#If you answer other let us know your answer in the replies!

[lillilybells]

Ruined plushes✧₊⁺

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

pairing|batfam x batsis!reader (featuring; Wally West)

summary|someone left your room door open and Damian’s cat ruined one your favorite plushies.

word count|1522

warnings|wally west x reader.

notes|this is my first fic literally ever!! Please keep that in mind.

“Oh no…” Cassandra whispered as the gray cat leapt onto the couch beside her. She had taken just a moment to rest and maybe watch a show — but no. The universe (or more specifically, Alfred the cat) had other plans. He curled up with the mangled remains of a battered plushie clutched in his claws, white stuffing clinging to his fur.

It might’ve been an adorable sight under different circumstances. But not for Cass. Not when she recognized the destroyed plush: the fluffy white bunny dressed in a Kid Flash costume — part of her sister’s cherished collection, each holding deep sentimental meaning.

She quickly scooped up the fluffy remains and rushed downstairs, skidding into the kitchen where the smell of cheese invaded her senses and the sound of soft popping echoed.

“Hey, Cass,” Dick called, glancing up. “Wanna join us in the theater room? We’re watching… well, I don’t know yet.”

He returned his attention to the snack he was making, totally unaware of the incoming emotional hurricane. He was visiting Gotham for a few days — and naturally, everyone (mainly you) had insisted he stay at the manor. And when Dick was around, Jason’s “coincidental” visits became more frequent. So with all five brothers under one roof, a movie night with excessive gore was practically a tradition.

“Uh… Dick…” Cass said.

He turned, raising an eyebrow — only for his eyes to land on the pile of ruined fabric in her outstretched hands. He choked mid-chew.

“What the hell happened?” he asked, walking over to gently take the bunny corpse from her.

“‘Alfred the cat’ happened,” she replied flatly.

Dick sighed, holding the sad remnants of cotton, red, and yellow fabric.

“And who left the door open?” he muttered — just as heavy footsteps echoed.

“What door?” came Jason’s voice as he popped a grape into his mouth, appearing behind Cass. Both siblings snapped their heads toward him.

Dick didn’t answer. Instead, he tossed the plush remains onto the counter in front of Jason, who frowned.

“Shit—Billy? That’s the first one Wally ever gave her.”

Tim entered, took one look at the counter, and let out a horrified, “Jesus!”

Duke followed, frowning at everyone’s frozen expressions. “Oh…”

And then Damian appeared, arms already crossed. “Which absolute moron left sister’s door open?”

The chaos ignited instantly.

“You’re the one always snooping around her room!” Tim snapped.

Damian scowled. “I would never make such a trivial mistake. It was clearly Richard or Todd — they’re the temporary residents.”

Jason threw his hands up. “I’ve been here for like, an hour.”

“And I barely even remember which room is hers!” Dick lied with a completely unconvincing expression. Damian squinted.

“Don’t even look at me,” Cass said firmly.

They all obeyed, promptly turning to Duke.

“Seriously? It’s not me! I always close the door,” he insisted, but his panic didn’t exactly help his case.

“Well, someone’s gotta take the fall,” Tim muttered, inching away.

“Which would be you — you’re her favorite,” Dick said, arms crossed.

Tim opened his mouth to object, but Damian beat him to it.

“That’s debatable,” he muttered, arms folded tighter.

“Yes, Spawn. You should take the blame,” Jason jumped in quickly.

“He’s right — it’s your cat,” Tim added. Damian looked ready to commit a felony.

“Don’t you dare bring Alfred into this! He’s the least responsible for this treachery!”

“Okay, okay — let’s not repeat the dinosaur incident,” Dick cut in with wide eyes. Everyone flinched a little at the memory.

Tim suddenly turned on him. “Wait — she’s known you forever. You’re clearly the favorite!”

“Excuse me?! She’s known Jason for pretty long as well, and she practically explodes when he visits!”

“How would you even know that—?”

“Nope! Not blaming me! I’ve already died once—”

A collective groan filled the room before Jason could finish that sentence.

“What about Cass?” Tim suggested. “Sisters don’t stay mad at each other for more than like- a day.”

“First, that’s not true. Second, no.” Cass said firmly.

They all sighed. No convincing her.

Then — footsteps. Alfred entered the kitchen, eyes locking onto the ruined bunny. He approached, gaze unreadable.

“And who is at fault for this?” he asked calmly.

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. No one’s stepped up yet,” Dick replied.

“can’t you stitch it up, Alfred?” Jason suggested almost naively, wanting the situation to wrap up.

“I’m a butler, child- not a magician.” with that he picked up the bunny with delicate fingers, studied it with a faint look of mourning, and muttered, “Even my grandmother couldn’t fix this. Good luck.”

He dropped it back on the marble and turned to leave, the click of his shoes echoing ominously.

The silence lingered for a beat too long.

“Was that weird to anyone else?” Tim asked. “It was, right?”

“Pennyworth abandoning us in our time of need? Disturbing,” Damian agreed with a grim nod.

“Guys, focus,” Dick said. “Who does (Name) let get away with the most bullshit?”

All heads turned to Duke.

His eyes widened. “No. Nope. Not happening.”

“At least break the news to her—”

The doorbell rang.

Everyone froze.

“Duke, we don’t have time!” “Be a team player!” “Take one for the team!”

“NO—!”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

They gathered in the main hallway, Duke at the back, clutching the ruined plush behind his back like it might explode.

“Oh—hey guys. This is so sweet, you’re all here,” you said, smiling at the full sibling lineup, all offering awkward waves and forced grins.

You brushed it off and tugged Wally inside. “Hey guys…” he said, smiling uncertainly at their unnerving silence.

“I don’t know what’s worse — that you’re dating my sister or that you wear your costume on dates,” Damian muttered.

“We don’t know that’s the worst part,” Jason started before getting smacked.

“We ran into a robbery,” you explained. “Wally stepped in, and I told him he could clean up and stay over. Since everyone’s here, we thought—slumber party!”

They exchanged tense glances. No one smiled.

“Okay—what’s going on?” you asked, suspicious now, hands on hips and head tilted.

“Is it because of Wally?” You asked. “Because he can leave-”

“Hey!” The ginger protested snapped.

“No, it’s not because of Wally,” Dick said gravely with a sigh. He walked up to you like he was delivering the news of someone dying, placing both hands on your shoulders. “Duke has something to tell you.”

Duke was shoved forward. With a dramatic inhale, he slowly revealed the bunny.

Silence.

You stared. And then… your lip wobbled, and eyes glossed over.

“Baby—don’t cry,” Wally was the first to speak up, hugging you gently.

The room burst into chaos.

“I’m so sorry—” “It was an accident!” “I told them to close the door—”

you on the other hand could only be described by one word- hysterical.

“Why would— do this—i always tell— keep the door close— Billy— the first you ever— our first date—” none of them could fully make out what you were saying through the sniffles and the sobs but they definitely understood, understood very well.

Wally looked like he was going to cry too. “It’s okay babe- I’ll find another one! I’ll get you thirty—I mean.. I think they’re discontinued.. — I’ll steal one from a toddler if I have to!”

“you don’t get it Wally! This- this holds so much sentimental value you don’t understand- it reminds of you when you’re gone- when I’m worried about you-” you ranted, your tone getting more agitated and angry even through the weeps.

“It’s true,” Tim muttered, “She hugs it while ugly crying whenever she misses you…”

They eventually moved to the living room, where you continued to rant. Jason tried a joke about how no one cried like this when he died. A pillow hit his face before the words were fully out.

Bruce wandered up from the Batcave, bleary-eyed, ready for bed — only to find his kids in the middle of emotional carnage.

“What the hell is going on…”

He was quickly caught up. You ended up curled beside him, ranting while he patted your hair and validated every single complaint.

“They never listen, Dad! And now Billy is gone! The symbol of a huge milestone — gone! It’s blasphemy! And they just sit on their asses-”

“Language.”

“Butts, while denying any accountability! It’s rude.”

“They’re being mean to you?” Bruce asked, voice soft and rumbly.

You nodded in his chest.

“You can’t be mad at them forever, sweetheart. People make mistakes. And Billy… Billy will be remembered.”

“yea babe- what he said, i promise ill get you a thousand more! you won’t even remember what happened to Billy..” Wally added his own two cents.

You sniffled. He reached for your thigh comfortingly — only to flinch under a Batglare and retract his hand.

“Okay!” Dick stood with a clap. “How about we go watch Sinners, and let Billy… rest in peace.”

Grumbling agreements followed.

The night ended in bickering, snacks, laughter, and sleepily leaning on each other — with a pile of yellow fluff forgotten in the corner.

And Alfred, standing in the shadows, watching with a faint smile.

He was the one who left the door open.

[sheastri]

Heart of a Woman ft. Lando Norris

Synopsis : In which the only thing that's saving him is the heart of the woman who loves him.

Pairing: Lando Norris x black!fem!reader

Genre: Boderline Horror

Warning(s): Cheating

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

username oh he has her all the way fucked up

username atp she wants it to happen bc why even stay??

username in the sense that... username idk abt this one bookie

username ok but who in their right mind would cheat of THEE Y/N

username This is so shady… Do it again!🥱

username y/n, js lemme know if i need to run a fade girl

username Only thing that's saving you is the heart of a woman. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Question is, why I do the things I do. Answer I may never find, but I'll always choose you.

"Come on, pick up the phone." You say to yourself after seeing the posts all over social media. You had called 5 times prior and you were just hoping for a miracle at this point before you heard Lando's voice come through the phone.

"Hey y/n, what's up?" Lando says nonchalantly.

"What's up? Do you think I'm dumb? Like seriously." You say heated.

"What's this about? I'm lowkey lost." He responds again almost uncaring but with an edge in his tone.

"Now me and you both know you saw the pictures all over your timeline so I don't even know why you try. Who's the girl?" You say before letting out a sigh, not even mad anymore just tired.

"Which one?" He replies now sounding annoyed.

"Oh? So it's like that? Forget this then." You say sick of his shit.

"No, y/n wait. Look I know what I did was wrong but you weren't meeting my needs and she was just there." Lando says with full conviction, as if his reasoning is some amazing thing.

"The fuck? What do you mean she was just there?" You say mockingly.

"Well look at where you were and where she was... plus it was just a night out. Probably a one time thing." Lando says still trying to justify his actions.

"Just a night out?" You say raising your voice again.

"Y/n, you're just being overly dramatic and paranoid. Me and her are friends and we were just hanging out, you know? Like friends do!" He says snarky.

"You must have me mistaken for boo-boo the fool because everybody can tell there's something going on." You respond back with the same tone he used.

"But they don't know us baby, they don't understand our dynamic. I don't even do half the things I do with you with her." He says in a baby voice.

You stay silent, mulling over his words.

"Please forgive me love, I won't hang out with her anymore if it makes you feel uncomfortable." He says in the same tone, almost pleading.

"Thank you baby, you're forgiven." You say softly.

"Talk to you later babe?" He says.

"Yeah, I love you." You say all smiley.

"Love you too." He says finally before hanging up.

Wanna give up on you, but damn, I know I can't. I put the blame on me for giving you chance after chance

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

liked by imanirowe, landonorris, and 289,000 others

yourusername love my man real bad

username this is not it...

username his face being turned away in the photos should make something click in her head likeee

username this feels like a humiliation ritual...

username i feel like this is a sign to go back to my ex

username don't do it girl

username this man could push her granny down the stairs and she would come running back into his arms

username oh you got it username not one lie was told

username free my queen from this white devil, amen!!

username I hope to never reach this level of delusion.

username In love with you, but can't stand this and I try to be strong, but how much can I take?

liked by mclaren, ln4, and 349,000 others

landonorris monaco

yourusername my race winner

username the way he didn't even like her comment

username and not one photo with y/n in it

username and i'm hearing some ppl thought a whole different girl was his gf

username the way he almost looked disappointed to see y/n but maybe im looking into it tm

username no bc I saw it too

username congrats on the win lando!

username dpmo

username Put your words on your life this time and I hope your ass ain't lyin' 'cause...

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Only thing that's saving you is the heart of a woman.

You guys were now at Lando’s house after a long and silent car ride. The argument you guys had over text still fresh in both of your minds. He was sitting on the couch and you were standing with a drink in your hand.

"I hope you know that we're still continuing the discussion that we had earlier." You say straight up.

"Do we really have to get back to it? Why are we still on this topic." He says before sighing.

"We can't just laugh everything off because you don't feel like talking about it." You reply rolling your eyes.

"Can't you just get over it? I didn't think it was that serious." He says.

"Get over it? Lando, this is not just some silly little problem that won't mean anything in a couple days. It's the fact that you've cheated multiple times." You say now yelling.

"I didn't even cheat, it's just the way the media is spinning things. Maybe if you got off social media and talked to me more we wouldn't be here." He says in a matter a factly tone.

"Are you serious? Anytime I try and talk to you it's like I'm talking to a wall. Even when I call your phone, do you know how many times I have to call before you pick up?" You say annoyed and frustrated.

"Maybe if you were more interesting I'd be more eager to answer the phone." He says.

"Oh, but I'm the problem right?" You say raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, you are actually. Glad we could finally agree on something." He says.

You're about to respond when you actively feel the gears turning in your head as something clicks.

"Yeah, no. I'm wasting my time here. I don't think you've liked me for the longest time now, you just enjoy stringing me along and driving me insane. We're done." You say calmly as you walk away to go and get your suitcase and leave.

"Wait, what do you mean we're done?" Lando yells out as you walk away.

It's my mind and my soul versus your pride. Nigga, check your ego 'cause I left mine at the door

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

liked by imanirowe, oscarpiastri, and 457,000 others

yourusername the men in your books will never disappoint you

landonorris pretty girl

username be gone evil username he rlly tried ts

username wait... this is new territory, I'm scared

username ya'll don't get too excited, we don't want a repeat of last time

username oh ts broke me, everybody thought she was free and then next post they're hand in hand

username she rlly shines when there's not a man in the bg tryna out mog her

username In love with you but can't stand your ways and I try to be strong...

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Lando Norris has uploaded a story

Caption: Her.

username it seems like he only rlly applies pressure when she decides she's done

username fumble of the century

username me when i realize the baddest bitch i'll ever have in my lifetime is finally choosing herself and not me

username so glad she finally left this bum

username But how much can I take?

liked by imanirowe, oscarpiastri, and 397,000

yourusername life when you're not with somebody who hates you

username so incredibly real

imanirowe WE OUTSIDE THIS SUMMERRR

username i love this era on her

username so glad that he who shall not be named is gone

username oscar in the likes?? he's def plotting

username i was SICK of him

username Only thing that's saving you (no, I can't take it no more, I'm 'bout to walk out the door)

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

A/N: My whole google search is what would a cheating man say, can't wait to clear it up with the next ficcccc.

