn't arrived yet, so they were standing around one of the outdoor picnic tables in the front garden...right in front of the gathering sea of reporters. She tries her best to pay attention but there's a muffled quality to the discussion as she listens for shutter sounds, real or imagined. Her hands grow clammy and her breathing grows jagged as the ominous feeling in her stomach grows. Something very bad was going to happen and it was going to happen soon, she was sure of it.

As if in slow motion, she watches Lockwood reach across to pick up a file from the table beside her on the table, and she feels her panic reach a crescendo as she senses the ripple of excitement in the press. She flinches so badly before he completes the movement that he gets startled, backing away. The question dies on his lips as she walks away, clumsily adjusting her rapier to give her hands something to do. To stop herself from sobbing over the lenses in her peripheral vision.

The press are just as ruthless as they were the last time she made the mistake of not leaving the scene as soon as she had the chance. And still from the chorus of overlapping voices, one made her heart stop dead.

"Y/N L/N, what do you have to say for seducing London's most eligible bachelor?"

She looks around desperately, struggling against waves of despair that threatened to drag her down into the abyss. No one was safe, not even charismatic Lockwood, and it was all her fault for dragging him into her messy life. It wasn’t fair that news agencies chose her life to screw with. She loved him silly with bruised eyes and an aching liver, but she couldn't even look at him properly. She couldn't scrub the image of Lockwood's face from her mind. Hot shame spread from her spine up her neck, an unpleasant prickling sensation. She felt flayed and grotesque, a hundred different kinds of twisted and messed up. Promiscuous on paper, manic in reality, enraptured by what she could never have.

Lockwood finds her sitting on the patchy grass of the backyard, head resting against the wall with suspiciously red eyes. He thinks for a moment before sitting down next to her.

“Hey.”

She’s too busy holding back tears to respond. She despairs internally when she first hears his voice, wishing he didn't care enough about her to follow her. God, they were going to make her pay for this tomorrow. He speaks in a low, soothing voice, but there's an underlying disquiet that comforts her. She'd never have imagined him to feel rattled by the press like she did.

"It all happened so quick, even George didn't realise."

"Doesn't matter. They got what they wanted."

"We'll talk to the assistant as soon as she gets here. We'll refuse to work until they clear out."

She feels an overwhelming amount of relief, not just for his help, but just for him. Sitting here solidly, away from prying eyes, rumours and lies, he felt like a precious secret she wanted to keep. The relief doesn't last long until it gets poisoned into grief. She rasps out an apology.

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"Everything." She feels herself shutting down, unravelling at the seams. But then there's this warmth next to her and a solid, reassuring weight across her shoulders. She shakes with mostly silent sobs, not realising that she's crumpled his shirt from clenching it until later. She sniffles into his shirt like a child, and clings to him with the desperation of a drowning man.

He insists that she sits out for the case, and for once, she listens.

The next time they meet is a little bittersweet. She tells him she's being posted outside of London for a month. It's sobering news, even for him.

"A whole month. Well, it'll go by faster than you realise."

"I hope so."

"How're you feeling?"

"Nervous, I suppose." She was dreading it. She didn't know how she ever worked on a case before Lockwood. At first, she thought it was simply because he took attention from the press off her hands. But there was just something about his presence that made the tension coiled in her body unwind. She tries to keep her tone light, but something must have shown on her face because he sighs and throws an arm over her shoulder, steering her away from the crowd of agents, medics and reporters.

"Don't fret. You'll be fine, trust me. You'll have your teammates with you, Barnes is supervising and you know he can't stand the press, and I've yet to read a headline vicious enough to knock you down for good. You're stronger than you realise, you know." She nods glumly, dragging her feet along. She looks up when he pulls away slightly, frowning at her face. He rubs at the furrow in her brow and she feels her face heat up.

"I said to not fret. You have everything you need." That earns him a weak smile, and though he doesn't look entirely happy with it, he can see George looking around for him. She watches him walk back as he mouths 'one month' to her, trying to smile encouragingly. The sun has started to rise, and the dusk casts a soft purple glow on his hair. She mumbles her response to the wind.

"What if...all I need is you?"

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

The month drags by painfully, but it finally ends. She packs her bags and takes the first train to London, just in time to join Lockwood for a case after a bit of begging at Barnes' feet. The job is at another mansion, but somehow even more extravagant and sprawling than the last one. It's bathed in a soft bubblegum pink glow, spilling out into its lawns and hedges and fountains.

She watches him explaining something to one of her colleagues, making some light sketches on the report. He looks exactly the same if a little haggard, yet older somehow, and it tugs at her heart. She had heard that this was supposed to be the last of a particularly tedious string of connected cases, and it had clearly taken a toll on him. Her heart skips a beat at the boyish glow that washes over his features when he sees her.

"...and for the Limbless George was sa- you weren't supposed to be back till Sunday!"

She flushes, beaming excitedly. Part of her wants to hug him, but another part is too scared to, so she contends with her smile.

"We finished early, and I wore Barnes down eventually. Now, what's this about a Limbless?"

The case goes more than smoothly with the extra help of her and her team, and they end up finishing comfortably before midnight, though not without a few minor mishaps. She finds Lockwood with his sleeves and trousers rolled up, dangling his legs in the pool, scrubbing at his hands.

"Wet cement," he grunts as a greeting, looking peevishly at the not-so-clearly cordoned off patch of wet cement. "Ought to have told us. Someone could have gotten properly injured."

"Oh, who'd be silly enough to fall into that?"

"Let me rephrase that: Quill Kipps could have gotten properly injured."

She laughs, turning to add her own handprint next to his in the cement. She smiles coyly as she tenderly scrapes the residue of her palm. He leans in, then stops, sniffing curiously.

"Is that...smoke?"

"Had a bit of an incident with a salt bomb. Someone threw it in the wrong direction."

"Ah."

They're interrupted by a loud whoop from the other end of the pool. A couple of Fittes boys had broken into the liquor cabinet and were now the proud owners of three preciously high-end bottles of champagne. She tried to look at them reprovingly, but couldn't find it in her.

"Oh well. We'll put that down under property damage."

One of her teammates scurried over to clarify a discrepancy in her paperwork, and she leaves to sort it out. By the time she's back, Lockwood's tie is loosened and he's swaying along to some invisible music.

"Y/N! You've got to try some of this stuff, it's grrrreat!"

She shakes her head bemusedly. "Lockwood. How many glasses have you had?"

"Oh, just one." He blinks at the glass in his hand. "One and a half." He drags her in briefly, whispering into her ear. "Besides, what happened to being young?"

Her heart hammers as soon as she feels the tug on her wrist; she's never even touched him in public before. She scans the scene reflexively, but no one seems to have noticed. She supposed getting drunk and making ill-thought-out decisions was the youngest she could be, so she decided to have a little sip.

"Clink?"

"I don't think you're supposed to say it."

He makes a face, clearly more tipsy than he was letting on. "Whatever. I'm saying it."

Still, she humours him, and he looks at her with shameless adoration. Even while well on the way to getting drunk, there was an endearing tilt to his swagger and rosy cheeks that made his youth a delectable luxury. She takes a sip, then another, and then tries to drown herself in champagne, anything to distract her from the way he stole her breath, the fizz electric under her thrumming skin.