[dramagodesss]

jj being cuddled for the first time

pairing : lovergirl! reader x jj warnings : angst, a bit suggestive, fluff

It was a night like any other. you had left your window open (like any other night) and layed in bed watching a movie and scrolling on your phone when you heard it. The soft scraping sound of someone crawiling over your roof and the low weeping your window made when being pushed open. And then the soft thud his boots always made when he slid himself in.

And there he was.

JJ Maybank.

It had first started with you leaving the window open so he could spend the night whenever he needed to. Then, it slowly turned into something else. A kiss, two... a sneaky hand down your waist band and... well, now you two fucked each other stupid. It was cute, really.

"Hey Jay!" you whispered, happy to see him, his figure still in the shadows. He didn't answer.

Today seemed... different. He didn't hug you, or smiled at you or gave you a soft long kiss like he always did. No. He just slammed his lips against yours. Violently. Desperate.

You obviously kissed him back, cause, really, who wouldnt?

But when he pushed you towards the bed and your figure flopped against the soft bed sheets, you knew something was wrong.

"Jayj?—" he pulled your pj shorts down, dragging the pink lacy underwear too. "Jay" he still didn't look at you. Instead, he hid his face in the crook of your neck, kissing and biting as he gripped your thighs open, getting himself between them. "Jayjay" you claimed, pulling away with a soft hand on his jaw.

And then you saw it.

His cheek was turning purple, blood dripped down his brow and his eyes looked like he had been crying.

"What? you don't want me either?" he whispered, his voice cracking, his body tense against yours.

"What...? jay- ofcourse i want you-"

Your hands moved instinctively, cradling his face, careful not to press too hard on the swelling bruise forming across his cheekbone. He flinched— not from pain, but from the gentleness. He wasn’t used to that. Not lately. Not ever, really.

"Hey," you whispered, thumbs brushing just beneath his eyes, catching a tear before it could fall. "We don’t have to do anything, you know that, right?"

JJ’s lips parted like he was going to argue — say something sarcastic, maybe, something rough-edged to mask the ache underneath— but nothing came out. Just the shaky, uneven exhale.

You watched the way his jaw clenched, the muscle twitching under your fingertips. He was still pressed over you, but the weight of him no longer felt demanding. It felt… lost.

"I just needed to feel wanted," he finally muttered, voice thick, breaking. "I needed to feel like somebody wanted me. Like I’m not just... fucked up."

You blinked slowly, heart squeezing in your chest as you reached up and brushed a strand of messy blond hair from his forehead. "Jayj I want you. But not just for sex. I want you. All of you."

He still wouldn't meet your eyes. His shoulders were hunched like he was trying to disappear, burying his face against your collarbone.

"Cme here" you whispered after kissing his temple.

Slowly, you shifted underneath him, nudging him gently until he rolled onto his side, and you wrapped yourself around him. Legs tangled, arms curled around his back, your fingers running up and down his spine. You felt his breath hitch, and then finally settle.

At first, he was stiff. Like his body didn’t know how to be held. But minute by minute, breath by breath, he melted into you — like a dam cracking open, letting the flood rush through. His fingers gripped the back of your shirt like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth.

"And you're not fucked jay. You're sweet, and kind and funny. You don't deserve any of this" you muttered against his hair.

He didn’t speak. Instead, he replied with a soft sob and a tight grip around your waist, burrying his head on your chest.

more of my works here!

[itsnesss]

Hi Ness! Could you possibly do a imagine where Charles leclerc and reader go to the new "f1 the movie" premier (that just happend) and they are having a fun time, maybe a couple of their friends tease them a bit for being to "couple like" tyy

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 | charles leclerc × fem!reader

summary | you and charles attend the f1: the movie premiere, sweet moments, and your friends can’t help teasing you for acting like a totally smitten couple

warnings | fluff, romance, light teasing from friends, public affection

word count | 1.3 k

🖇 more cl16 🖇 f1 masterlist

The red carpet smells like a mix of expensive perfume, freshly unpacked cameras, and barely contained nerves. You're not used to all this glamour. Still, your hand stays firm in Charles’ grasp, as if that’s enough to remind you you're still on Earth.

Although, with that perfectly tailored suit, his charming-boy smile, and the way he looks at you every time you turn his way… you're not so sure.

"Are you okay?" he asks, leaning down a bit so you can hear him over the noise. The cameras keep flashing with every step.

You nod with a nervous smile.

"I'm okay. Just… a little overwhelmed."

Charles gently squeezes your hand and whispers,

"Don’t let the show scare you. At the end of the day, it’s just you and me. And a movie. And… maybe 200 journalists," he jokes with a raised eyebrow.

You can’t help but laugh. Your laughter relaxes him too.

You walk down the carpet together, stopping for a few photos. He never lets go of your hand. Some people definitely notice. You hear a couple of voices shout his name, then yours, and a French journalist throws out a comment:

"Charles, vous êtes adorablement assortis ce soir!"

("Charles, you two are adorably matched tonight!")

You lower your gaze, trying to hide the smile threatening to give you away. Charles just grins wider.

Inside the venue, the lights dim a bit, but not enough to hide a few familiar faces. Lando is there, dressed like it’s an award show, with that “I’m here because I had to be but I’m kinda enjoying it” vibe. He shoots you a knowing look as you and Charles walk past.

"Oh my God," he says dramatically in a low voice. "Could you two be any more cliché couple? What’s next, a kiss under fireworks?"

"Don’t tempt them, Charles might actually do it," Pierre replies from the other side, taking a glass of champagne from a tray like it’s his birthday.

You roll your eyes, laughing, but your cheeks are definitely getting warmer. Charles doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you again with that expression that isn’t quite a smile… but definitely not indifferent. Something else.

"We’re just happy," you reply, raising an eyebrow at Lando.

"Uh-huh. ‘Happy’. Is that what they’re calling it these days?" he retorts, sipping with a teasing grin.

Charles wraps an arm around your shoulders and whispers close to your ear,

"We could be happier if you want. You know. Just to annoy them more."

You don’t even answer. You just rest your head on his shoulder, ignoring the soft chuckles around you.

When the lights go fully out, the chatter in the room quiets immediately, like everyone instinctively knows the world needs to be left outside for the next two hours. The opening credits of F1: The Movie flood the screen with epic music and close-ups of engines roaring over asphalt.

But you barely watch the first few minutes.

Because Charles hasn’t let go of your hand.

You don’t notice at first. At the beginning, it’s just your pinkies brushing, like he’s making sure you’re still there. But now, with the darkness covering any too-intimate gesture, his fingers are fully laced with yours, tracing slow circles on your thumb that make you forget what’s happening on screen.

You turn your head just slightly, enough to glance at him without drawing attention. He seems focused on the movie, but there’s a slight curve to his lips. A silent smile, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

"You’re more into my hand than the cars," you whisper, barely audible.

"Your hand doesn’t need special effects to captivate me," he replies, still not looking your way.

And there it goes again: that warmth rising in your chest, the soft knot in your throat. Sometimes, when Charles talks like that, you feel like you’re not sitting in a theater seat but walking a tightrope of emotions you can’t quite name.

A few seats down, you hear a stifled giggle. Someone, probably Alex or Pierre, mutters a soft "so cute, please" that triggers more quiet laughs from the group. Charles hides his face with one hand, amused, and you sink a little lower in your seat.

"This wouldn’t happen if you weren’t so adorable," he murmurs, finally turning his head to look at you. So close, so calm, so him.

"And you?" you reply, raising an eyebrow. "Who told your smile it could act like that without my permission?"

Charles smiles wider now and lowers his voice even more.

"Believe me, if this were a movie, you would’ve stolen the scene the moment you walked in."

You’re speechless for a moment. You kind of hate him for that. But just a little. Because mostly, you want to hug him for saying it so easily, so naturally.

On screen, engines roar, there’s a tense scene between drivers… but between you two, there’s only this comfortable, shared silence. Like you’ve already lived through many scenes together. Like you’re writing a new one now, unscripted, in this cinema row.

And just when you're about to cuddle into him, not caring what anyone says, Charles leans in a little and whispers:

"After this, you owe me ice cream. Because I officially survived the stares of half the press knowing you're by my side."

You laugh. Because that’s not something you survive.

The movie ends to applause. The kind that lasts a bit too long and feels almost ceremonial… but when you turn and see the proud looks on everyone’s faces, you find yourself clapping with a smile too.

Charles doesn’t stop looking at you.

"What did you think?" he asks once you’re standing, exiting with the group through a more private side door.

"I loved it. Though if it were up to me, I’d have added more Leclerc scenes. Especially without the helmet," you say, crossing your arms in fake seriousness.

He laughs, slightly surprised. Steps a bit closer, lowering his voice.

"That can be arranged. But in private."

You nudge him gently with your shoulder, just as Lando and Pierre jump at the chance.

"Did you see how they walked out holding hands the whole time?" Lando says, like you’re not right behind him.

"They’re not a couple. They’re a Valentine’s Day campaign on legs," Pierre adds, sipping from a water bottle that’s very clearly disguised champagne.

"Enough already!" you say with a laugh you can’t hold back.

But Charles replies with a calmness that catches everyone off guard.

"And what if we are?"

They go silent. Not awkwardly. More like… surprised. Like no one expected him to say it so plainly.

You look at him, raising a brow.

"That casual, huh?"

He shrugs, but his fingers brush against yours again, like he’s searching for more than just contact.

"I’m with the person I want to be with. Why would I hide that?"

You don’t know if it’s the warm hallway lights or the way the night already smells like summer, but that comment leaves you floating a little.

"Well, well… couple confirmed," Lando murmurs like a breaking news headline. "So what’s next, rings or ice cream?"

"Ice cream," you reply without hesitation.

"Definitely ice cream," Charles adds, now holding your hand with zero shame.

Minutes later, you've escaped the flashbulbs and designer suits. You’re walking down a quiet street, far from the theater, with a couple of discreet bodyguards in the background and ice cream in hand. Charles chose vanilla with chocolate chips. You picked something different just to mess with him, though you ended up stealing from his anyway.

"You know what the best part of the movie was?" you ask, sitting on a bench facing an empty park.

"The sound of the Ferrari engine?"

"No. This moment. Right now."

Charles looks at you for a long second. The kind of look that lingers. Full of intention.

"You always make the ‘afters’ worth it," he says softly.

And just when you’re about to say something equally cheesy, someone in the distance yells:

"Kiiiss! Come on, you’re right there!"

You turn. Lando again. With Pierre next to him, raising his ice cream like he’s toasting in your honor.

Charles just sighs. Leans in slowly, brushes your nose with his, and says, against your lips:

"Should we give them what they want?"

"For them or for you?"

"For us."

[thelunaticself]

ACCIDENTAL TENDER

simon riley x reader

hookups have consequences.

a/n: gawd i caved. price fic soon promise

cw: mentions of sex, masturbation, age gap

Simon thought he fell asleep in a construction site last night when the first ray of consciousness hit him. A whirlwind of sensory overload accompanied by a banging headache. Never again. He has to learn to say no to that stupid Scot next time the bastard dragged him to the bar and fixed up a bird for him. 

“Yer gonna die alone at this point, Lt.”

Yeah. Right. 

His eyes dart over next to him on the bed, half expectant to find nothing, the other half hopes it’s still nothing. The cold pillow and hollow space greet him in delight. Except the whirring sound of his washing machine snaps him out of his hungover daze. It’s not laundry day yet. His pillow hits the ground with a thud as Simon rolls out of bed with an annoyed sigh. Did someone really lose their mind to try to break into his house this early? Even the neighbors follow the silent rules to let the man do whatever he wants around here, eyes and mouth shut tight. Never get invited to community dinner. Simon expects that much. He sighs again when he stumbles into the kitchen, mid-way to the laundry. There is no thief. Well, not the bad kind at least. 

“Um, good morning…I made pancakes.”

A screech of the chair and dishes clashing. Soft delicate fingers brush against his calloused one when she presses the plate with a heavy stack of pancakes in it. She steps back a bit to look at him, trying to gauge his emotion. Simon stares at the plate for a bit. The bits are a bit burnt, there are uneven and rough edges, like someone flipped them too clumsily. He hasn’t even commented on how she unashamedly took one of his shirts and wears it so pretty like that. So much for a hookup.

Words flow smoothly with a full stomach. It’s as smooth as it gets for Simon at least.

“ ‘S that my shirt?”

“I kind of uh… My dress got funny stains on it y’know… and it reeks of alcohol so I um…”

“Oh alrigh’.”

“If you want me to return it-”

“Nah, shit’s too old anyways. Been sittin’ in the closet.”

“I also used your washing machine-”

‘Mkay.”

Simon takes a fat bite out of the very last pancake.

“And I might use up your shampoo…”

“Don’t mind it.”

Half a cup of coffee gone. 

“What’s your name by the way?”

   ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •✸•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

Simon knows his dick is one of his many talents. Something he thought about every so often and gives himself a pat on the shoulder. But surely it must not be that good. Not good enough for emotional attachment. He hopes it’s not the case because you’re still lazing around the house, finding all sorts of things to do constantly.

“I need to wait to get my dress out of the washer.”

An answer to a question he didn’t even ask. You mumble as you wash his mug. Eyes drifting everywhere but him. Simon doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t want to call you out just yet. Sundays are boring anyways. Either smoke in the yard or rewatch that football match yet again. Sometimes, if he’s feeling generous with himself, he’ll drag Johnny to go fishing in the lake that is an hour drive away. This time, however, he doesn’t even have to change out of his worn out sweats.

“So where’s your butler? Is he on leave? It’s hard to cook so early in the morning.”

Simon cocks his head, eyes finally bother to leave the newspaper. Is she mentally ill too? Where the hell did Johnny even get one like this?

“What butler?”

“Huh? The one who cooks and cleans so you don’t have to do it yourself?”

“I didn’t ask for a definition.”

This time you really turn around and look at him for the first time in the morning. Hands gripped the sink behind, eyes wide:

“You don’t have one?”

Simon lets out a mean snort.

“The hell are you on about?”

“I mean… I thought it’s a necessity? My mum told me that.”

Simon is about to reply with something equally mean and equally ludicrous if his eyes didn’t drift back to the half open page of his newspaper. “CEO OF TOP #3 OIL COMPANY THROWS BIG PUBLIC PARTY FOR DAUGHTER’S 20TH BIRTHDAY IN ITALY.” There she is. Expensive pearl necklace wrapped around the neck that his very own hands choked last night. Hair all shiny, eyes full of glitter, one hand holding a purse with a logo that he can’t identify, the other a glass of champagne. All giddy and spoiled. He’s about to read the line of text underneath the bold printed picture if strands of hair didn’t obscure his view. You have taken the liberty to rest your elbows on the arm of the sofa to lean over to peek into what he’s reading, seeing that he stopped responding. 

“Yeah, I had a blast there last month. Too many people though. But I would have invited you.”

Simon gets flashed with your toothy grin when you turn your face around to look at him, eyes crinkle slightly. He didn’t really pay much attention to what you’re blabbering next, too busy comparing your face with the one in the picture. One hand reaches out to brush out a stubborn strand of hair that covers bits of your eyes, making it hard for him to continue his silent quest. It doesn’t take long for Simon to decide which one is better.

   ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •✸•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

He finds it eerie that you turn silent when you open the washing machine door to take out your dress along with the rest of his clothes. You’re even more silent as you start to hang them up.

“Didn’t ask ya to do it. Just leave ‘em.”

Simon leans against the wall, trying to create some sense of normalcy. 

“It’s okay. I probably bother you too much at this point.”

The sudden awareness caught him a bit off guard. You’re not as clueless as he’d like to think. 

“Daddy kicked you out or something?”

That makes you slow down your movements, shoulders tensed.

“It’s not like that…”

“How so? Hard to imagine a thing like you go sleeping ‘round with men like me.”

“It is not.”

Your pout makes him stop. Simon is not that close to press on that much anyways. Not yet. 

A similar pout appears on your face when he pulls up at your house - mansion. At some point, he swore a guy just scrunched his face in discomfort just from the sight of his car driving in this neighborhood alone. You, however, claimed the passenger seat full of glory. Simon is used to the sight of rowdy men (sometimes injured) occupying this seat. He never thought it could look so good with your pink dress, pretty heels dangle on your fingers as you hold them by their courier. 

“Thank you for everything. Really.”

You say as you hastily strap the heels back on. With one last smile at him, you push the door open. The grand black metal gate swallows you in but your scent lingers in his car. Simon lets out a chuckle. Look at him in his 30s, gets played by a spoiled rich brat who is probably as fresh as a fawn. Soap is right after all. He takes a deep breathe, taking in all that leftover sweets.

Simon has never felt so frustrated in his life. Usually, he gets it done pretty swift and fast. For some reason, even with the shirt that you borrowed that morning on his nose, your scent mixed with expensive perfumes blocks out all the other senses, his cock never softens. Simon even generously puts on a video and nothing happens. His rough hand goes languished, tired and desperate. Maybe that's the problem. His hand. Not yours. Even his ears begin to find the moaning coupled with wet slaps more annoying than arousing. Then his phone vibrates, temporarily putting the video in the background of his attention. Your name flashes on the screen. 

Fuck. 

Relief floods over him in an instant. Thick white spurts land on his stomach. And Simon has yet to read the text.

   ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •✸•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“But where do you park your second car?”

“Sweets, for fuck’s sake-”

“Oh god, I didn't-”

“Nevermind.”

It has been your fifth trip to his house and your questions only grow. He supposed it's fair since you never stepped on anything but fine marbles. A hand squeezes his bicep. 

“But I really wanna try.”

“You sure ‘bout that? Never take you for that type.”

“Well, I don't have to be a specific type to go on a fishing trip.”

“Fine. Just don't whine too much.”

Your fingers curl around his bicep again, failing to wrap them all the way around. You tend to do that a lot. Excited or anxious. His cock chubs from the sight alone but he can't force you into another round. Instead, Simon pulls the blanket higher, trying to distract himself. It's silent for a while before he gives in and asks the question he had been mulling over since the news came crashing down.

“Has your old man talked to you again?”

A nail digs into his bicep.

“Not yet… He’s still in shock. I don't blame him but what did he think was gonna happen?"

“I suppose you're right.”

Simon can't think of a better ending anyways. If that night you didn't yield before your bodyguard's insistent request to meet up with his “typical military” best friend, he is sure you wouldn't be lying here but probably somewhere in Hawaii on a honeymoon with your newly wed husband. 

“I mean I get to marry whoever the hell I want right? Even if I did decide not to run off and meet that bloke, divorce would be certain in less than a year.”

“Heh.”

   ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •✸•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

It is a miracle that he manages to find a hotdog stand still opened past 2 am. All the other vendors are starting to pack up and calling it a day. Simon supposed when you're a daughter of a billionaire, everything naturally goes your way. Because he never would have agreed to being woken up to abandon his sleep and “quench the gut wrenching hunger that eats at the soul”. It is also raining hard. He forgot his umbrella. But the way your legs are skipping when they walk back to his car makes it all worth it in the end. You don't seem too bothered by your wet hair and coat.

“These are so nice! My dad never lets me eat these stuff.”

The way you look at the hotdog in your palm is exactly how one would look at their newborn.

“Mm. They sell it ‘round here a lot.”

You halt your steps and plant a kiss on his cheek. Simon ruffles your hair when you pull away to smile at him cheekily. He hopes you would do the same when he slips a ring on your finger.

a/n: first time adding anything that is nsfw in my work so i tried to make it as light as possible but im VERY anxious abt it though

[sereia4skz]

Hi Yaya!! I hope you're not too busy with many requests and I hope you're okay! I wanted to ask for something with poly!skz where they all go to a festival of some sort and perhaps they end up walking too much and reader (who has some back problems), ends up being barely able to walk, and the guys are, worried but also help them out? I don't know how much sense this makes, if this is too detailed im sorry! Feel free to delete this, no worries!

drabble | we got you

pairing: poly!straykids x reader

genre: comfort

warnings: back problems magggi

word count: ~600

masterlist: A-Side (texts) | B-Side (written)

The festival had seemed like the perfect idea. Colorful lights, late spring air, music and laughter echoing between vendor booths. You were surrounded by the boys, arms bumping, hands held, too many snacks being passed around, Jeongin nearly choking on cotton candy after Hyunjin made him laugh too hard.

It was perfect. At first.

But you’d been walking for nearly four hours now. The cobblestone paths and uneven terrain of the fairground were doing no favors for your back. You’d tried to keep pace, tried to ignore the slowly tightening ache that always crept up your spine when you pushed too far.

Now, each step feels heavier. Your lower back burns. You're trying to stay in the conversation, to laugh at Changbin’s joke about Minho’s tragic attempts at the ring toss, but your smile falters as your body protests louder.

It’s Felix who notices first. You didn’t even realize you’d slowed until his hand gently brushes your arm. His brow furrows when he catches the way you’re favoring one leg, your weight shifting oddly.

“Hey, love,” he says softly, leaning closer so the others don’t hear just yet. “You hurting?”

You hesitate. But he sees right through it, because he knows. Because he’s been there too, wincing after too long in a chair, groaning about muscle tension that won’t quit. His voice lowers even more.

“Your back?”

You nod. It’s barely noticeable, but his expression softens immediately.

“Okay. I got you.” He turns around and gestures discreetly for the others. One by one, they slow down and fall into step near you and Felix.

“What’s going on?” Chan asks, and you can tell he already knows something’s wrong.

Felix answers for you. “Her back’s flaring up. It’s getting bad.”

You’re quick to shake your head. “I didn’t wanna ruin anything. We’re having fun, I just-”

“Sweetheart,” Minho says, and the word alone makes you pause, “you don’t have to push through pain to be with us. That’s not how this works.”

“I’m fine, really-”

“No, you're hurting,” Chan says, his voice gentle but firm. “That matters. You matter. Come here.”

Before you can argue again, Seungmin’s already pulling off his flannel to lay over Changbin’s arms, who’s crouched down in front of you.

“Hop on,” Changbin grins. “Piggyback time. We’ll switch off when I get tired.”

“Guys, no, it’s too much,”

“It’s really not,” Hyunjin chimes in, brushing hair from your face. “You’d do it for any of us.”

“Felix literally made us carry him halfway through Lotte World last year,” Jeongin says with a smirk. “We owe you.”

Felix gasps, clearly offended. “That was different, I had a flare-up and you dropped me!”

“You kissed my neck!” Jeongin defends himself, while Han just cackles behind him.

Laughter bubbles up from your chest despite the ache. You blink rapidly, eyes stinging for a reason that has nothing to do with pain.

“You guys are ridiculous,” you murmur.

“We’re yours,” Chan replies, and that silences the chaos for a heartbeat.

“You can let us take care of you,” Felix adds. “You’re not weak for needing help. You’re strong for letting us love all of you.”

And just like that, you melt.

Changbin carries you first. His arms are solid, his teasing gentle as he makes exaggerated sound effects with every step to get you to laugh. Hyunjin takes over next, spinning in slow circles when the line for food stalls gets too long. When it’s Chan's turn, he presses his cheek against your shoulder and whispers how proud he is of you for speaking up, even if you didn’t say a word.

Eventually, you end up nestled on a bench between Seungmin and Chan while the others grab snacks and warm drinks. Felix stays next to you, knees touching, his hand squeezing yours every so often.

Your back still aches. But it’s different now. Softer. More manageable.

taglist: @diekleinesuesse @tillaboo @felixsonlyrealwife @geni-627 @skz8riley @lezleeferguson-120 @pixie-felix @headfirstfortoro @alnex05 @baby-stay92 @encoredesires @androgynouscrownorbit @channiesluvrclub @my-neurodivergent-world @chims-dimple @bookswillfindyouaway @stellasays45 @angel-writes-skz-here @m-325 @0sunshinecryptid0 @beal-o @hug4helios @oksullen @rileylovescats @dreamyfelixx @yxna-bliss @turtledove824 @enhacolor @skzz0213 @hannahlue @purplelady85 @velvetmoonlght @inishij @bangchanspineapple @straykids4lifeee @peskybirdysya @gnabsss

taglist pt2: @zayn-210 @wolfhallows4 @katsukis1wife @sammhisphere

[sloaneispunk]

"will ye go, lassie go?"

vampire!remmick x you

summary -> when remmick comes knocking on the ‘jukebox’, a sweet young girl had answered the door. he was captivated by her, determined not to leave until he had gotten her, and he didn’t care who he would have to hurt to get what he wanted.

the loud blues music filled your ears as you stumbled towards the bar. “give me another.” you called out to the bartender, plopping down onto the stool as you discarded the bottle in your hand.

“whoa, y/n, slow down. what’re you doing?” you could hear mary’s concerned tone from a distance. “jesus, how much have ya drank?”

“not much.” you shrugged, a drunken smile on your face.

“c’mon now, let’s get’cha home, i’m getting stack.” she said, taking your arm but you yanked out of her grip.

“they barely even noticed that i’m here, why do you think they would care now? i-i mean you guys call me ‘family’ but the truth is you only call when you need me.” you said, frustrated, waving your hands in the air. “just go, i’ll be fine.”

mary sighed, truth is, she knew it too. it was hard to miss, but she had been feeling like an outcast too. more than she’d like to admit, she resonated with every word you said.

so you left, stumbling as you made your way to the front door. you dragged a chair near the threshold of the door, the legs scraping on the wooden planks. with a groan, you nestled yourself onto the seat, opening the door as you let the breeze blow through your hair.

you didn’t know how long you sat there, it could’ve been minutes? hours even.

but your peace was cut short when a group of people came, happily striding towards the entrance where you sat.

by now, you had sobered up a little, you narrowed your eyes to see them clearer. it was a man dressed in a baby blue button up with suspenders, accompanied with a woman and another man who stood behind him as if he was their leader.

“good evenin’, darlin’. how are ya?” the man spoke with enthusiasm, a warm grin on his face.

“can i help you?” you asked, straightening up as you kicked one leg over the other, arms crossed.

the man shot you a look, it was subtle but you caught it. his eyes flashed down and up once, smile growing wider.

“i sure hope you can. but before i start, can i say, darlin’, you sure do look absolutely breathtaking.”

you chuckled at his weak attempt at charming his way in. “what can i help you folks with?”

“well, ya see… we heard word of a party here and we just wanted to come play some music for ya guys, we sure do know our way around the blues.” he replied, his two henchmen nodding. “the name’s remmick, by the way. and whom do i own the pleasure to?”

“i’m y/n.” you introduced, placing your hand in his as he reached out, bringing it up to his lips.

“my word, miss y/n, ya sure it’s safe for you to stand guard at the door? might attract more people in than you think.” remmick joked, causing you to chuckle, shaking your head.

“i’m not their guard dog, i’m actually-”

“y/n, who are these people?”

you pulled back. standing behind you now was stack and the others with frowns on their faces as they looked the trio up and down. you got up from the chair, using your feet to kick it one side before the group pushed passed you as if they were protecting the jukebox, taking a stand firm at the door.

“hey, you okay?” mary asked as you made your way beside her behind stack.

“i’m fine.”

“whoa now, we don’t want any trouble, mister.” you heard remmick say, his arms held up as he took a few steps back.

“how’d you get here?”

“i-i was just tellin’ that pretty lady how we heard people speak of this place.” he defended, eyes locking with yours as he sent you a subtle wink, causing a blush to creep up on your cheeks as you looked down to hide a smile.

stack rolled his eyes at the sight. “sorry but this place isn’t open to the rest of’ya.”

“oh, i-is this because we’re-” he pointed to his arm. “then how’d they both get in?”

before you or mary could speak up, annie stepped in, “they’re family.”

remmick’s mouth fell into a silent ‘o’, nodding. “can we just play a lil somethin’ for ya? maybe you’d change your mind.”

there was no response, so remmick took the silence as his sign to continue.

the three of them took out their banjos and began to sing an old folk song.

it was catchy, you couldn’t lie, but there was something eerie about it at the same time.

you tapped your foot to the rhythm and you observed how no one seemed impressed except smoke.

“okay that’s enough.” stack interrupted as the three of them groaned.

“c’mon, it was just about to get good.”

“nah, i think it’s time for you to leave.”

you wanted to protest, but seeing how you didn’t really have a say, you kept quiet.

“i guess that’s fair, it’s a shame… i would’ve loved to serenate y’all with my music.” remmick let out a sigh of disappointment, eyes flickering to you once more for a brief second before looking away.