They return to where they were sitting earlier, watching some of the more boisterous agents splash into the pool. Someone manages to switch off the harsh floodlights overlooking the pool, washing everyone's outlines with a tangerine glow from the orange neon lights. They talk about their month apart, then catch the eye of the other in a way that makes them both look away, and the cycle repeats.

"I've missed you."

She can't tell which of them says it first, only that the yearning in her voice mirrored his. The look in his eyes scares her yet appeals to her daring all at once. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to.

"We...I...couldn't. It'd go horribly wrong, and you'd hate me, or they'd double down and it'd blow up in your pretty face."

"I'll take my chances." He says it so casually that it stings.

"This isn't exactly bearable for me either, you know."

The background noise fades away, and suddenly speaking at normal volume is too loud. She whispers, as if he might not hear if she's soft enough. "You give me your bed and twist your neck dozing in an armchair. You stick up for me when I'm too weak to stick up for myself. You pull me in when I'm breaking down and hold my fractured pieces together. I can't help but love you." He follows her line of vision to the camera lens peeking through the wall of foliage, not as sneaky as it was trying to be.

"And if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were in love with me."

He inhales roughly, and she recognises his unsteady breathing.

"Are you...?" Lockwood's voice makes her tear her eyes away from the lens, and focus on his soft brown tired eyes.

"...Might as well. Right?" She tries to hide how badly she needs his acknowledgement. He searches for something in her eyes she's not sure exists. Her heart is in her mouth as he tenderly covers her hand, and suddenly she's sitting at the kitchen table at Portland Row again; unsure and raw and hoping against hope for a love like his. He strokes the back of her hand with him thumb, deep in thought, as if soothing her, or maybe telling her to stop, breathe and think about this horrible decision.

"They'll publish the most horrible things tomorrow."

"I thought that didn't matter."

"Not to me. But it does for you."

"It's worth it. You're worth it."

He closes his eyes, and she watches his eyes shift restlessly behind his eyelids, as if fighting a losing battle. "They'll give you hell for it."

She whispers into his mouth. "Damned if I do, damned if I don't. They're watching either way."

His lips twitch. Her eyes flutter close. She inhales the space between them, their noses softly bumping against each other as they tilt their heads.

Slut.

She leans into him and her lips part as he deepens the kiss. She feels the tangerine neon light burn into the expanse of her exposed skin from her neck to her shoulder.

Slut.

She feels a hand on her lower back as she wraps an arm around his neck, craning her neck upwards. The kiss is equally delicious and bruising, and she feels herself getting drunk on his touch.

Slut.

The pressure on her lips fade and he pulls away, giving her the choice to back out. In the span of a second he shifts from a hazy sunset to the deep aquamarine pool in front of them, and then she's leaning in and devouring him like they could never be close enough.

Slut.

Her mind holds the whisper like a promise.

[viviennevermillion]

Mortals and Fools — First Look #1 (Coming Soon)

Want to read a SFW coming-of-age fantasy novel with evil gods, two adult aspec protagonists and magic? Consider supporting this project!

Author's Note: After a total of 8 years of posting fanfiction on this account, I am excited to announce that I am finally starting my first long-term original work as an author! Goal is to get this series published as an actual novel but until then, I will be uploading chapters online as I write them, hopefully building an audience in the process! Mortals and Fools will be available on Wattpad and potentially other platforms. The first 4 chapters will be uploaded to Tumblr as well. Over the next few weeks I will keep uploading promo posts with new characters and more info! Thank you so much to everyone who has supported me as a writer over the years and welcome to everyone who's new here!

Summary: In the land of Elsthess, brilliant but arrogant Dr. Immanuel Faust is doing his best to follow the teachings of the Goddess of Wisdom, live up to his late grandmother's expectations and hide the fact that he has been seeing strange, mystical apparitions all his life. When his pupil becomes afflicted with an ancient curse and the things he has seen turn out to be more than just hallucinations, Immanuel must forge a contract with Morgan, a being from another realm who's ready to humble him at every turn, and learn his religion's most despised art: magic. As he steps outside of the simple world he has grown up in, he slowly comes to realize that there is much more to learn for him still.

Themes:

The Meaning of Wisdom & Growth

Unlearning harmful narratives and prejudices

Religious Trauma

Healing from Abuse

Rebuilding trust in others

Learning to understand others

Navigating radical changes during adulthood

Elitism and class inequality

The problems with the ideal of meritocracy

Queerplatonic & Alterous Attraction

Addiction

Gender Dysphoria

What this story contains:

A variety of fun magical powers!

Evil Gods & Forces from other Realms!

Queer rep! (demisexual & aroace protagonists, a trans man and a wlw couple)

Mysteries to unravel

The coming-of-age fantasy adventures you're used to from YA novels but with characters in their 20s and struggles of adulthood

Humor

My blood, sweat and tears as an author

The Cast: Introducing 3 Characters

Here's some info on the three characters in the header, from left to right!

#1 — Dr. Immanuel Icarus Faust

❝ It wasn't supposed to be like this... I've failed... as both a doctor and a man of faith. I wanted to follow your teachings, dear Goddess, and guide those who seek wisdom and knowledge, as grandmother did... but I couldn't even save one innocent girl. Have I become godless? ❝

Raised by his grandmother, the High Priestess of Solbrynn's temple, Immanuel was taught from an early age on to aspire to be the best in everything he attempted to do and dedicate his life to wisdom, in order to make the Goddess Adira proud. Having become a renowned physician at the age of 28, Immanuel understands himself as his kingdom's ideal of a self-made man: a scholar who can achieve everything he puts his mind to, no matter the circumstances. As a result, he has put himself on a pedestal, believing that those who achieved less than him had all the chances and merely didn't use them. Fearing nothing more than failure and becoming anything like his absent, alcoholic father; Immanuel is bound for a rude awakening.

#2 — Morgan Miralaith

❝ While you were having your existential crisis in the mad scientist laboratory you call your bedroom, I took the liberty to read your grandmother's diary. The good news is, I finally understand where all the hubris comes from. ❝

Morgan, belonging to a long-lived species from the realm of Calliah, is the second-in-command for the Elsthess Resistance against the Plague Avatars. While the Resistance on Mhorunn regards her as a capable leader and a skilled fighter; using fire magic to blaze her way to victory; it is clear to most that she has many secrets and ulterior motives. She cares about others in her own way, yet hardly lets anyone close to her. With her mischievous demeanor and cynical nature, Morgan has made it her new mission to recruit Immanuel for the Resistance and, while at it, shatter his very distorted self-image and worldview. Upon forging a contract with her, Immanuel believes that he has sold his soul to a demon. It is only upon meeting others of her kind that he realizes that really is just her personality.

#3 — Mortis Grimm

❞ People reject that which is foreign to them. You of all people should know this. Still, my personal aspirations and origins are of no concern to you. Remember that. ❝

While there are several people from the Realm of Calliah in Elsthess, the realm that Mortis Grimm originated from is unknown. He seems to be the only one of his kind and there is something sinister about him. Wielding powerful magic that matches no other in recorded nature, Mortis, despite being the leader of the Resistance, is a big mystery to all of its members. Usually donning a Plague Doctor mask, Morgan is among the few to have seen his face. He is Mhorunn's greatest ally, but hardly a trusted one. Most understand that he could just as well become its greatest enemy one day.

Interested in reading more and receiving updates as they're posted? Comment on this post and tell me if you'd like to be added to the taglist! Reblogs are appreciated to spread the word! 💞

Taglist — @gwaaaaar @silveryloneliness @noxochicoztliv @justletmeon12 @averytirednerd @letsallsleepoverwork @styrofauxm @non-pressurizeddiamond @mangoinacan13 @amateurmasksmith @kenobiblue @soru-dee @pictures-of-the-stars @elf-osamu @animusicnerd @jaytherat-hometothereblog @watcherofeternalflame

[nekoannie-chan]

I won’t wait for you

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader (past).

Word count: 371 words.

Rating: Teen.

Summary: You don’t need Steve.

Major Tags: Angst, mention of cheating.

Additional tags: This is my entry to @caplanbuckybarnes Weekly Writing Challenge! #1 with the prompt:

"You don't get to leave and then come back after all this time and expect me to welcome you with open arms."

@saiyanprincessswannie

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any kind of permission for my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

My other media where I publish:  Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter. 

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @charmed-asylum @pandaxnienke @real-fbi @smokeandnailz @white-wolf1940 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @xoxonotme @bluemusickid @leyannrae @harrysthiccthighss @marvelatthisone @caplanbuckybarnes @sapphire-rogers @lizzieolseniskinda @notyourtypicalrose @hallecarey1 @nana1000night @talia-rumlow @writingshae @alexxavicry @azulatodoryuga @daemonslittlebitch @chaoticcollectivenightmare @endlesstwanted @chemtrails-club  @marigoldreamer @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @here4thefanfics @theestorm @patzammit @kmc1989 @somegirlfromasgard @rogersbarber

You gave a biscuit to your daughter Sarah and another one to the puppy that was only a few weeks old that you had just adopted after the little one had been begging you for more than a month for a pet. You just couldn't say "no" to her; she actually looked a lot like Steve. Although that didn't bother you, you just kept pretending he didn't exist anymore.

You didn't notice that someone was watching them in the park; nothing seemed suspicious, not even when he started following you.

"Y/N, “Steve called out to you.

For a split second, you stopped but immediately kept walking, even though Steve caught up with them.

“Y/N, it's been a long time," Steve said.

“Who is he? “your daughter asked.

“An old work colleague," you replied. “I don't have anything to talk to you about," you mumbled quietly enough so your daughter wouldn't hear.

Steve turned to look at the girl, who looked a little dismayed, and then at the puppy. He stepped aside; it wasn't the time to talk.

You looked at the clock; it was eleven o'clock in the morning, and it wasn't time for Clarice to come home from school with your daughter. John and Clarice were busy taking all the children who were mutants back home after school.

You opened the door and closed it later, but Steve wouldn't allow it.

“Why didn't you tell me I have a daughter?“ Steve reproached you.

"You don't get to leave and then come back after all this time and expect me to welcome you with open arms."

“You just disappeared."

“I saw what you did with Sharon; I had planned that after you got Bucky to safety, I was going to tell you, you know, we don't need you; you'd better go," you said.

"Everything is all right?“ Lorna stepped in; you hadn't even realized when they'd arrived.

“I think you should leave, Rogers; you're not welcome here," Wanda said.

Steve looked down and turned to leave.

“I can still take Sarah for the ice cream I promised her, right?“ Wanda asked, not taking her eyes off the road.

“Sure, she hasn't stopped talking about it since you told her."

[ladykailitha]

Posting Schedule and Story Update

I know, I know I don't have a posting schedule, not really. At least in terms of what gets published when, only the days of the week stuff gets posted.

Well for the next four weeks there will be one:

Never Hold Back Your Step...- Sundays

Well Met By Moonlight- Tuesdays

Icarus- Thursdays

Special- Saturdays*

But I'm also getting worryingly low on my backlog (like I'm about dip into single digit range) and I hate having it that low.

So what I usually do is take a week or so off posting and build it back up. And I would normally take the week of my birthday off (Aug 14) to play catch up, but...

Yeah, I'm planning on posting the final chapter of Well Met By Moonlight (werewolf Steve) on the 13th. One year after it's release and since I'm releasing on that day, it doesn't make sense to only post that day and none of the rest of the week.

Also depending on what I am doing on the 14th (as whether or not my husband works) will decide whether or not I'm doing WIP Wednesday that day because if I'm not really doing anything, than I would prefer hanging out with you guys and writing. But I'll keep you posted the closer that gets.

But if he does have it off, I'll take it off and have two days the next week to make up for it. It would also be that week that I would take off posting and probably the next week as well. It depends on how much I get done.

But here's the exciting part, during this time between now and Aug 18th I will continue to work on the exotic club one and will have a ton of fun chapters to share when I get back from my break.

I will still be doing WIP Wednesdays and posting ideas and meta and headcanons and all that fun stuff. And maybe some fun polls too.

Also it is looking like "Never Hold Back Your Step..." (boy w/a bat) will be only 17 chapters long (maybe only 16 depending on how much of the Mind Flayer fight I put in it). I'm hoping it'll be only 16 really so that it can end the same week as Well Met.

I think a lot of people are hoping for their favorite parts of season 3, but this story was never meant to re-write canon. It was just meant to look into the idea that Eddie picked Steve up as a lost sheepie between season 2 and 3. Something that at the time there wasn't a lot of.

We'll see.

But expect to see me start posting again on Sept 1st for sure or on Aug 25th, if I have a really good week. And I'll be kicking it off the exotic dancer one, which I'm really excited for.

*Sir Steve, Knight Protectorate will be finished this Saturday. Leaving the Caged Bird Still Sings (sugar baby!Steve/sugar daddy!Eddie) to take its posting slot on Saturdays.

Tagging my permanent list to make sure everyone who needs to see this can.

1-@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[genericpuff]

Hey quick question.

How do you know if you should make a webcomic? I have this story idea that’s been floating around in the back of my head that I think could work well for a comic series. But the problem is I’m mainly used to writing screenplays and more traditional writing.

What I’m saying is, how can I tell if making a webcomic is worth it or if I should stick in my comfort zone?

I mean, there's no definitive right answer when it comes to "knowing" if you should make a webcomic. It really just comes down to you. Do you really like the medium? Do you feel your story has to be told within that medium to achieve its goals?

Same thing goes for whether or not it's "worth it", it really comes down to how you define that. For some people, simply posting their comics online to a few readers each week is worth it. For others, if it doesn't get into print or publishing or whatever have you, it might not be quite so justifiable to keep up with. Neither is better or worse than the other, both reasons are valid because it ultimately comes down to what we as individuals are trying to accomplish and what we define as "worth it" on a personal level.

I actually live on both sides of the spectrum right now because with Rekindled, posting it on Tumblr and getting all the great feedback and company through the audience it's gained makes it worth it. But that worth was defined by my expectations going in - I wasn't making Rekindled for money (legally I can't), I wasn't making it to get an Originals deal or anything of the sort, I was just making it because I found myself deadset on going through with it after months of it living in my head rent free, and so what I've gotten out of it as a result is very much worth it, all I was really looking for was maybe some other readers who would enjoy reading a transformative 'foe fiction' from a former LO fan and I've found those readers in spades simply due to the demand.