“have a good night.” stack said bluntly, turning around and slamming the door shut behind him as everyone went back to doing different things.

you stayed by the door for a few moments, the image of remmick not leaving your mind. he was so welcoming towards you, caring even. his smile gave you butterflies and you wanted nothing more but to have him stay.

“looks like you’ve got a fan, princess.” stack teased, shoving pass you, heading back to the party.

fuck it.

in a distance

“fuck! how are we supposed to get in?!” remmick cursed, throwing his banjo onto a tree log in the middle of the road, plumping down next to it.

“how about y/n?” the woman spoke up, “she seems like an easy target.”

remmick’s jaw tightened and his fists clenched, “we are not taking y/n.” he gritted, causing the woman to gulp.

he sighed with frustration as he buried his face in his hands.

remmick didn’t want to hurt you. it was like he was being held back, he couldn’t bring himself to turn you into one of them. the mere thought of sinking his teeth into your delicate skin made his blood boil and he didn’t know why.

up till that night, remmick didn’t even know who you were. but after that small interaction, something in him compelled him from putting you in harm’s way.

he felt attracted to you, like a magnet pull that he couldn’t resist. after being chased away by stack, he fought the urge to turn back just to sneak one last look at you.

you were just like honey to him, so sweet and he craved it like a bee attracted to nectar.

unbeknownst to him, you were walking by your lonesome down the road. you silently hoped that they hadn’t made it far.

then, in the mere distance, you heard singing. picking up the pace, you found remmick and his friends on the side of the road.

“grows around the blooming heather-”

your gaze softened, they were singing yet another folk song that held a special place in your heart. it was beautiful.

“-will ye go, lassie go?”

your eyes swelled with tears as you approached them. remmick’s eyes shot up upon sensing another presence, but his guard was immediately dropped as he laid eyes on you.

he smiled to himself, continuing the song as you made your way beside him, sitting down as he continued to enchant you with the lullaby.

“and we’ll all go together, to pull wild mountain thyme…”

“…all around the blooming heather,” you started to sing with him, “will ye go, lassie go?”

as the song came to an end, you chuckled, wiping away the tears and gave them a small applause.

remmick gave you a bow, “how’d you know that song?” he asked.

“my mother taught me, it’s very beautiful.”

“you have a siren’s voice, darlin’, i sure as hell would die a happy man if that was the last voice i ever heard.”

“thank you, remmick… i’m sorry about earlier. they’re not exactly a welcoming bunch.”

“it’s alright, sweetness. it ain’t your fault.”

“i just couldn’t help but notice you feeling just a lil out of place with them.” remmick pointed out his observation.

“wh-what?”

“it’s clear as day, y/n. these people don’t appreciate you.”

you stayed silent.

“i’d never make ya feel like a burden to me, y’know?” he continued, “unlike those fools, i know how to treasure a pretty girl like you.”

you blushed at his words. “i-”

“you just gotta give me a chance, darlin’. and i promise you, you’d be the happiest girl alive with me.”

you stiffened. “i-i think i should get back to the party, they’re probably wondering where i’ve run off to.” you excused yourself, as remmick watched helplessly as you began to walk away.

then, the woman too had gotten up, drooling as she took a step, following you but remmick’s hand held her back.

“no. not yet.” he warned, watching you disappear into the darkness of the night, his heart pounding in his chest.

oh, you were going to be his.

you staggered back into the party, but it was chaos. people were fleeing from the barn as high pitched screams rang all around.

you shoved and squeezed through everyone, making your way to one of the rooms where smoke, sammy and the others gathered.

“y/n! where have you been? oh, i was so worried!” annie gasped, pulling you into a hug the second you entered the room.

“what’s going on, why is everyone-” then you saw it. stack’s lifeless body on the floor laying in a pool of blood. “what the fuck?!”

you were in shock, your hand flying to your mouth as your chest heaved heavily.

“wh-what h-happened?” you asked as you knelt down beside smoke, taking stacks’ hand in yours as smoke sucked in a breath.

“mary.”

“mary?”

“we broke in, she was all messed up and shit. had blood all over her mouth…we had to pull her off of stack.” he explained.

suddenly, everyone was spooked by a knock on the door.

you shot up, smoke pushed you behind him as he carefully made his way to the front door, gun in hand. when he opened it, your eyes widened, it was remmick.

but this wasn’t the remmick that you had met earlier. cause right now, his eyes were bright orange, glowing in the moonlight, accompanied with that same grin but only now he had fangs.

“what the hell?” you heard smoke mutter under his breath.

“good evening, again.” remmick greeted, his eyes glued to you but you couldn’t look away. “i was wondering if y’all would let me in now.”

“get the fuck away from us.” smoke threatened, raising his gun.

you winced at the sight, looking away from the two men but you were immediately drawn back by remmick’s voice.

“y/n…”

for a moment, you stopped breathing. slowly, your eyes trailed up to remmick’s face, noticing now that his eyes were back to it’s soft, blue color.

“sweetheart, why don’t you come with me?” he asked, voice softer than ever.

you only stared, falling into a turmoil of emotions.

“what do you want with us?” annie asked with a trembling voice.

“i’ve told you before, i don’t want any trouble… i just want the girl.” remmick replied, tilting his head, never breaking the eye contact. “c’mon y/n, i know that you know you’re not happy here…with them. and you will never be unless you come with me.”

you opened your mouth, but no words came out. you felt safe just listening to the words he said, it was so comforting and geniune.

“you knew it from the moment you came to look for me…” remmick continued, extending his hand as you looked down. “…come with me, darlin’”

“y/n, don’t do it.” smoke warned, his grip tightening on the gun. “don’t listen to him, y/n.”

but you were too far gone. you closed your eyes, taking in a breath and taking his hand. before anyone could hold you back, remmick pulled you out of the barn where no one dared to step out of.

a devilish grin appeared on remmick’s face as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder and placed a kiss on your temple.

“attagirl.” he mumbled, taking you along as he started to walk away.

then he stopped in his tracks, whipping his head around. “oh, and i apologise. it seems like i’ve changed my mind.”

suddenly, a crowd of savage vampires appeared in the treeline, all sprinting towards the barn.

when you turned to see what was happening, remmick gently held your face in his hands, turning it back to him instead. “don’t worry about them, sweetheart. in fact, you ain’t gotta worry about a thing with me now.”

[understeeringirl]

If we're pretending, let's be convincing

summary: the internet starts noticing. As the fake dating begins to spiral into something bigger, you and Lando hold tight to what’s always been yours: the inside jokes, the late-night calls, the unshakeable bond. warnings: social media chaos, public speculation??, emotional suppression, mutual pining if you squint pairing: lando norris x fem!reader word count: ~2.3k series: wrong side of the camera - intro - chapter one - chapter two - chapter three - chapter four - chapter five

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It starts with coffee.

You're walking down the sun-warmed streets of Monaco, sunglasses perched on your nose, a croissant in one hand and Lando’s hoodie drowning your frame. He’s beside you, matching your pace like it's second nature, cap pulled low, phone in one hand, a drink in the other.

Neither of you planned it. Not really. You just happened to both be hungry. You just happened to walk out together.

And someone just happened to take a photo.

You don’t even see them. But they see you. And by the time your croissant is half-eaten, the internet has seen you too.

By noon, it’s on Instagram. By three, there’s TikToks. By dinner, you’re the subject of a Reddit thread titled Lando Norris’ New Girlfriend: Who is She and Where Did She Come From?

You scroll through the headlines while Lando scrolls through his phone.

“‘Lando Norris Soft Launches Romance in Monaco.’” You raise your brows. “We’ve been launched. Congrats.”

He smirks, still looking at his phone. “Told you I was good at this.”

You throw a pillow at his head. He ducks. Laughs.

That night, he posts a photo. It’s not a selfie. It’s not even staged. It’s a blurry pic of you two from behind, walking toward the harbour. The caption reads: partners in crime (coffee edition)

You don’t reply. But you repost it to your story with a heart emoji.

The internet explodes.

Pierre sends a screenshot to the group chat and writes: finally. i was getting bored.

Your cousin texts you: are you serious or is this another one of your bits??

Even your mum likes the post.

You and Lando spend half the night scrolling. Sending each other the best memes. Making up ship names. Laughing until your stomach hurts.

But in the morning, you wake up to a tabloid headline calling you “F1’s new power couple.” And even though you know it’s fake, your chest feels weird.

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

By the time the next race weekend rolls around, the whispers have turned into headlines. Speculation runs rampant. PR teams start slipping your name into prep documents. Cameras linger on you longer in the paddock. Even the commentators mention you—just once, briefly, but enough.

And then comes the interview.

Lando’s halfway through a press day, sunglasses perched on his head, McLaren fireproofs zipped halfway. He’s relaxed, smiling. Playing it cool, like always.

And then the reporter asks it: “So… are the dating rumors true?”

There’s a split second where he almost laughs. But he doesn’t. Instead, he glances to the side and says, calm as ever, “I’d rather keep that between us.”

And that’s it.

You watch it later from your phone, curled up on your bed, biting the inside of your cheek.

It’s weird how convincing he sounds.

He calls that night. You answer before it finishes ringing.

“Did I sound mysterious?” he asks.

“You sounded like a rom-com lead.”

“Perfect,” he says. “Just enough to send the TikTok girlies into a tailspin.”

You laugh. It’s easy. Normal. Like the last few days haven’t been weird at all.

“Honestly,” you say, “you’re a little too good at this.”

“It’s a skill,” he says. “Charm. Stage presence. Marketability.”

“Big words for someone who once wore socks with banana prints to a gala.”

“Fashion-forward,” he insists.

He’s quiet for a beat. Then, more casually: “It’s kinda fun though, right?”

You raise an eyebrow, even though he can’t see it. “You mean the public chaos?”

“The pretending,” he says. “It’s like… our most dramatic bit ever.”

You snort. “Yeah, well, let’s hope we don’t forget our lines.”

“Nah,” he says. “We’ve been best friends too long to screw this up.”

You hum in agreement. Let the silence stretch comfortably.

Then, he adds, “Wanna plan the next post tomorrow?”

You nod to yourself. “Sure. Might as well go all in.”

“Great. I was thinking: hand-holding. Candid smiles. Something painfully couple-y.”

You roll your eyes. “If you make a heart with your hands, I’m blocking you.”

“Worth it.”

You shake your head, grinning despite yourself.

Somewhere underneath the jokes and the staged softness, something itches at the back of your brain. But you don’t scratch it. Not yet.

Because this is still fun. Still safe. Still just a game.

And you’re both really, really good at games.

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

You’re seventeen the first time it almost happens.

It’s the night after one of his junior wins—big, exhausting, emotional. You’re staying at a hotel in Belgium, sharing a room because it’s always been easier that way. The lights are off. The TV is on, volume low. You’re both lying in bed, barely touching.

He says something—quiet, tired, sweet. You don’t remember the words. Just the way his voice sounded in the dark. You turn your head to look at him.

He’s already looking at you.

There’s a moment. A tiny shift. He leans in, like instinct.

You don’t move. Don’t breathe.

But then his phone buzzes on the nightstand and the moment vanishes.

He turns away to check it. You close your eyes and pretend to sleep.

Neither of you mentions it again.

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

The next public moment comes after a race win.

You’re there in the garage, surrounded by champagne and mechanics and chaos. Lando finds you in the crowd, helmet still in hand, curls plastered to his forehead.

He grins like a kid, all adrenaline and joy. And then—without warning—he lifts you off the ground in a spinning hug. You yelp. Laugh. Hang onto him.

The cameras catch all of it.

Later, you see the footage. Slow-mo replays. TikToks set to love songs. A Twitter thread that analyzes the way he looks at you like he’s never seen anyone else in his life.

Your phone lights up all day.

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

That afternoon, after everything dies down, you’re back at his place. Still a little buzzed from celebration. Still in your paddock pass and team jacket.

He hands you a drink and flops onto the couch beside you.

“Not bad for a fake couple, huh?” he says, bumping his shoulder against yours.

You roll your eyes. “The internet’s planning our wedding.”

“We’ll need a cool hashtag,” he says. “#LanandY/N.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Fine. You come up with one.”

“#PR relationships my ass.”

He grins. “Catchy.”

You sip your drink. “How does it feel? Winning.”

He shrugs. “Good. Surreal. Loud.”

“Better with me there?”

He looks over at you. His smile softens.

“Always.”

You nudge him with your elbow. “Careful. Say one more sweet thing and I might catch feelings.”

He snorts. “Impossible. You’re heartless.”

“You’re projecting.”

“You’re deflecting.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re annoying.”

He shrugs. “You’re still here.”

“Unfortunately,” you mutter.

“Admit it,” he says, leaning back smugly, “you’d be lost without me.”

You pretend to consider. “Hmm. I'd probably get more sleep. Have fewer memes in my camera roll. Eat my own fries.”

He gasps. “You love when I steal your fries.”

“I tolerate it. Out of pity.”

He grins, victorious. “See? That’s love.”

You throw a cushion at him. He lets it hit him square in the face.

“Fake love,” you remind him.

He wiggles his brows. “For now.”

You groan. “I swear to god, if you start saying things like ‘I always knew it would be you,’ I’m going to fake break up with you just to spite your captions.”

Lando laughs, stretching out on the couch, one arm slung over the back. “Admit it. This is the most fun you’ve had in ages.”

You smile without meaning to. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head.”

He leans his head back, eyes closed. “Too late.”

You watch him for a second, something warm curling in your chest.

And then you kick his shin. “Move over, you’re hogging the couch.”

He groans dramatically. “Abuse. This is abuse.”

“Shut up and put on a movie.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

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

A few days later, it’s your turn in the spotlight.

Your first big campaign drops at midnight. A glossy, high-fashion shoot for a major brand. The kind that gets tagged in Vogue moodboards and inspires Pinterest girls for months. You wake up to your face on a billboard in Soho, your inbox full of emojis, and your agent sending messages in all caps.

You scroll through the photos, heart thudding a little. Not just because you like them, but because they feel like proof. You’re not just someone on the arm of a famous driver. You’re someone.

The comments are different this time.

“She’s actually stunning??” “Wait I didn’t know she was a real model I thought she was just his gf lol” “This is main character behavior.”

You let yourself read them. All of them. For once, they don’t hurt.

Lando texts you the campaign shot he liked best — one of you in a silver dress, back arched, staring down the camera like you’re daring it to blink first.

His message just says: that’s my fake girlfriend 🔥🔥🔥 and then: kill me for saying that but you look insane.

You roll your eyes and type back: you’re insufferable. and then: but thanks.

He sends a selfie from the gym with his tongue out. You send him a voice memo of you mocking his sweaty face. He threatens to leak your middle school haircut if you ever do it again.

By noon, you’re laughing too hard to remember why you were nervous.

And for a few hours, it’s not about pretending or planning or headlines.

It’s just your life. And it’s finally getting louder in the best way.

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

That weekend, you both end up at a chaotic group dinner in Monaco — Lando, Max, a couple of mutual friends and their couples. Someone suggests a game, and before long it’s a wild mix of dares and “never have I ever.”

Someone jokes about couples knowing each other best. Pierre grins at Lando. “What’s her coffee order, Norris?”

Without missing a beat, Lando rattles it off. You blink.

Someone else asks who said “I love you” first. Lando doesn’t flinch. “Me. Obviously. She’s shy.”

You kick his shin under the table. He winces. Everyone laughs.

Later, one of your friends posts a picture of you and Lando mid-laugh, shoulders pressed together. The caption says: most annoying couple award goes to...

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

Some time next week, you’re stopped outside a shoot by a fan who asks, “So when did you realize you loved him?”

You hesitate for a fraction of a second too long.

Then you laugh. “I’m under strict orders not to answer that.”

The clip goes viral.

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

That night, you FaceTime Lando from your hotel. He answers from bed, hair wet, shirtless, already under the covers.

“I heard you went viral today,” he says.

“I plead the fifth,” you say. “You looked like a golden retriever in your press photos.”

“Thank you.”

You talk for an hour. About everything and nothing. About your outfits for the next event. About Pierre’s new shoes. About a girl he went to school with who’s now in a soap opera.

You fall asleep mid-call. He screenshots it.

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

The next post comes from you.

You in his hoodie. Him mid-laugh. A blurry one of your intertwined fingers under a table.

Caption: 🤍 found him on the pit wall

The internet loses it. Again.

You close the app, smiling.

Let them guess.

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

A few weeks later, you’re both in Monaco again, tucked into the quiet of his apartment. The windows are open, letting in the soft night air. There's music playing low—something chill and forgettable—and takeout boxes between you on the couch.

Neither of you is in a rush to talk. You’re watching the ceiling like it’s more interesting than your thoughts. Lando’s scrolling aimlessly on his phone, then sets it down with a sigh.

“You ever think about how weird this all is?” he asks suddenly.

You glance at him. “Define weird. Like… fake dating your best friend weird, or being mildly famous weird?”

He laughs. “Both, I guess.”

You nod, pulling your knees up. “Yeah. It’s insane when you think about it too hard.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then: “I was thinking earlier… if I wasn’t doing this, if none of this F1 stuff ever happened, I wonder if we’d still be this close.”

You blink. “What kind of sad midnight crisis is this?”

He smiles, but it’s soft. Real. “I just mean—life’s gone a bit mad. And somehow, we still find our way back to each other.”

You don’t answer right away. Because it’s true. Through the chaos and the cameras and the fake dating façade, there’s still this unshakeable thing between you. The kind of closeness that makes everything else seem quieter.

“I think we’d always find a way,” you say, honest.

Lando looks over at you, eyes a little too gentle. “You’re the only person who’s known me before all of this. Before the wins. The attention. The pressure.”

“You’re the only person who knew me before heels and hair extensions and Vogue calling.”

He smiles. “I still remember when you used to cut your own bangs with safety scissors.”

You groan. “Don’t bring that up.”

“I liked it. It was chaotic.”

“You like chaos.”

“I like you.”

You freeze for a second—but he doesn’t mean it like that. You know he doesn’t. It’s just Lando being Lando, casually affectionate like always.

Still, your chest does that stupid flutter.

You cover it with a smirk. “Even with my tragic fringe phase?”

“Especially then,” he says.

There’s a moment of silence, not uncomfortable. Just full.

“Thanks for sticking around,” you say, quietly. “Even when things got messy. Even now.”

He bumps your knee with his. “Always.”

You nudge him back. “And thanks for fake dating me.”

“The pleasure is mine, darling,” he says, putting on a ridiculous accent.

You both laugh.

And just like that, the serious moment folds itself back into the warmth of your friendship. Safe. Steady. Real.

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

so... chapter two! omg i feel like this is so confusing i swear i'm trying to make it better 😭😭 but anyway, here's some one sided crush for you (..or is it?)

see you next lap, -N 🏁

[lush-escape]

The Vigilante's Guide to Grief

pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader wc: 1.7k a/n: I was going to make this one super angsty, but I felt like a repeat of the last chapter. So I went more lighthearted with this one prev: bargaining next: testing

Stage five: Depression

morning,

t's June 12th and I had the worst time getting out of bed this morning. I slept like shit. worse than usual. everything is just heavy lately I don't know. Christy brought up meds but I don't know

Jason doesn't bother much with punctuation, grammar, much of anything this morning. He's tired. To the very bottom depths of his soul he's tired.

His head has gotten longer along with his hair, his multicolored bangs hang over his eyes as he hunches over his desk to write.

made me think of you. is that fucked up? it feels fucked up. i’m sorry. didn't mean it in a bad way. just made me think of the times you had trouble getting out of bed too

“Just a bad brain day…” you murmur to Jason when he asks why you're still in bed when he gets home from his morning run. He's worried more than anything else.

“Bad brain day?” He questions before sitting down next to you in bed. His hand is in the nape of your neck, his thumb massaging gently against your skin.

“Mhm,” is all you hum in response. Your bad depression days didn't happen as often as they used to, but when they did happen they were bad. Spending days rotting away in bed not eating, not taking care of yourself in any capacity, crying for hours on end over what seemed like nothing. Your chest feels heavy and tight and your stomach feels like it's full of lead.

Jason nods. You and him have been friends since you were kids, through all of it, he knows about your days - he's just never been there for you through them as your boyfriend.

The silence hangs heavy for a minute before you're crying. About what exactly you can't pinpoint. But before you know it Jason is taking off his workout tank top and shorts and is crawling into bed behind you. He wraps a strong arm around you and moves you around until your face is against his chest, and you let him. You're too goddamn tired to fight it.

One large hand cups the back of your head, the other trails up and down your spine in a soothing manner. The entire time he stays quiet letting you cry. He doesn't offer false promises that everything will be okay or that you're going to be fine. He just lets you feel, lets his actions silently promise that he's there for you.

It takes you about an hour to finally stop, tiring yourself out. You mumble a quiet apology before yawning and Jason responds with a kiss to the crown of your head. He pulls you closer until you're fully laying on top of him and his arms snake around you completely. The pressure is a warm comfort that has you melting against him.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your hands sandwiched between his back and the mattress.

“I got you, baby.” He whispers back. Another beat of silence before, “Wanna take a bath?”

“Don't wanna get up…”

“I'll carry you.”

“Don't wanna be alone,”

“I'm getting in with you.”

You can feel the ghost of a smile tug at your lips. You really don't want to get up and bathe but knowing he wants to join you makes the daunting task easier to overcome.

“Okay.” You finally whisper your agreement.

It's a tight squeeze with Jason's legs bent, one hanging over the side of the tub to make more room for you. You tell him it's fine, he can get out, but he insists. Your back against his chest with warm water lapping at your skin, he's right where he wants to be.

“What do you want for dinner?” He asks as he kneads your shoulders.

“‘m not hungry.” You answer as your head leans back against his solid chest.

“I know. Still need to eat though.” Jason kisses against your temple. “Something easy,” he leans his head back against the shower wall and closes his eyes, relaxing with his arms around your chest.

“Nothing sounds good.”

“I know,” is all he replies with but he's already thinking of at least six of your favorite foods that are easy to eat and digest.

After your bath Jason finds your comfort pajamas, one of his old shirts and your favorite pair of underwear and sweats. He doesn't bother you with brushing your teeth or deodorant, he knows that getting in the bath was exhausting enough and for that he's thankful.

He fills up your favorite cup with ice water and brings a smaller cup filled with juice and sets them on the table next to the bed. You lay there looking miserable, blanket pulled to your shoulders, just staring. He assumes you're dissociating.

“Dinners on the way.” He tells you quietly. The second he sees your eyes watering he's on his knees on the floor with one hand on your cheek.

“I don't deserve you.” You manage to choke out. You feel awful, miserable, like you're the lowest of the low. How did you end up with someone like him? Someone so caring and attentive without being overbearing.

“Hey,” Jason responds quietly, “you don't get to decide that, okay?” He leaves a tender kiss on your cheek.

least it's not as bad as it was. after you died it all went to shit. it was horrible. i’m pretty sure the family was getting ready to send me to an inpatient facility. wouldn't have blamed them honestly. I probably needed it

Jason's beyond done with writing. He can feel it in the way his letters begin to morph together, some words half cursive.

“Okay, here's the deal.” Dick looks pointedly from Tim to Damian to Duke. They're standing outside of yours and Jason's apartment door.

“It's probably not going to be good when we get in there. He's been MIA for two weeks. So just… don't react.” Dick tells the three.

“I mean, it's only been a couple of weeks since…” Duke trails off with a frown. Tim bumps his shoulder softly in a comforting way.

“Yes, yes, we understand Grayson. Do not tell him he smells like a public restroom or infantilize him.” Damian rolls his eyes. But underneath it all? He was nervous.

Dick nods with an exhale before unlocking the front door with his spare key.

The apartment is dark and stuffy. There's a smell permeating from somewhere. It's hard to tell if it's coming from the overflowing trash or the moldy dishes piled in the sink. The boys keep stoic expressions.

“Okay, I need light.” Duke finally says. Dick and Tim are making their way to the bedroom to find Jason when Duke opens the blinds on the windows.

Blankets and clothes are thrown haphazardly on the floor and furniture. All sorts of garbage litter the counters, coffee table, and the floor around the garbage can. Duke and Damian look at each other before Damian begins rummaging in the kitchen cupboard to look for garbage bags.

Silently the two begin cleaning the garbage and laundry around the apartment.

“Hey, Jaybird.” Dick greets quietly in the bedroom. Jason's massive form is laying face down on the bed. Beer bottles and cans take up every available inch of the bed side table and floor next to the bed. Protein and granola bar wrappers thrown around. Tim is pretty sure he sees ants coming in from the window but he doesn't say anything.

“The fuck do you want?” Jason's voice is muffled by the pillow.

“We came to check on you-”

“Did I ask you to?” Jason cuts Tim off with a sharp tone. Tim and Dick both falter.

“No.” Dick stands his ground.

“Then leave.”

“No.” Tim’s voice is firm.

There's quiet before Jason lets himself break. He's too tired to put up a fight.

“Please.” He begs his brothers.

Dick and Tim both soften, “No way,” Tim says in a more gentle tone.

“We're here to help.” Dick tells Jason. The only giveaway that Jason has begun crying is the way his shoulders shake.

“Oh, that is it!” Damian shrieks from the kitchen. “I am burning it down!”

“No, Damian, don't-!”

Damian barges into the bedroom where Dick has sat on the edge of the bed, one hand on Jason's shaking shoulder.

“You! Todd!” Damian’s unaffected by seeing his older brother crying.

“You are getting in the shower-”

“I tried to stop him!” Duke pipes in.

“Because you stink like the harbor-”

“I swear I did!”

“And we,” he gestures to his three older brothers, "are cleaning your space! No arguing!” The youngest Wayne’s face is contorted into an angry scowl. Damian stalks out of the room muttering to himself.

“He touched a silverfish…” Duke explains with a sigh.

“They will eat her books, Todd! And then I will have to eat you!”

I fought them tooth and nail about it. about taking care of myself. honestly though I think I needed dames to yell at me and kick my ass into gear. Dick would have just coddled me. treat me like a wounded bird. Duke and tim were way in over their heads.

you should have seen them baby. you would have loved it. they cleaned the entire apartment that day, forced me to shower and eat. felt like how I used to help you. only way more aggressive

Jason lets himself smile at the similarities before he closes his notebook. He knows that it's going to be a tough day for him, harder than usual. He knows he's going to wallow and cry and not take care of himself.

So before he gets himself back into bed he sends a message to the Batfam group chat.

Jay:

bad brain day

catch you guys tomorrow

Dick:

Let us know if you need anything!!!!!!!

Duke:

Always here for you 😊

Damian:

I will use Father's doordash to send you dinner since we all know you will be too weak to cook for yourself 🙄

B:

Get some rest, son. We'll see you tomorrow.

We love you.

taglist: @thy-crimson-king @vellichor01 @theendofthematerialgworl @tinasdcstuff @4rachn3 @cecebookworm @eva-ngelionn

[spookysanta]

Chapter 8: Morning Glory & Missed Messages

Ongoing tags: [Modern Romance] [Slow Burn] to [Fireworks [Black!Reader] [Younger!Reader] [Reader is That Girl] [Obsessed Michael™] [So Much Eye Contact] [Vacation Fling] turns into [Something Real]

Potential TW/CW: [Swearing] [Light Sexual Tension] to [Eventual Smut]

Read Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7.

yeaaaaah get into it! three-day work week this week + a shit ton of ideas + lots of drafts = a lot of shit coming your way! we're gonna keep on trucking with more of the checklist fics - "payback (with interest)." is next. v excited with the nastiness that'll ensue in that fic. make sure you got fresh draws on. or no draws. whatever you'd prefer.

You woke up slow. Still tangled in him. Still quite sore. But in that sweet, stretched-out way. Still drunk on the way he held you even after everything, like his arms were your address now.

His chest rose and fell against your cheek, his fingers tracing lazy shapes along the curve of your spine. There wasn’t any rush, no tension. Just the kind of morning that felt earned.

“You awake?” he murmured, breaking the morning’s quiet.

“Barely.”

“Wanna sleep more?”

You shook your head. “Don’t wanna miss this.”

He smiled, kissing your shoulder. “What’s this?”

“Us…The morning…You…Not letting me go yet.”

He hummed gently as a reply. The two of you laid there for a while – mumbles about everything that followed after today.

Upcoming flights, work schedules, and most importantly, what came next. “I want to see you soon,” he said with a knowing sigh. “Like next-week soon.”

“I want that too.”

“You fly home tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll come to you Sunday. That cool?”

You smiled. “That fast?”

He kissed your shoulder again, chuckling at your surprise, but also knowing you couldn’t say no to him. “Duh. I’ll have waited long enough already.”