Time Gate, on the other hand, was something that I wanted for years to be a 'successful' project, defined more by actual tangible growth and gain. Because I came up with it as a kid, for a long time it was my "magnum opus" project, the thing that I wanted to see get turned into books and an anime and a video game and all those sorts of things as 'proof' of how good it was. Of course, I know now years later that those expectations were WAY too high and it resulted in me feeling incredibly depressed over it for ages. It made it hard to work on and even though I did have some readers, I didn't see it as "worth it" because my expectations were a lot higher than that of Rekindled's going in. But that was simply a matter of experience at that point, because I had been making original comics for so long, when I went into Rekindled I knew a lot more what I was capable of, what I wasn't capable of, and what boundaries I was willing to put down for myself. Even still, I do still want to return to Time Gate some day and when I do, I want to still treat it like a series I want to get off the ground as an actual published piece of work - it's just that this time around, I actually know how to make those steps and be proactive in my approach (and I know where to keep my expectations) which is certainly a perspective and skillset I didn't have when I was 15 LMAO

I will say, realistically speaking, it is a lot harder to pursue webcomics as a writer, because the reality of this medium is that most people who go into it are artists who learn how to write to make a webcomic, not the other way around. Unless you're willing to learn how to draw - which is a whole other skillset that requires years of work and patience - you're likely going to have to seek someone to collaborate with and - I cannot stress this enough - it's not going to be someone you simply find on reddit who's willing to work for free. Again, many of us as artists went into webcomics with a project already in mind, so most artists are already working on their own passion projects, trying to convince someone else to work on yours is just not realistic or fair. I'm fortunate enough to have @banshriek along for the production of Rekindled and even then I still pay for their contributions out of pocket, they're as invested in an LO rewrite project as I am (and thus they're given a lot of room to make suggestions in both the set designs and the writing), and I still had to carry the first 20ish episodes on my own before they joined along, i.e. I would still be making Rekindled if they weren't onboard, but having them is a massive help that's taken the comic to a whole other level in its artistic production.

But that doesn't mean it's hopeless! There's a lot of interest right now in webnovels and writing comic scripts is still a completely viable way to get into the comics industry if you're really interested in doing so (fun fact: before I was making comics, I wrote fanfiction! This is probably not shocking to hear all things considered LMAO) There's a reason Webtoons owns Wattpad now, webnovels are a no-brainer when it comes to adaptations to visual mediums, and webcomics have become part of that environment by extension. So at the very least, if you want to get your story out there, there are loads of ways to do it that don't require you to make a comic - but if you really want to make one, there are ways to get into that industry through writing in other ways such as pitching scripts to comic publishers and/or going indie with webnovels. Ultimately, if many of us webcomic creators stopped drawing our works, we'd still be coming up with stories to write, because that's what's really at the heart of these sorts of projects. So even if you can't get into comics right away due to lack of visual artistry, that doesn't mean it's off the table forever ( ´ ∀ `)ノ～ ♡

Sorry, that was a lot of rambling but I hope it helps ! Remember to keep your goals and expectations manageable, and most of all, write lots! You'll be doing it anyways regardless of whether or not you get into comics, so whatever value you see in getting into comics is up to you to determine! You don't have to know right away, it might be something you'll find along the way or have to adjust as you get more experience, but don't stop yourself from getting creative and messing around until you find out what works! You won't know if it was worth leaving your comfort zone until you try it <3

Good luck! (•̀ᴗ•́)و

[fitgirlfemdom]

After reading the other guy's post that you published and your own about small dick humiliation, I wanted to tell my own story, and I hope you'll like it. Part of it is similar to the other guy. In my early 30s, I was a gym rat, and while I wasn't bulking up, I was lean at 160-165 lbs, and I was just shy of 5 inches. I started dating a girl and then a storm hit that knocked out power for close to two weeks, and between those two things, my gym days were over. Once my routine got throw out of wack, I never recovered. I'm in my early 40s now and weigh around 210-215 lbs (I've been in that range for a few years now), and I've lost nearly an inch of length. I'm barely over 4 inches now. Between the weight gain and the loss of length, sex sucks. It's a huge part of why I turned to gooning.

As far as my size, I've always known that I'm on the smaller side, but it didn't become a kink for me until OCT or NOV of last year. I actually used to post cum tributes for years, and never once got a negative comment on my size. Anyway, I was chatting with this girl on Discord and one of the things we bonded over was exhibitionism/public nudity. It's something I've never been into doing myself, but seeing girls engage in it is super hot, and she would tell me about some stuff that she's done, or we'd watch stuff together. One day, we're chatting, and I mention that I'm in my backyard. She asks for proof, so I send her a pic of my yard, and she tells me to strip. I was immediately turned on and there's a small area of my yard where I could get away with it without having to worry about any neighbors seeing me, so I recorded me stripping. My heart was beating like a jackhammer and I sent the video. Her first comment is, "damn, you have a small cock." I was absolutely crushed, and it broke something inside me. I wasn't expecting her to tell me it was the hottest thing she had ever seen, but I guess I was expecting a little bit of validation. "Nice job," or "I can't believe you actually did it," something like that.

Since then, small penis/dick/cock humiliation has become a major kink for me. I've had dozens of girls online degrade me after I send them a pic or video. I've gotten everything from laughter to mean comments to poor ratings. I have a few regulars that I chat with that are absolutely brutal towards me, and I love it. I reblog captions and use the #small dick humiliation hashtag on my blog. You mentioned in your post about a guy that jerks off with only two fingers, and I do that now. A couple of different girls have encouraged me to do it, and it feels so humiliating and looks so pathetic when I send them videos. At this point, two of my biggest fantasies are to experience SPH in a group chat, and IRL.

You had said that you wished more of your inbox messages were like that other guy, so I hope this fits that.

YES!!! MORE SMALL DICK INBOXES!!!

yes, for some reason, some of us girls find guys jerking off with only two fingers really hot in a pathetic way. it's mainly because it's how we play with our clits, and seeing a guy do it is like watching him wear heels and put on makeup--its so emasculating. i love it.

right now, all i need is a small dick <4in gooner on his knees jerking his little cock while trying his best not to "nnnghhh" and cum in 30 seconds in front of me. i need a pathetic gooner like that begging me to let him cum and calling me mommy while he does it. also i need a zero sugar smirnoff ice. preferably pink lemonade flavor. and maybe a cigarette.

imagine sending your pathetic dick pic to a girl and she adds you to a gc with all her friends, just so they can clown on you for being a degenerate pervert. imagine them sending audio messages, laughing and making jokes at your expense, asking with slight curiosity if you can even fuck anything with that. them asking if companies make condoms in that size, and if you're even fertile. imagine them thinking that's not enough, and forcing you to meet up with them IRL, lest they leak your unsavory pictures online. you get locked in chastity and forced to pleasure these girls for the rest of the night, whether that be through your mouth or your hands, while they spit and laugh at your pitiful dick.

that gives me an idea for a new post. AGHHH thank you for this

[miss-choi-park]

Sin never tasted so...

Chapter 1 - Fate is a bastard

A TXT Yeonjun Fanfiction from Mrs. Choi-Park

CEO/non-idol/dom/bully!Yeonjun! / Confident/sub/named/fem!Reader!

No obstacle - made of stone - stops love, what love can do, it dares to do. - pretty cheesy, right?

Romeo and Juliet, literature that can only be endured through modern language and films, nowadays. We all know the plot.

~A boy and a girl, madly in love with each other but the tragic circumstances of the family dispute kill both of them in the end.

The "most beautiful" love story in the world...if you don't experience it yourself. Fate is sometimes an ice-cold bastard.