The rest of the morning morphed into the two of you getting dressed, beginning with a shared shower – steam filling the bathroom in a warm haze, hands smoothing over soapy skin, slow kisses, wet fingers, and his voice in your ear like warm velvet.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, holding your face in his hands. “I swear I could wash you every day.”

You giggled, fingers wrapped around his waist, the steam not being the only heat against your cheeks. “You’re so dramatic.”

He couldn't help but chuckle, “You’re laughin’ but I was dead serious.”

He turned the water off, helping you out of the shower before wrapping you both in towels that could only be described as clouds against your skin. You stood side-by-side as you brushed your teeth, bumping his hip with yours when he tried to kiss your cheek with toothpaste foaming around his mouth.

The two of you climbed back into bed and he called downstairs to order room service – pancakes, bacon, fruit, eggs, tea, coffee, extra hash browns “just in case”. But the moment the room’s phone hit the receiver, your phone started buzzing.

You snorted as you scrolled through your notifications, fingers typing fast before anyone freaked out (even more than they already were, apparently).

You had barely hit send when the screen lit up again: 

tatiannaaaaaaaa rennaye wants to FaceTime you.

You groaned.

Michael looked over, brows furrowing in concern. “Everything okay?”

“My friends think I’m either kidnapped or dead.”

“Tell them I’m ordering eggs.”

You answered, instinctively rolling your eyes, but choosing to put a smile in your voice. “Hi.”

“Girl,” Tati snapped. “We almost sent a wellness check.”

“I’m fine. I slept in.”

“You slept with your whole soul,” she said. “Send proof of life.”

You flipped the camera, pointing it at Michael, who was shirtless and sitting cross-legged on the bed with his phone in one hand, his other hand brushing the small of your back.

Tati blinked. “Okay, I’ll allow it,” she responded in satisfaction. “You can stay a little longer.”

“Thanks, Mom.” you replied with a laugh, saying your goodbyes as a knock rapped against the suite’s door.

You both ate breakfast in bed, sharing bites, fruit from his fork, and soft silence broken only by tiny laughs and syrupy moans over the pancakes.

And after breakfast, he helped you gather your things while he gathered his own. He tied his your hoodie drawstring nice and tight, in the way that he’s come to know you loved. 

He pressed a kiss to your temple, holding your hand all the way down to the lobby for checkout.

—

The ride back to your hotel was quiet. Not sad. Just full. It was like both of you were already counting down to when you’d see each other again.

As he’d been doing, he walked you to your suite; and before you opened the door, he turned to you. “I can take y’all to the airport, if you want. Help y’all save a bit of money on Uber.” he mumbled.

You sighed, appreciating the gesture but not wanting to have to go to the airport at all. “Yeah… I think that’d be nice.”

He nodded, leaning in and kissing your cheek, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you into him. “Sounds good.”

“Don’t let us oversleep.”

“Yes ma’am. I’ll be outside at eight.”

“Got it.”

Then, gently, like he couldn’t help it, he peppered kissed against your forehead. “Bye, baby.”

When you unlocked the suite’s door and shut it behind you, four women stared you down like you’d walked in wearing a wedding dress.

“You made it!” Nas cheered, secretly eyeing the hickey that bloomed against the collar of the hoodie you were wearing.

“Unkidnapped,” Lex added.

“You smell like sin,” Kris noted. “…and pancakes.”

You dropped your bag. “I need to lay down.”

“No,” Tati said. “Your ass needs to pack. We’re leaving in the morning.”

You groaned. “I just came back.”

“Girl,” Nas said, “you left.”

And once again, like clockwork, the suite was full of laughter, of voices, of rustling bags, of rolling suitcases and shared mirrors and the sound of the last day beginning.

The sun dipped low around seven. Golden light poured in through the windows as the suite buzzed with motion — curling irons back on the counters, open suitcases half-packed, outfit pieces flying across the couch like nobody was actually ready to go.

“We said casual,” Nas reminded as Tati tugged on a strapless jumpsuit and posed in the mirror like she was going to a red carpet.

“This is casual,” Tati replied. “For me.”

“I’m wearing jeans and a t-shirt,” you said from the bathroom, one brow arched.

“That’s because you’re glowing,” Kris cut in, smirking from the edge of the bed. “You could show up in a paper bag and still outshine all of us.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, because she was right. You were glowing. You still had a little bit of that warmth in your thighs, that softness in your chest.

—

The rooftop club was quiet this time of night. Not empty, just relaxed – groups scattered in corners, music playing low from someone’s phone speaker. You found a spot by the balcony, a perfect view of the city below, the skyline glittering in the distance.

And of course, drinks were ordered. Fries were set in the middle of the table. Phone cameras were flashing from every angle.

“Okay, everyone hold still,” Lex said, angling her camera in her selfie stick that she forgot she’d packed. “Golden hour is giving.”

Tati leaned in. Kris lifted her glass. Nas kissed Lex’s cheek. You smiled without trying.

Click.

Click.

Click.

And for a moment, it all felt suspended, like this could stretch out forever if you let it. No one brought up flights or suitcases or the fact that you’d be going to bed in a different city this time tomorrow.

Everyone just… existed. In the shimmer. In the sound. In the love.

—

Back in the suite, the noise of the night quieted as you crossed the threshold. People trudged to different parts of the suite – almost testing to see if time would move slower if they did. 

Lex was packing, softly humming. Nas was editing the night’s photos. Tati and Kris were debating whether or not to order room service dessert.

You slipped into your bedroom, your phone in hand, thumb hovering over the contact.

You didn’t even have to press anything before your phone lit up.

michael b. jordan (no seriously) is calling you…

You answered fast, like you’d been waiting. “Hey.”

His voice came through low and warm. “Hi, pretty girl.”

You exhaled.

“How was the night?” he asked.

“Perfect.” you sighed in contentment, slipping your clothes off to change into pajamas consisting of a shirt that you may or may not have borrowed from his duffel bag. You sat on the bed, leaning back against the headboard.

“You eat?”

“Mhm.”

“What’d you have?”

“We shared a plate of fries and a bottle of wine and took, like, thirty pictures in front of string lights.”

He chuckled. “That sounds like heaven.”

“It kinda was.”

There was a pause after that. You weren’t sure why your throat felt tight, but it made you afraid to speak.

And of course, he noticed. “You okay?”

You blinked hard, feeling your eyes well up, wiping your cheeks as tears started to fall. “Yeah.”

“You sure?”

You nodded, then realized he couldn’t see you. “I just…”

He heard the sadness in your voice clear as day. He didn’t miss a beat. “FaceTime me. Let me look at you.”

As much as you wanted to fight him on it, you knew it would be an uphill battle. So you caved, pulling the phone from your cheek and pressing the “FaceTime” button. It connected immediately. And you’d finally seen yourself, eyes shimmering and puffy with fresh tears, cheeks damp.

And then you saw him. His eyebrows were furrowed, as if he wanted to pull you through the phone to grab you. You could see the heartbreak splayed across his face.

“I don’t wanna go,” you whispered, voice broken. The honesty cracked open like glass – soft but deep. The tears flowed freely then, wet and hot against your cheeks in a way that made your heart ache in sadness and slight embarrassment.

“I know,” he said. “I don’t want you to either.”

You were quiet except for the occasional sniffle as he let the silence breathe.

“I’ve been thinking about tomorrow,” he added. “About seeing you off. About how fast this week flew.”

You swallowed thickly.

“And I keep wondering to myself… how in the hell did you get under my skin this quick?”

You let out a deep, shaky breath, rubbing the wetness on your cheeks away with your palm.

“Because I see you,” he continued. “I see the way you try to make space for everybody else before you make it for yourself. I see how scared you are to ask for something real. And I see how hard you fight to believe that someone could choose you first.”

More tears welled in your eyes.

“You deserve to be chosen, babygirl,” he said. “Every. Single. Time.”

You didn’t speak. Or rather, couldn’t. 

He softened his voice even more. “I’m gonna miss you like hell. But I’m not going anywhere. You know that, right?”

You nodded simply. “Yes. I know,” you whispered.

“And I’ll call when you land…”

You nodded again.

“...I’ll come to you next. And after that, we’ll figure out what’s next.”

You breathed in, letting out another sigh, finally getting yourself together. “I want there to be a next.”

“There will be. You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

You laughed, the smile he was searching for finally appearing.

“You gonna be OK?”

“Yeah. I am.”

“Good. Call me if you need me.” He said your name like a kiss. “Goodnight, baby.”

“Goodnight.”

The call ended. You wiped your eyes before stepping back out into the suite’s common area. To the girls, to the laughter, to the final night that still had a little magic left in it.

You stayed up a little longer after everything cleared out.

But it wasn’t because you weren’t tired – you absolutely were – but because the moment felt suspended. Like the room knew it would all end in the morning and wanted to stretch out every breath of it.

Lex had laid on the floor of the common area, having pulled her suitcase out from her room and leaving it half-opened in the middle of the room.

Nas had started braiding her hair while sitting on the couch, playing reruns of Jersey Shore.

Tati and Kris were finishing off the rest of the wine in the kitchenette, flipping through their camera rolls, arguing over whose angles were strongest.

You just sat on the kitchenette’s counter, Michael’s shirt hugging your frame, blanket laid across your lap, already feeling the ache rise up again.

“You okay, hun?” Tati asked, noticing the change in your face.

You nodded. “I just… don’t want this to be over.”

—

You fell asleep later than you meant to, but not too late. You’d made sure to set your alarm. Already laid out your clothes and packed everything except your toothbrush.

When the morning came, it arrived gently – grey skies, soft light, and the kind of stillness that made you breathe a little deeper.

Everyone moved like clockwork. No chaos this time, just quiet groans and zippers. Matching sweats and puffed-up neck pillows, final checks, last wipes of lip balm, sighs into coffee cups.

You looked at the clock just as your phone buzzed.

After gathering luggage downstairs, you met him in the hotel’s courtyard. He was standing by the car, back door open, trunk popped. Black sweats and a Bulls snapback on his head. His eyes were low, like he himself was overwhelmed with emotion but wouldn’t let it show. 

But he was still fine, and still one of the safest things you’d seen all week.

He looked up and smiled sadly as you stepped through the lobby doors, girls behind you with rolling suitcases and sunglasses, moving like a slow parade. “There y’all go.”

Tati gave him a once-over. “You’re lucky we didn’t oversleep.”

“Would’ve waited,” he said easily with a shrug. “Would’ve brought croissants.”

Nas rolled her eyes. “Charmer.”

“I mean it.” He loaded every bag into his truck, checked every headcount, and opened every door. By the time you climbed into the passenger seat next to him – seatbelt clicked, bag under your knees – you felt the air shift again.

Like it always did when it was just the two of you.

The ride to the airport was full of that last-day energy: a little slap-happy, a little sentimental, and a lot of shared glances across the car.

Lex played a playlist softly through her phone.

Kris whispered a prayer over everyone’s flights.

Tati was texting the girls' group chat from within the car, sending blurry pictures of Michael from behind his headrest with a string of flame emojis and the caption: “our driver is fine as hell.”

You leaned into the window and laughed.

He caught your reflection.

And at the terminal, the car idled in the drop-off lane. Of course, Michael got out first and unloaded the luggage, saying his goodbyes and giving short hugs to the girls.

Then it was your turn. You’d gotten out of the car last, stepping out slow, having needed an extra second to collect yourself. Your heart was in your throat as you walked to him and grabbed your luggage from his hold. “I don’t wanna say goodbye,” you said quietly, feeling the heat in your face rise again for what seemed like the hundredth time in 24 hours.

“You’re not.” He reached for you, palm cradling your jaw, thumb brushing beneath your eye. “You’re gonna go. You’re gonna land. You’re gonna text me.”

You nodded.

“And I’m gonna call – and text – and whatever else you need, as many times as we need to. And then, I’m gonna book a flight to come see you.”

“That doesn’t sound casual to me.” You joked with a short chuckle. 

“Because it ain’t – and if I gotta remind you every day, I will.” 

You kissed him first without any hesitation. Soft. Full. Like every second between now and next time had to be soaked in this moment.

When you pulled back, he didn’t let go. “I’m yours,” he said. “You hear me?”

Your voice cracked. “Yeah.”

He leaned in. “All yours, baby.”

You kissed him again before you turned to go, the girls already waiting at the airport’s entrance. There was so much ahead of you – the now what’s, the what if’s.

But right now, your heart was set right there in his hands.

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[tumblingaroundtofindout]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

MAY I?

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Medkit was never a fan of physical contact. Often shrugging off the hands of those that decided to touch him and giving them the disgusted look like they just smeared contaminants on him.

Sure. He can tolerate some of Sword's buddy buddy antics: fist bumps, shoulder-side hugs, playful punches. But all the others? Forget it. Like, just the sight of some of them already drains away whatever patience he has left, how much more if they gave even a slight nudge with their elbow?

Even when he got together with you, who is very touchy, he still doesn't like physical contacts. But, again, he tolerates yours and Sword's.

He hates it. Disgusted by it even. So it surprised him when he mindlessly rested his chin on your shoulder while you were in the kitchen, cooking.

Was he tired? 

Maybe…

His face was a blushing mess. More so when he attempted to hide his face by burying it on your neck.

You could only giggle at his embarrassment. You didn't mind the contact, though it does feel weird a bit since…Medkit doesn't usually initiate physical contacts.

"I'm sorry about this…" Came his muffled, irritated voice. Irritated at himself at least.

You scoffed, amused and just let him be. "Nothing to be sorry about dear. You know I don't mind."

Your voice was gentle. Always soothing to his ears. 

Should I…? He thought to himself.

Lifting his head, he gazed at you from the corner of his eye. His throat feeling dry as he tried to form a sentence.

"Can I…" he swallowed and averted his gaze. "Hug you…?"

You hummed and just continued chopping the carrots and potatoes after peeling them. Now seeming unbothered.

Medkit waited for her reply, all the while his face was just burning with embarrassment.

"I don't know." You teased, "Can you?

You were joking. He knew that, and just scoffed at your sass. His face mildly cooling off with his irritation at your answer.

"May I hug you." He rolled his eye, unamused, yet grateful for the banter.

You giggled again. "Of course. I don't mind."

"I thought so…" he whispered.

Gingerly, he wrapped his arms around your waist and the burning sensation in his cheeks returned as he inhaled your scent and tightened his hold around you.