Warnings under the cut

Warnings: rough language, hate speech, bullying, sex language, they kinda hate each other, caring yeonjun

Please remember that I fully respect the privacy of all K-Pop Idols and that this is just a fantasy. It's not my intention to harm anyone! (I've been a MOA since March 2023)

The hot whirlpool was just right thing for my muscles, which were pretty acidic from two days of skiing.

I still had four days ahead of my parents and my winter sports trip. And even though skiing was my favorite sport after hip-hop dancing, it was pretty tiring. My parents and I also received an unpleasant surprise yesterday.

The 5-star sports hotel high in the Pyeongchang Mountains has also attracted another rich Korean family from Seoul.

Why did the Choi's - my father's chosen mortal enemies - have to have a vacation in the same hotel as us in the same week as us?!

Ever since I was little, my parents always instilled in me that the Choi's were truly the spawn of hell.

It wasn't until I was 13 years old that I really found out why our family's didn't get along at all.

My parents, who had moved from Germany to Korea four years before I was born, had started with a small bookstore, which developed into a publishing house for small authors and later into the second largest publishing house in South Korea. My parents have always hated the Choi's, who put obstacles in their way, even now they were holding back our really great success.

The Choi's owned the number one publishing house in Korea, which had also been producing Manhwa's for several years now. (Counterpart to Japanese anime)

Because of this family, my parents struggled with racism, failure and stagnation. We had to deal with copyright lawsuits again and again - fights that emptied our Bank account and were never really justified. We also couldn't follow up with the manhwa's because it was forbidden to us. The old Choi was "a big animal in the world of Politics," as he always said. And even though my parents had come a long way...we had to constantly look into our pockets while the Choi's lived in luxury.

The 5-star holiday was the first in 6 years. Before that we either couldn't go on a skiing holiday or we could only go to a 3-4 star hotel. That's why I wanted to enjoy the whirlpool now and do not think of anything bad, who knows when I'll have that again.

For two minutes I enjoyed the flow of water and the bubbles massaging my back.

Until~

"Oh no, that can't be possible! I wanted to go into that hot tub, potato!" I heard a voice. It didn't take a split second before I recognized the voice. The unpleasant nickname, only one person used it for me, was the final hint.

I opened my eyes and lifted my head, which I had rested on the edge of the hot tub.

Choi Yeonjun.

As expected.

The 24-year-old son of the family I had grown to hate.

Yeonjun stood on the stairs that led up to the hot tub where I was relaxing. I rolled my eyes, not giving him a second glance after dropping my head back down again.

He wasn't worth saying anything back.

"Come on out, I want to relax!" he grumbled. Without saying anything, I raised my hand out of the water with my middle finger held up.

There was silence for a moment. Before I was about to look up to see if he had disappeared, I heard an angry murmur. Then noises coming from the water. I raised my head again and actually saw Yeonjun across from me climbing into the large whirlpool.

"Fuck! What are you doing?!" I threw it at his head and Yeonjun looked up. His look more than disgusted as he lowered himself.

"Maybe I can get you out of here when I'm in." Yeonjun's arm swirled through the water in front of him as his gaze followed his movement. I saw him grin evilly, "Cool, through the whirlpool bubbles, you can't even tell that I've just made bubbles."

As his gaze climbed up to me, I understood what he meant and jumped up immediately. I had 100% confidence that he had just farted in here. So I rushed out of the water, exclaiming in disgust: "You really are the stupidest creep I've ever met!"

Yeonjun laughed as I tied my towel around myself, crawled into my flip flops and rushed away.

Stupid asshole! Why did I have to bother with something like that? Life could be so beautiful.

Even at school he was the biggest idiot I knew, who made every day there a living hell until he finally graduated and I could enjoy four years without him.

Stupid private comprehensive school from the first to the eighth grade we were in one school. Luckily he was always four steps above me, but I was always afraid the stupid idiot would repeat a year and we will sit together in a class at some point. Surprisingly this never happened.

He ruined everything. My school days, my school dance club - which he also signed up for after I signed up - the success of my family and so much more.

I really hated Yeonjun.

He was a brat, idiot, know-it-all and disgusting. I had asked my fate several times 'Why him? Why do I have to know someone like that?' ~ I would never have received an answer.

I really hoped he wouldn't come to the little party in the mountain hut by the ski slopes this evening. Hopefully he wasn't in the hut today where there were a thousand posters saying that today was a Party. Because as far as I knew Yeonjun, he took every party with him and always a slut from there who fell for his tricks and then was dropped by him afterwards.

Asshole!

I didn't want to spend any longer in the hotel's swimming area so I went to my room.

The smarter one always gives in, right?

*

Hope dies last, but eventually it dies too.

For me the time had come when the door of the cozy mountain hut opened and Yeonjun entered.

From my seat at the bar I could see the door perfectly and everyone who entered could also see me. Unfortunately, our eyes met immediately. I exhaled in frustration and rolled my eyes. The nice young man named Danwoo, who I had already met on the ski slopes yesterday, looked at me in surprise.

"What's up?" He asked over the loud music in the bar as I looked deep into my cocktail glass, hoping Yeonjun would just ignore me.

"Nothing…I"

"Heyjo Sumi!" A loud voice shouted at us.

Oh, please don't! Why me?!

While Danwoo turned in the direction the voice had come from, I drank my cocktail, which was actually quite strong, in one go.

When I put my glass back down, I was immediately greeted by Yeonjun's sharp eyes. He had stopped close to Danwoo and leaned on the counter so he could look at me.

"I thought you didn't like parties, sweetie." He greeted me.

I gave him a dark look.

"First of all, don't call me sweetie, second of all, I don't like parties when you're around and third, fuck off!" I replied.

Unfortunately, I knew that Yeonjun wouldn't be shaken off so easily.

Yeonjun gave a half-hearted laugh and raised his eyebrows: “That’s bad, I wasn’t planning on going.”

"Excuse me...may I ask who you are?" Danwoo interrupted our conversation and I clenched my teeth so hard that my jaw hurt as Yeonjun looked disparagingly at my acquaintance.

"The question would be mine first." He replied to Danwoo, who seemed a little taken aback.

"Yeonjun! Just shut up and leave!" I protested, causing his gaze to turn back to me. His bored look turned into a wickedly amused grin.

He rested his head on his hand: "Why so pissed off, little one? Your problem if you're always looking for someone who can't satisfy you."

A fire burned inside me. I immediately jumped up from my chair, wanting to choke Yeonjun with the small silver chain that hung around his neck.

I walked up to him and held my finger close to his nose: "I'd like you to-"

Before I could even continue speaking, I felt a hand on my shoulder pulling me back and away from Yeonjun faster than I expected.

It turned out to be Danwoo who pulled me through the dancing crowd, out of Yeonjun's sight. When we finally got to the corner where sofas were, he looked at me a little surprised: "Who was that?"

I looked at Danwoo for a few seconds before I glanced over my shoulder and was relieved to see that Yeonjun didn't seem to have followed us.

"Oh, that was nobody. I've called him my problem my whole life...please don't worry about him, he's just an asshole." I said and Danwoo's facial expressions relaxed a bit.

"Why is he here?"

"I would like to know that too, believe me, fate is just not kind to me."

"Then let's get out of his way."

"Deal!"

Surprisingly, I didn't even see a trace of Yeonjun in the hut for the next 2 hours. He had probably already grabbed the next poor girl and was fucking her somewhere.

I didn't care. Danwoo was so generous in ordering me a ton of alcohol that I didn't even think about Yeonjun. Until Danwoo went to the toilet around 2am, I took a short break from dancing and sank onto the couch in the back compartment of the mountain hut.

The party was surprisingly well attended, the songs were first class and the atmosphere was electric. I was happy to have met Danwoo because I would never go to a party like this alone.

My vision was still clear, but I noticed that my mood was getting significantly better with every second. I also started some conversations with complete strangers on the dance floor. Well, my inhibitions were long overcome.

"Where did you leave your boyfriend?" Someone asked me. I looked to my right where a bad awakening awaited me.

Yeonjun.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" I asked, horrified. My good mood immediately disappeared.

"I was sitting here the whole time." He grumbled, taking a sip from his beer bottle that had been resting between his legs.

I stood up immediately.

I thought Yeonjun had already left the party, what was he doing here all of a sudden?!

I stood up immediately.

"Hey, wait! I asked you something!" He protested as I tried walking away. I ignored him and tried to escape through the dancing crowd. Unfortunately, this turned out to be difficult, thanks to the somewhat chubby man in front of me.

"Hey!" I heard Yeonjun say, shortly afterwards a surprisingly warm hand on my forearm. I was spun around and to make matters worse, lost my balance due to my drunkenness.

The next moment I found myself on the floor, between Yeonjun's legs. When I glanced up at him he seemed confused, but this was quickly replaced by a broad smile.

"Oh what did I do to deserve this honor?" He asked and I furrowed my eyebrows.

But before I could get up, Yeonjun leaned forward, his face now close to mine.

"Will you answer my question now?" He asked. The smell of beer could be clearly smelled from his breath. But my breathing probably wasn't any better.

"Why? Jealous?"

"Pfft!" with that amused sound, Yeonjun leaned back and I took the chance to get up.

"Why should I be jealous? You should be." He said and I looked down at him confused.

"What does that mean again?!" I wanted to know and Yeonjun shrugged indifferently.

"I thought I saw your guy disappearing into a cubicle in the toilet with someone earlier." He explained himself and I raised an eyebrow.

"God! How much have you drunk?"

"3 beers and a soju shot. I know what I saw.", He murmured before taking another sip from his bottle, "Think about it, how long has he been gone now?"

Oh my god...he wasn't entirely wrong. Danwoo had probably been gone for a little longer than 15 minutes. I bit my bottom lip, rather unconsciously, as I looked over my shoulder at the toilet entrance.

Well maybe the queue was long…

"Come!" Yeonjun said in a firm voice and walked past me. More successful than me, he made his way through the dancing crowd. I was left a little surprised. It was Yeonjun we were talking about here...he probably just wanted to convince me of something again. Lies were his specialty.

"What's wrong now, potato?" Yeonjun shouted, just loud enough for me to hear him over the music. I bit my lip again before hesitantly moving forward. I trotted after Yeonjun through the crowd. We got to the toilets pretty quickly.

From what I got to know - Danwoo was the complete opposite of Yeonjun. Funny, understanding, decent and attentive...I wouldn't trust him to ever cheat on anyone-

I froze when I saw Danwoo in the doorframe of the men's toilet. A short woman with long black hair stood in front of him, giggling wildly.

"Danwoo?" I immediately forgot it when I saw him and the unknown girl together.

Danwoo turned his head to the side and immediately stood upright. His features looked shocked. Like a little kid who just got caught stealing candy.

"Hey Sumi... uhm it's not what it looks like."

"Oh no! It is exactly what it looks like! What was he like, doll?" Yeonjun joined the conversation, the question obviously directed at the black-haired girl.

So he was right...Yeonjun hadn't lied to me. Then why did I want him to do it?

Contrary to my expectations, my eyes began to burn. A sign of impending tears.

Oh no!

The girl standing in front of Danwoo looked back and forth between me and him, more than surprised, as if she wanted to make sure we both were real.

"What do you want again? I don't even know you." Danwoo said to Yeonjun and I just turned around and ran. I didn't know where my legs would take me, but I just wanted to be somewhere else right now. Somewhere far away.

Why were all boys so shitty? My first boyfriend had already cheated on me...why does it have to happen again?! Why does fate always have to put obstacles in my way?! Why can't I be lucky too?!

Before I knew it, I was standing in front of the mountain hut in the freezing cold winter when the first tear finally ran down my cheek.

The cold wind that blew over my arms, which were only covered with a thin sweater, gave me goosebumps. But I was less interested in that right now. I folded my arms and pulled my shoulders up to my ears, as I ran from A to B and cursed things that even I couldn't understand.

Only the light from the window of the hut and the light from the drag lifts twenty meters away brought light to the pitch-dark ski slope that stretched below me.

It's not what it looks like! It's always what it looks like! - "Asshole, idiot, wanker!" I called out into the clear evening air.

"I hope you don't mean me again?" A voice suddenly came from behind me.

I turned around and recognized Yeonjun in the dim light of the surroundings. I quickly turned away again.

Never let your enemies see your tears!- my father always says.

"Are you crying?" He asked further and I heard the snow crunching under his feet.

I frantically wiped my cold teary cheeks.

"Pff, not because of him! How long have you known him - a day?" Yeonjun said. His voice now close behind me.

"What do you want here, Yeonjun? Leave me alone, I have enough to worry about right now!" I replied sharply. For a moment there was silence. I kept my gaze fixed on the snow beneath me. I started to shiver, unintentionally but no wonder given the cold.

"I'll make sure you don't freeze to death out here." I heard him say. His answer was a little softer than usual.

"Ha! That would be fine with you." I hissed back.

"That's nonsense!" Yeonjun exclaimed, the next moment I felt his hands on my shoulders and I promptly were turned around.

"Why are you crying and trying to get yourself killed out here? Boys suck, you should know that."

"Cheating is not only shit, it's anti-social, unrespectful and a crime!", I pulled myself out of his grasp, "I just want to be alone right now, so get lost!"

"You're such a stubborn person sometimes that I just-"

"That you want to - what? - You want to kill me? Then make it easy and get inside! The cold will do the jo-"

Before I could finish, Yeonjun grabbed my forearm and pulled me with him surprisingly easily.

"Let go of me, asshole!" I protested as he opened the door to the mountain hut again.

He showed the tall, broadly built security man his party entry bracelet and also mine, since I was wearing it on my wrist, which he was holding tightly. The man nodded and looked at me a little confused as Yeonjun dragged me further.

"What's your jacket?!" He wanted to know when he got to the cloakroom and finally let me go. His grip would definitely leave bruises. "Mind your own business?" I asked and Yeonjun gave me a dangerous look.

"If you have your jacket, you're welcome to stand outside all night long, but you won't die." He growled.

"Since when have you been interested in my health?" I didn't give in.

"SUMI!!!" Yeonjun shouted clearly for everyone in the hut to hear, even over the loud music. I winced.

"Can't you forget your fucking pride for once and tell me what your fucking jacket looks like?!" He cursed at me. I looked at him for a few moments and then at the woman in the dressing room who had been watching us in shock. Finally, I rummaged through my back pocket of my jeans for the little chip that told the woman where my jacket had been hung.

The woman accepted the chip and disappeared into the cloakroom without saying a word.

"Finally!" Yeonjun turned his back to the coat rack and slumped against it. He looked at me and I suddenly felt very small. My gaze went down.

"You can be quite annoying, you know that?" He said and I couldn't help but roll my eyes. But I didn't say anything, even though there was something on the tip of my tongue that I had been able to respond.