So he stayed like that for a while as you finished cooking. Even when you warned him about the steam and splash of soup, or how you almost tripped, he still didn't mind.

You don't mind it too. But it does make you moving around the kitchen more difficult with a koala the size of a grown man tenderly embracing you.

No matter. You can just tell him off next time. Or you could get used to this.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Of course the sample story is about Medkit. Gotta love that touch-deprived doctor. Got an idea? Write about it! Or share it and I'll write about it! Probably!

[orellazalonia]

Borrowed Time (Pt. 2)

Summary: You go through with the breakup to protect Bucky from watching you die. You move out quietly, quit your job, and vanish from the Tower. (Bucky Barnes x reader)

Word Count: 2.9k+

A/N: This has ANGST by the way. Be sure to read the first part for better context. Happy reading!!

Main Masterlist | Part 1

You moved out two days later.

No dramatic announcement. No suitcase rolling through the Tower halls. No goodbyes. Just quiet packing in the middle of the night, the zipper of your duffel barely audible over your own heartbeat. You left behind the hoodie he liked to steal. The old vinyl you bought together.

You’d let him decide to throw out those things or not.

The apartment you eventually found was small, cold, and too quiet. It wasn’t far from the Tower, that was a mistake. You hadn’t thought through what it would feel like to still see it every time you opened your windows.

You stopped showing up to team meetings, skipped training, and sent a one-line resignation to the administrative inbox. Bruce replied. Natasha texted twice. Steve called once. You didn’t answer.

No one came after you. Not even him. And that was the plan, wasn’t it?

But the thing no one tells you about walking away to protect someone…

You still end up alone and they still end up hurting.

You caught glimpses of him sometimes. On TV. On social media posts. At a café you walked into by accident, only to immediately walk back out.

He looked… fine.

Not happy or whole. Just functional. Moving like he’d forced his gears back into motion. He still wore black. Still walked like someone waiting for a fight.

But the light in him, that flicker you used to see when you said his name, laughed too loud, or fell asleep against his shoulder; it wasn’t there anymore.

You had taken it with you.

You told yourself that was better than him watching you waste away. That it was kindness. That it was love.

But most nights, you lay curled on your too-small couch, coughing quietly into your pillow, feeling the sharp twist of something inside your ribs and you wondered if maybe you hadn’t saved him at all.

Maybe you’d just taught him how to lose you.

And as time continued to pass, your condition only got worse.

You were good at hiding it when you went out. Sunglasses, makeup, scarves, but your limbs ached constantly now. Your memory slipped sometimes. Your nose bled without warning.

One night, after throwing up into the sink, you gripped the edge of the counter and stared at your reflection.

You looked like someone Bucky wouldn’t recognize. And you didn’t know whether that comforted you or destroyed you.

Then came the night your vision went black for a full thirty seconds in the stairwell of your building. You sat down hard, heart racing. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t stand. Couldn’t even call for help.

You thought about texting someone.

You thought about him, but you didn’t.

Instead, you waited until the spinning stopped, crawled up to your apartment, and passed out fully dressed on the floor beside your bed.

On the other end, Bucky didn’t chase you.

He thought about it the first night, the second, and every day since.

But the way you looked when you said I don’t love you anymore…

It still rang in his ears. Cold and final.

He knew it was a lie. Some desperate, twisted thing you thought would save him but it still worked.

Because you were gone. And he didn’t know how to ask you to come back without breaking you more.

By the first morning after you left, Steve came, knocked, then let himself in.

He found Bucky sitting in the same spot he’d been the night before, at the kitchen table, still dressed with hands clenched around a cold mug of untouched coffee.

“She left,” Bucky had said without looking up.

Steve just nodded, then pulled up a chair. They didn’t talk much, but they have to.

Steve didn’t say it’ll be okay. He never lied like that. He just sat with him, the way he had in 1940s. The way he always did when Bucky didn’t know how to hold himself together.

Sam also checked in more often.

It was subtle, easy to miss if you didn’t know Wilson, but Bucky did.

He’d invite Bucky for runs, nudge him into sparring, bring him food and pretend he’d made too much.

He never brought you up directly. But Bucky could feel the way his eyes lingered sometimes. Like he was waiting for Bucky to snap. Waiting for the grief to boil over.

It never did.

Bucky just kept going. Ate when he was reminded. Slept in brief periods. Trained harder than usual. Filed mission reports with surgical precision.

As if keeping busy might drown out the ache, but it didn’t.

Meanwhile, it was Natasha who came closest to calling it out.

They sat in silence on the rooftop one night, watching the city lights blink like tiny fireflies.

“You’ve been quieter than usual,” She said, unwrapping a protein bar.

“Didn’t think that was possible,” Bucky muttered.

Nat glanced over at him, “You still look for her.”

He didn’t answer.

She looked back at the city, “So do I.”

He turned his head slowly.

“I don’t know what happened,” She said. “But I know she doesn’t disappear without reason.”

Bucky’s grip on the railing tightened. “She made it clear though.”

Nat scoffed softly. “People say all kinds of things when they’re scared.”

“She said she didn’t love me anymore.”

“And you believed her?”

He said nothing. Natasha leaned back, eyes scanning the skyline.

“When someone disappears like that,” She said quietly, “it’s usually not about you.”

That stuck with him longer than he wanted to admit.

He thought he’d seen you once, across the street near a flower stand. But you were gone before he could call your name.

After that, he started noticing things. Not you, never you. But pieces of you.

The sweater he swore was yours, worn by a stranger. The sound of your laugh, almost, in a crowd. The mug in the back of the cupboard that still smelled faintly like your peppermint tea.

He didn’t move it. Didn’t throw it out. He didn’t know how to.

He never told anyone that he still looked you up sometimes. That he opened your medical file at 2 a.m. just to see if there were any notes. That he checked for your name in the Tower security logs even though you’d quit, even though he knew you were gone.

All he found was silence. And that was the worst part.

You weren’t dead, but it still felt like grief.

As weeks pass, you wait until your hands stop shaking to reach for your notebook.

It takes nearly an hour.

Your blanket is pulled tight around your legs, your breath shallow against the silence of your apartment. The streetlamps cast a golden haze through the blind as your chest aches in that slow, gnawing way that always shows up after sunset now. Not sharp enough to scream. Just… there.

Like the rest of it. You know your condition has worsened.

So, you reach for the notebook you’ve been ignoring for weeks and the pen next to you on the couch cushions. Your hand cramps almost immediately, but you force it to hold steady.

You don’t start with Bucky. You’re not strong enough for that yet.

Instead, your first letter is to Steve.

You keep it short, because he always understood the weight of silence.

Thank you for always treating me like I belonged even before I believed it. You made the Tower feel safe. You made me feel like I was someone worth protecting. I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye. But I know you’ll understand why I couldn’t.

You fold it carefully. Like it might break.

The second is for Sam.

This one takes longer. You have to stop once to catch your breath.

You never gave up on me. You were always kind, even when I was short or distant. You always knocked, even when I didn’t open the door. Thank you for that. For showing up, for the jokes, for the quiet. Please don’t let Bucky shut down completely. I know he’ll try. I know he’ll act like he’s fine. But he’s not. Not really.

You hesitate before adding one more line.

Tell him I’m sorry.

You don’t think you can write a third letter, but you do.

This one is for Natasha.

You saw through me from the beginning. You let me lie when I needed to, and I think you knew you were giving me permission to protect myself. You taught me how to vanish. I used that. I hope you forgive me for that, too.

Once you got to the last letter… the one you’ve been avoiding… it sits as a blank page in your lap for a long, long time.

Bucky.

You whisper his name once just to yourself, just to feel it again.

Your heart feels like glass. Thin and fractured.

You press the pen to paper.

I lied to you. When I said I didn’t love you. When I said I wanted to leave. When I made you think I was tired of us. The truth is, I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. And I left because I didn’t want you to watch me die.

Your hand trembles. The ink blots a little. You keep going.

I thought I was protecting you. But all I did was make you grieve me sooner. I don’t know if that was kindness or cruelty. Probably both. But I wanted you to have a clean break. Something you could heal from. Not… months of watching me fade out, one symptom at a time.

You’re crying now, but you don’t stop.

I don’t know how much time I have left. Maybe weeks. Maybe less. But if I go quietly, I want you to know: you were the best part. You made everything feel real again. You made me feel loved without needing to earn it. I hope you live a long, messy, beautiful life after me. And I hope it’s okay that I loved you for the remainder of mine.

You don’t sign your name. You just stare at it until your chest hurts too much to sit up straight.

Eventually, you fold it, seal it, and place it in a shoebox with the others; all stacked neatly, all labeled in small handwriting. All the things you couldn’t say when they were still looking you in the eye.

You tuck the box under a pile of sweaters at the back of your closet.

Out of reach. Out of sight.

For later.

That night, you wake up in the dead of night coughing into your pillow, vision blurring at the edges. You taste blood.

You don’t tell anyone. There’s no one left to tell. You haven’t spoken to anyone from the Tower in over a month after all.

You left the world gently, like a whisper, and no one bothered you, just the way you planned.

But your phone still lights up at night. Bucky’s name still sits at the top of your favorites list.

And every night, you hover over it. And every night… you don’t call.

Because if you call now, he’ll come. And if he comes… he’ll know. And you don’t think he could survive losing you again, this time for real.

Your health only goes downhill from there.

You sleep for hours. Maybe longer. You don’t know.

You wake when the pain in your spine pulls you out of your dreams or the memory of lying next to Bucky, his hand tracing slow lines up your arm like he couldn’t bear to stop touching you.

When you wake, you’re shivering. Your blanket is on the floor. You don’t remember kicking it off.

You try to sit up, but you don’t make it halfway before the room spins.

You don’t call for help.

You tell yourself it’s just a bad spell. One of many. That it’ll pass like the others have. But your breathing is off. Your chest whistles when you exhale. Your vision pulses with each heartbeat.

You think about the box in the closet. The sealed letters. The one with no name. You realize, all at once, that you might not get to choose when or how this ends.

You might not get to say anything at all.

For the first time in weeks, fear creeps in. Not of dying. But of dying without being honest. Of leaving Bucky with silence and nothing else.

You shift onto your side and whisper his name, as if saying it out loud might buy you more time. Might send something through the air. Might pull him back to you.

But no one comes. And you’re too tired to try again. Your body curls into itself like it’s trying to disappear gently.

And in the dark, just before you drift off, you think of a million things. How you should have let him in. Should have told him, been honest. But the main truth you have for Bucky, that you long to tell him now, rings loudly in your mind and close to your heart:

I still love you.

The silence had stretched too long. Bucky had felt it long before anyone said it out loud.

The space where your presence used to live, even just in memory, had gone quiet. No texts. No near-sightings. No mentions from anyone.

You’d been invisible before, yes. But not like this. This was different. This felt like something had ended.

He’d checked your apartment more than once, always from a distance. Just to see if the lights were on. If a shadow moved. If a window opened.

They never did.

And he told himself maybe you were away. Maybe you were hiding. Maybe you were healing.

But then Steve showed up at his door.

He didn’t knock. Bucky heard his footsteps in the hallway after all. He could always tell when it was Steve. It was in the weight of them; even, steady, and too familiar to be anyone else.

When the door opened, Steve stood there without a word. Just standing there, like he didn’t know how to be in his body anymore. He was holding a small cardboard box.

A shoebox.

Bucky’s blood ran cold.

“What happened?” He asked, already knowing.

Steve didn’t answer at first. His jaw worked like he was chewing on the words. Trying to make them softer. Trying to make them survivable.

“She’s gone, Buck.”

Just like that. No buildup. No warning. No way to cushion the fall.

Bucky felt the floor tilt under him. His chest hollowed out.

Gone.

The word echoed in his skull, like metal ricocheting inside.

“How?” He managed. “When?”

“Last week,” Steve said quietly. “Natasha found her. She hadn’t been seen in days according to the neighbor. So, the landlord let her in.”

Bucky sat down like his knees stopped working.

Steve stepped forward and placed the box on the coffee table.

“She left letters.”

Bucky didn’t look at it.

“Is there one for me?”

Steve hesitated, then nodded.

“There’s one without a name. But you’ll know.”

Bucky didn’t open the box until after Steve left. He just sat there, staring at it. He felt like he was made of rust. Every movement scraped.

When he finally pulled the lid off, there were multiple envelopes inside. Simple. Clean. No designs, no colors. Just handwriting.

At the top was the unmarked one. No name. But he didn’t need one.

His fingers trembled as he slid it free. The paper was warm where his touch lingered too long. He didn’t open it right away.

He could feel you in it.

Then finally, he read the first line.

I lied to you.

His breath left him like a punch to his gut.

He read the whole thing once. Twice. By the third time, he couldn’t see the ink anymore.

The words bled and so did something inside him.

You’d been dying. Alone. And still protecting him.

He wanted to scream. To break something. Instead, he sat back against the wall and folded the letter to his chest.

That’s where Sam found him hours later, seated on the floor like the air had given up on him, letter crumpled gently in one hand, the other held over his heart like it was the only thing keeping it together.

Sam didn’t say anything.

He just sat down beside him.

There was no funeral.

You hadn’t wanted one. That part was in a letter, too.

You didn’t want anyone to stand over flowers and pretend you were a memory. You just wanted to be… gone. Quiet. Soft. No spectacle. No goodbye.

But Bucky mourned you anyway.

Every day in everything.

In the empty space on his nightstand where your mug used to be. In the way his hand still reached out in the dark for someone who wasn’t there. In the letter he carried folded in his jacket pocket like it might keep you close.

His grief wasn’t loud. It was quiet like how you left, like how he let you leave.

It was in the spaces you used to fill. In the ache that sat beside him when no one else did. In the sound of his own voice, whispering your name into the silence, just to hear it still exist.

And no matter how tightly he held the letter…

He couldn’t hold you. Not anymore.

[intrepidacious]

time after time [10]

series summary: After what starts out as a fairly normal mission, you find yourself stuck in a time loop. Which would already be bad enough in itself if it didn’t also mean having to watch Bucky die over and over again.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 12.2k

chapter warnings: another mystery gets revealed; canon-typical violence; grief; angst and miscommunication but also a surprising amount of fluff; oh, and time-fuckery. i've missed my time-fuckery 😈 please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: it's not friday but i got a new haircut and we're in the endgame now (if you'll excuse the pun) so let's do this

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ten: about time

You liked the anonymity the big city granted you, even though most days, New York felt almost crushingly huge. The crowds swallowed you up and spat you back out again, feeling dizzied and hollow. Sirens wailed and traffic buzzed and life around you hummed in constant cacophony.