A moment later the woman came back and put my jacket over the counter.

"Here you go, I wish you a pleasant evening." She murmured casually as she eyed Yeonjun skeptically, who still had his back to the woman.

I grabbed my jacket and decided at that moment that there was no point in staying here. So why not leaving?

Without saying another word to the woman or Yeonjun, I turned around and left.

"Put it on in front of me, otherwise I'll have to go out again!" Yeonjun asked me, but I kept going. When I finally got back outside, I put on my warm ski jacket and adjusted my scarf that was stuck in the sleeve of the jacket. Then I stalked off. The snow crunches beneath my feet.

I loved that sound and it always brought me a childlike joy, but right now it didn't spark anything in me.

I was drunk, sad and pissed off...sleep would help...maybe.

"Potato!" I heard Yeonjun calling, who seemed to have followed me outside again. I didn't stop, just looked over my shoulder in the direction of the mountain hut. Yeonjun ran after me, also frantically pulling his jacket over his shoulders.

"Hey, where are you going?" He asked when he was no longer two meters away from me.

"To the hotel, I don't want to stay anymore." I explained myself and trudged up the stairs to the drag lift.

"Oh, fuck Danwoo! He wouldn't have made it anyway!" Yeonjun said. The sound of a zipper followed his statement.

"Is it always just about the one thing for you?” I asked as we arrived at the drag lift platform, that was supposed to bring us down. It was empty except for the two of us. The lift attendant had probably gone home hours ago and had just left the lift running.

"Well, I'm just saying, you always pick the losers." Yeonjun said as we stood so that a lift could swing directly into our legs. What happened immediately afterwards. We dropped into the cold seat of the seat lift and began our way down.

"How do you know? Danwoo wouldn’t have-"

"Oh no, don't tell me that. Danwoo wouldn't have gotten anything done. And that's exactly your problem!" He interrupted and I looked at him questioningly after I pulled down the bar that now served us as a belt.

"What's my problem?"

"You're totally unsatisfied! That's why it's so annoying with you."

I tried my best not to give the most sarcastic laugh the world had ever heard.

"You're such an idiot! That's not my problem, it's you! I'm a gentle little flower to others, you know...but as you are to me, I'm to you!"

Yeonjun raised an eyebrow, "A gentle flower? How much did you drink?"

"To be honest, a lot, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm telling the truth." I said and crossed my arms.

"Hm...I'd rather stick to my opinion - sounds more logical." Yeonjun grumbled.The rest of the ride was silent. After we got out, we had to walk about 10 minutes to the hotel.

It was strange. I almost didn't feel the need to avoid Yeonjun. Of course he was annoying me - to hell - but I was almost happy not to be alone, even if it was Yeonjun...with whom I shared the silence of the night.

In the second minute of the walk, Yeonjun found his voice again: "Honestly, when was the last time you had really good sex?"

I looked at Yeonjun in horror. He looked at me almost innocently. A stark contrast to his question.

"As if I'm telling you this..." to be honest I've never had sex...but he didn't need to know that. With my first boyfriend it never got further than foreplay. Well, I was 20 now, but I never put any pressure on myself to have sex.

You don't miss what you don't know, so why the rush. The right one will come at some point.

"So it's been ages?" Yeonjun asked and I rolled my eyes. "Why am I even talking to you?!" I grumbled and Yeonjun gave a small laugh. "Because you know deep down that I'll bring it." This statement makes me stand still. I never expected such a statement even from Yeonjun. "Please what?" It slipped my mind and Yeonjun also stopped two steps in front of me. He smiled broadly at me and wiggled his eyebrows.

"I don't want to praise myself, but I've only ever received good feedback. I could get you to your high." He said and you could practically see him mentally patting himself on the shoulder.

"You're disgusting! I thought I am too annoying to put up with for even two minutes." I pointed out and Yeonjun shrugged.

"Drunk you're ok." He said and continued walking. After a few seconds I started moving again.

"Still this won't happen in a thousand years!" I said, earning a laugh from Yeonjun.

"Not even if you were the last one in the world." I continued my thought. Now nothing came from Yeonjun. The thought shook my body.

No, no, I would never go into bed with him. Disgusting!

"I..would." I then heard and looked up. Yeonjun looked over his shoulders at me.

"I do not think so."

"I guess so!"

"Oh man Yeonjun, are you really just thinking with your cock?"

"Would be a huge space for thinking." It took me two seconds to understand what he meant. When it clicked, I pushed him aside: "You're really gross!"

The hotel was already in sight. I almost thought we had a good moment, a minute ago, but now I just wanted to get away from this conversation quickly. Luckily, Yeonjun stayed behind me and kept his mouth shut. But I felt his gaze very present on me.

"Apart from your stubbornness, which really annoys me, you have a really nice body." Yeonjun finally said as we turned into the hotel parking area.

"Yeonjun stop, this is really strange!" I protested, only hearing a deep breath behind me.

"Are you really drunk?" He asked further and I looked over my shoulder. His warm breath puffed into the cold air, clearer than my own.

"I don't think DRUNK but ON DRUNK." I said as I pushed open the front door of the hotel. The lobby was only dimly lit, but cozy and warm. Nobody was here anymore - sure it was about 3am. I stopped briefly in front of the fireplace and stretched out my cold fingers. The ember still released heat.

Mmm, that was nice.

Suddenly someone grabbed me by the waist and pulled me back violently. Immediately afterwards I noticed the corner of the old wooden reception desk on my lower back. Startled, I looked up and was greeted by Yeonjun's sharp eyes. I knew that Yeonjun was significantly taller than me, but he was just so close to me that I had to look up high. His hands firmly on my hips, holding me close to the reception.

"What the hell-"

"Funny...I'm pretty horny right now." He murmured and I saw his eyes suddenly darken. That sent a shiver down my spine.

Please feel free to let me know your opinion 🤗

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[gg-neptune]

The Little Things

Pairing: Severus Snape x Reader

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, crying, feelings of self-deprecation, angst to comfort

Summary: Severus has a nightmare but luckily you are there to comfort him through it.

Word Count: 1.0k

Author Note: Hiiiiii!!!! This is my first time writing anything ever. Like not even writing and not publishing it but just writing in general. Feedback is appreciated. Sorry for any grammatical errors this is also not proofread and I wrote this on 2 hours of sleep at 3 in the morning so uh yeah. I really hope you like it :)))))

Why would you want an ugly old bitter man like him? Severus held his head in hands after he woke from the reoccurring nightmare. A week straight of the image of you in the arms of another man. A man who had everything he didn't. He was more attractive. He was more intelligent. He was more likable. Why would you want an ugly old bitter man like him?

Severus slowly sat up straight and looked over at your side of the bed expecting you to be there. Just as you always are when he wakes like this. However, you are not there. Frantically he yanks the covers back hoping his eyes are playing tricks on him, but your side is completely cold. He reaches over to turn on his lamp however when the light turns on it just confirms your absence. Tears well in his eyes as his hands begin to shake.

"Y-y/n?" His deep voice is shaky as he calls for you. He should've known. Should've known that he wouldn't be good enough for you and that the other man was going to steal you from him. He wasn't good enough for you.

Without you his life was purposeless. He had no reason to keep going if he did not have you with him. Sure, he had his potions but what good did making potions do him if he had no one to give them to? If he had no one to brew them for what was the point? Why work if he had no one to provide for anymore?

"Severus" Your gentle voice called out to him. "Severus what's wrong dear? What happened?"

Severus snapped his head towards the sound of your voice. He saw you standing in the door frame. You were leaning against the door frame. Your gentle face was twisted into an expression of worry. He drank in every detail of your gorgeous face scared this would be the last time you would ever look at him. Severus had not realized but he had tears actively rolling down his face. His face was scrunched up as if he was in pain. The thought of you leaving him did indeed leave him in physical pain even if it was just a bad dream.

He was unable to respond to you, so you slowly walked towards him. You sat down near him on the bed, and he watched you closely. You gently reached up your hand to rest on his shoulder.

"Sevy please tell me what's wrong? What happened," you say. Your voice is laced with concern. You watch as he stares deeply into your eyes, drinking in every bit of you. His hand slowly rises up to caress your face. When his hand reaches your face, you can feel just how cold he is. The wetness from his tears coats his hand, wetting your face in the process.

"Severus..." you say quietly. Without any warning you're suddenly swept up into a bear hug.

"Please don't leave me."

"Severus, where is this coming from," you say, very confused as you hug him back tightly hoping to provide him some comfort.

"You left me. You liked him more than me. He had everything. Please I promise I'll be better. Please Y/N please don't leave me," by now he is sobbing into your neck and holding onto even tighter than before. His hands are holding onto your pajamas.

"Severus, I'm with you for life. I know we aren't married but I plan on spending the rest of my life with you. I'm absolutely enamored with you. I can't see myself with anyone else."

Severus's breathing seemed to even out at your words. "Severus, let's get you back in bed, you have classes tomorrow," you say gently. "I'll join you. I finished grading my essays."

Gently you begin to guide Severus into bed. You crawl over him and slip under the covers. You snuggle up to Severus trying to get him warmed up as he is always cold.

"Why?"

"Hmmm," you respond, very confused.

"Why do you love me? Why don't you just leave me for someone else," Severus said, his voice broken and shaky.

"Severus..."

"Answer me. Tell me what's keeping you here. Are you using me? Why would you want an ugly, old, bitter man like me"

"Severus, you listen to me when I say this. I am in love with you. You are absolutely not ugly in any way. I look at you and I see my love. The love of my life. My everything. I've fallen in love with every aspect of you. Every little thing about you. It's the tiny things you do. Like when you get dressed in the morning, I notice you gazing at the pictures of us. When we walk, I walk on the inside away from the students, so I do not end up getting hurt. The way you hold onto me when we are walking up and down the stairs as they are unpredictable, and you want me to be safe. How you always kiss my shoulder after zipping up my dress. How you always pick the dandelions for me when you see them. I could go on. It's the little things Severus. I've fallen for you completely. I love all of you completely without a doubt."

Severus just stared at you dumbfounded at your confession. You giggle slightly at his cute face and lean down to press a gentle kiss to his lips savoring the taste of him.

"I love you Sevy."

"Thank you my dear."

"For what Sev," you hum, pressing your body against his. You gently brush some of his dark hair out of his eyes.

"Everything. I love you, dearest," Severus leans into your touch and closes his eyes. His tears have dried by now and he is calm.

"I love you too, hunny."

Severus wraps his arms around you protectively enveloping you in his scent. His head falls into the crook of your shoulder as you run your fingers through his dark hair. He soon falls into a deep sleep knowing you will always and forever love him, and you soon fall after wrapped around the one and only owner of your heart, Severus.

[alicent-vi-britannia]

This beautiful drawing was a gift from a dear friend and a reader of my fanfic, @kireikoami. I think it's a great way to celebrate that today I finally finished writing my Code Geass fanfic. Code Geass: Bloodlines.

It took me tears, sweat, blood and several headaches, but I did it! You cannot have the slightest idea of the immense satisfaction I felt when I wrote the word "end." Not even I can describe it. It's an extraordinary feeling that can't be compared to anything (well, I like to compare the creative process with labor, although I think that the creative process is more enjoyable despite everything; I don't know, I'm not a mother). Some authors don't like to use that word. I suppose because it will seem childish to them or the story of the characters doesn't conclude after the final point. I do it more than anything because of the meaning it carries for me. It's the end of a project that I have spent several years of my life working on with love and dedication. It's my farewell to some characters that I became attached to after giving them a fair ending. It's my break and theirs.

I must say that I cried a couple of times writing the ending and if I start to remember the final scene, I would start crying (I was already crying when I wasn't writing it yet, because I knew it was going to move me at the time). I suppose it will be inevitable that I will cry again when it is time to edit the epilogue to publish it. So it's not the "final goodbye" for now, it's the "see you soon."

I loved writing to Lelouch and accompanying him on his journey. I trust that I won't disappoint readers or the source material. They will read it in a few months and tell me about it. The fanfic has a total of 45 chapters, including the epilogue, and I have uploaded chapter 39 so far. With this, I'll be able to be more constant with updates.

I'm a little sad that I can't continue updating the English version of my work, but I wasn't the one who translated it. It was my friend who since she started her new job months ago she doesn't even have time to talk to me for a few minutes about the weather. A shame.

Now that I've freed up a bit, I hope to bring back this week an analysis that I wanted to do. Expect it soon.

[gk1516-1718]

What did you do İnk

actually it's been a while since i made this and i uploaded it to my devinart account but not to my tumblr account, i'm a bit busy lately i don't think i'll be able to do anything before sunday, it might even be a few weeks, so i prepared a story for I hope you guys like it.

STORY

cross: Isn't it because of Ink? Drawing:…yeah…. Cross: I understand, aren't you going to tell me what happened? Drawing: …. Cross: Come on, you can't hide anything from me, the only person you can trust is me Drawing continued to keep quiet, Cross was also getting tired of this situation when he tugged his hair to wake him up, Drawing let out a small scream because he was startled Drawing: ouch, you hurt Cross: I told you you can't hide anything from me, now let it fall out or your hair will be shorter than you expected. Drawing took a deep breath and started talking before Cross tugged his hair again Drawing: Do you remember the last few missions the boss sent me on? Cross: Yeah, what happened to them? You're kind of the boss's favorite lately, he doesn't see anyone as his favorite, which I think is normal, even though it's a little hard for the boss to trust you since you left and came back, when you did a good job on the missions, he realized that you had forgotten Ink and since you did a good job, it's normal that you're always the one going these days. On the other hand, I'm glad you forgot about Ink, you didn't have to suffer any more, that's a good thing. While Cross's voice sounded normal and ordinary in everything he said, when he got to the part where Drawing forgot about Ink, it seemed strange to Drawing that his voice suddenly dropped so happily, even though Cross was always thinking about Drawing's well-being, he was thinking about something else when he said these things, and Drawing knew it, he even caught him smiling a few times, but when he said these things to Cross, Cross started showing him a lot of evidence that he wasn't smiling at him, just like someone who was smiling would do. Drawing: Back then, I always ran into Ink and the others, but when I saw Ink, I always ignored him, I felt like Ink was getting angry about these situations, but he was always standing there, watching me, we weren't even touching each other, but I could feel his gaze always on me, and in these last three missions, he started coming instead of the others, and… Cross understood what was going on, so much so that he started scratching the chair Drawing was sitting on, digging his nails into that chair, while Drawing listened to the sounds coming out of the chair with fear, his voice shaking.

I published the continuation of this, it appears in my account, there was not enough space, so I did something like this, good luck to you, I hope you like it 😊😊