But more people meant a better chance of flying under the radar, and that was exactly what you wanted.

No, what you needed.

Even more so now that you were back in the vicinity of the limelight.

"You know," you said as the building caved in on itself, walls going up in flames one by one. "Sometimes I wonder why anyone still lives in this place."

Sam snorted.

"Seriously," you said, taking your place between him and Bucky again. "Rent is outrageous, the streets are crowded, and every other week another catastrophe happens that insurance companies will weasel their way out of covering. So what’s the point?"

"You didn’t grow up here, did ya?"

You weren’t used to Bucky reacting to your rhetorical questions at all, let alone without venom in his voice. Most of the time, you were sure he tuned you out entirely.

"Why," you said in lieu of answering.

He shook his head. "I’ve been gone a long time and there’s a lot of things that changed, but there’s a feeling you get … that’s still the same. Can’t find that anywhere else."

Like home, you thought with a familiar pang in your heart.

"Can I ask you something?" you asked, kicking a pebble as you were walking. It flew across the sidewalk, landing just in front of Bucky’s shoes. He stepped over it.

"Is there a world in which you’re not gonna if I say no?"

"Do you believe in fate?"

He frowned, clearly not having expected that kind of question. But it tugged at you still. Always had, like a whisper in the back of your mind; what if you chose wrong? What if you irreparably ruined the way things were supposed to go? What if—

"I don’t," Bucky replied.

"Me either," Sam said. "I mean, millions of possible worlds and this is the one we get? I don’t want that to be fate."

You turned towards him. "What if the other options are way worse?"

"Like what? Wait, no, don’t answer that. I’m having an alright day."

"Don’t wanna think about how we might all be puppets pulled by invisible strings with no free will to speak of?"

"Y/N," Sam said, the levity from his tone missing now, tilting his head.

To your right, Bucky’s hands were clenched at his sides, his back very straight. Shit.

A wave of guilt rushed through you, unexpected and brutal, thoughtless, "I didn’t—"

"It comes down to choices," he said, very calmly. "What we are and aren’t able to do. What we know. Who we trust."

You swallowed heavily and dropped the idea of attempting a redo. In all likelihood, it wouldn’t have worked, anyway. "You know, Steve said something similar when I asked him once," you said instead. "About people and choices."

Bucky pushed his sunglasses up his nose. "I bet he did."

Maybe fate, in that one case, would’ve been a kinder option.

For a second, you tried to imagine a universe in which the past had worked out differently; where the Soldier never inhabited that dark place at the edge of Bucky’s mind.

You would’ve gotten along great, you know.

You tried to imagine it for a moment; meeting him back in a time before, walking through the streets of New York City side by side in silence with an easy smile on his face. You doubted he ever smiled at all now.

Besides, there was no point in imagining universes that never would’ve been, anyway. Out there, there was a world in which he’d died a happy man, years or decades ago, and you … you’d still have been alone, just as you were now, floating between realities. Staring at thin air and wondering about what could never have been. That was the only thing constant in your life, the one certainty amidst mediocre decisions and timeless space.

Maybe fate was just an ugly torture; or a sorry consolation.

"Right," you said as the wall of journalists rounded the corner. "I’ll see you back at the Tower."

Bucky clapped Sam on the back. "You got this, Cap."

"You’re both assholes."

You dispersed in opposite directions, and you pulled out your headphones as you headed towards the nearest subway station, putting your playlist on shuffle.

"A long, long time ago … I can still remember how that music used to make me smile …"

It punched the air out of your lungs, and for a moment you stopped in the middle of the street, the world around you pausing in shock. Your vision blurred as slowly, movements and noise returned around you, people bumping into you and cursing as you stared at your screen, the song stuttering back to life note by note.

To your own surprise, you found you were smiling.

Happy accidents, indeed.

* * * * *

It’s never happened, you tell yourself. You’ve gotten quite convincing over the past half hour. Dodge Sam’s kicks, feign to the right, ignore the fact that you just kissed Bucky.

Your rush of Sanctum-induced energy has burned down to a simmer at the very back of your mind again, and even though you should probably examine that and its implications, you’ve not been able to focus all morning.

It’s fine. It’s fine. He’s not going to say anything about it because it’s never happened.

Why, then, when he says your name, does it make you want to bolt?

"Y/N," he says again.

You let out a breath. "Barnes."

This was a mistake. You should’ve just stayed in your room. Should’ve packed your things and just left, moved to Canada, or maybe asked for asylum in Kamar-Taj. Surely, Wong would’ve taken pity on you a second time.

Then again, what good would any of that have done? The loop would never let go of you that easily.

The symbols around your wrist tingle, and you fight the urge to scratch. You can feel that Bucky is staring at you, but you can’t look at him. You can’t.

"You done?" you say with faux lightness. "Don’t worry, I know which towel to take."

Pretend is what you’re good at. No matter how tiring it is, you’ve done it all your life. There’s no other way to cope with realities that are no longer real.

Unfortunately, Bucky’s never been inclined to let you get away with lying. "Stop it," he says now.

He sounds tired.

You slip out of the ring, keeping your head down, refusing to yield, "I’ll see you for coffee?"

His hand closes around your wrist and you freeze mid-step. "We need to—would you please look at me?"

You square your shoulders and finally turn to face him. His eyes are wide, intense, pinning you down like you’re a rare kind of butterfly. Your heart skips a little, and you hate yourself for it.

"We need to talk about this," Bucky says.

You hide a wince. "Do we have to?"

"Yes! You—" His cheeks are tinged a soft shade of pink, but you can’t tell if it’s from his run or frustration. You’re certain he’s never looked at you like this before, bewildered and almost betrayed—"You kissed me."

The sentence drops a chasm between you, reality mended against its will. It’s not real, but it was; and you’re not the only one that remembers.

"I know," you say quietly.

The admission conjures the memory again in even more horrific detail. You can still feel the way his entire body froze up against yours, blood curdling in your bones as the scene replays over and over again. You’ve only just started to become friends on equal terms, and now you’ve gone and thrown something like that at him.

What a colossally stupid thing to do.

Bucky’s hair is mussed, like he’s run his hands through it repeatedly. He searches for something on your face, and you cannot tell for the life of you what he sees. "And it reset the loop."

You blink. So that’s what this is about. Inadvertently, you’ve found the most ill-timed literal loophole of the century. No one died during the last Friday; you didn’t even have to go on the mission or throw yourself off a building. The solution, it appears, is as simple and as complicated as a kiss.

Truly, there couldn’t have been a worse way to make him aware of your feelings.

Then again … what does Bucky know, really? Nothing. He’d caught you in a moment of weakness, is all. A temporary madness. Not a big deal at all. So why make it one?

Your feelings aren’t his burden to bear.

"Look at it this way," you say, with a too-bright smile. "We found a way around you catching a bullet at the end of every day. It’s not like it has to mean anything."

You want to take it back almost as quickly as it comes out, but there’s no way for you to take back the things you say anymore. You both know that, and you let it hang in the air for a while.

Bucky swallows. "Well, did you know that this would happen?"

You want to laugh. Out of all possible reactions he could’ve had, you didn’t see this one coming. "How on earth would I have known that?"

His eyes flit between yours, confirming your honesty. "I don’t know, I’m just—this is a lot to process."

Ah. Ah.

You bite the inside of your cheek so hard you can taste iron. "Take your time, then," you say and turn to leave, but he still doesn’t let go of you.

"Twe—Y/N, come on, give me five seconds here."

"No, it’s fine." An odd kind of hurt rushes through you, making every sentence come out sharp and poisonous. "I love the fact that you were immediately willing to jump off the roof every day but the thought of us kissing is something you need to think about. It’s not like I’m asking you to marry me."

"I know that," Bucky says, his flush darkening, "but call me old-fashioned in that I don’t generally like kissing people transactionally."

So you’re people now.

"You’re old-fashioned," you confirm, freeing your hand from his grip. "This isn’t fun for me either, okay? But since this is literally a matter of life and death, I think it’s a damn good compromise. We don’t have to make this a whole thing."

"Well, maybe it should be a whole thing."

"What does that even mean? This doesn’t change things, not really."

"This changes plenty. You think you like me, don’t you." It sounds like an accusation.

You take a half step towards him. "Why are you saying it like that?"

"Because you don’t, actually."

With a pang, you remember before. The constant bickering, the passive-aggressive notes, your rolling eyes and his glaring. Before, when your feelings were easy and surface level, when developing a crush on James Buchanan Barnes would have seemed as likely as receiving a Nobel prize.

Or unraveling reality because he took a shot that was meant for you.

In hindsight, it shouldn’t have taken you this long to decipher what had tenderly started a very long time before Bryant Park. It was there already, in every time you’ve waited for him first thing in the morning, in every cup of coffee and desperate attempt to save him. You see him stone-faced in the quinjet, picking the lock of the public library, guiding you over broken pieces of glass on your bedroom floor, sitting down on the couch next to you, every version of him on this day already so deeply nestled into the very core of your heart that it’s hard to believe it might’ve ever been otherwise.

And so you say, "Of course I do."

"No, you don’t," Bucky says, that tick in his jaw reappearing. "This is just—I don’t know, trauma bonding."

For the first time since the loop started, you actually do want to kill him. "Oh, get a grip, Barnes."

"We’ve never spent this much time together—"

"We fucking live together—"

"—let alone the fact that this whole situation is a nightmare—"

"—and even if we didn’t, I don’t understand what your problem is right now—"

"—so you’re bound to think there’s more to it than—”

"—and also can you stop telling me what I think?"

You stare at each other, unblinking, both of you daring the other to break the silence. Finally, Bucky relents.

"I’m just saying that you wouldn’t be … acting this way if we weren’t the only two people that are aware of what’s happening to us."

You shake your head, slowly. "That’s not true."

His logic is flawed, but can you fault him for that? You’re used to being the person that remembers; you’ve had so much more time to make up your mind, on Friday and all the days that came before.

"You can’t stand me, remember?" Bucky maintains, his back straightening. "Because I do."

"Things changed."

"No." He presses his lips together. "No, not this. You’re wrong. You don’t … like me."

Your shoulders slump, but you don’t look away from him, even as your cheeks burn. "I do."

Even as he backs away from you and your heart aches so badly you want to scream, even as his wide eyes freeze over, slowly, as he regards you in all your fucked-up, sweaty glory. Expecting rejection doesn’t take away from the pain as it happens in real time; and yet, you find yourself meeting it with your head held high.

Somehow you know that even if you had access to your powers right now, you wouldn’t reach for them.

"You can’t do this to me right now," Bucky says, voice devoid of any emotion. "It’s not real."

You let out a joyless laugh and step up to him again. This time, he doesn’t retreat; only watches you with careful, vacant eyes as you put a hand right over his heart. It’s racing under your touch. "Does this feel not real to you?"

He swallows. "It’s temporary. This world is falling apart."

It always is, you think. You don’t say it out loud, though. Instead, you blurt, "We should go out, then."

Something flashes in Bucky’s eyes, gone as quickly as it appears. "What?"

"Out," you repeat, your cheeks flaming. "While were not getting shot at."

"Are you—are you asking me on a date?"

"I’m not actually sure," you say, dropping your hand. "But I can’t keep letting you die, I just can’t. And if that’s the way that you … that we …"

You’re being stripped naked under his unwavering eyes, and you just don’t know what it means. The band around your wrist hums lowly through your blood as you dig your nails into the flesh of your palms.

"If we want to figure this out—whatever this is—we should spend more time together."

"Time," Bucky repeats tonelessly.

"You know what I mean. I mean, maybe you’re right. Maybe we’ll find out we’re never going to get along, but at least I don’t have to watch you die for a couple of loops. Like I said, it doesn’t have to be a big deal," you reiterate, your throat tightening. "Other than you not having to get shot every day. And who knows, maybe we’ll end up as friends after all this."

"Right," Bucky says, frowning. Not budging. The tips of his ears are burning.

There’s a flicker behind his eyes, like he’s keeping himself from saying something else.

Tell me.

Hope is a terrible, dangerous thing, and it only gets people hurt.

"Fine," he says at last. "Let’s try."

* * *

"Big lesson number one: All the time travel in the world can’t make someone love you."

Out of the corner of your eye, you steal a glance at Bucky. He doesn’t seem to notice, his eyes calmly focused on the screen, his expression neutral, his back very straight.

You keep twisting your rings around your fingers and waiting for the blood to stop rushing quite so loudly in your ears.

Your run of terrible ideas, it seems, continues on as you pretend to be invested in the movie while hyperaware of Bucky’s presence next to you. The two of you are next to each other on the same couch, much like you were during the fireworks; only this time, you’re very careful not to touch.

This is what you get for stupid suggestions: awkward silence and the sinking feeling of regret. After all, isn’t more time stuck together kind of the last thing the two of you need right now? Shouldn’t you be doing something to try to end this, once and for all?

Because although you’ve already spent a lot more time with Bucky during these past couple of Fridays, you’ve not done it aimlessly since you lost an afternoon at Bryant Park.

That look on his face he got during that loop is long gone, lifetimes away, and you can’t decide if it’s better or worse that he doesn’t even remember getting it in the first place.

Still, it’s remarkably similar, in some ways. The quiet ease you feel next to him, despite it all. The slight frown between his brows as the movie continues blabbering on in the background. This mix of uncertainty and reassurance rushing through you, making your heart rate go up.

Tell me. What? What did it mean, then? What would it mean, now?

It doesn’t matter. This doesn’t mean anything. It cannot mean anything. You’ve established as much.

Alpine slinks around the couch table and jumps up onto the sofa next to you, pawing at your arm until you let her climb into your lap. She doesn’t settle, exactly, but she keeps tracking the movement of your hands with her head. It distracts you for a while, and you smile as you readjust your position to scratch her head.

She smells a little like Bucky.

"This is so stupid," you finally say. Normally, it’s easy for you to poke fun at the inaccuracies of time travel movies, but this one is … different. You’ve always had a soft spot for it, even though you could never point out why. Maybe it’s the underlying melancholy of its rules that connects to the very core of you.

Right now, though, the characters on screen are having marathon sex and you want to die.

"You’re the one who picked it out," Bucky reminds you, taking a sip of his coffee.

And yeah, fine. In your defense, though, all of his suggestions were at least seventy years old and you had to veto with something to avoid another Hitchcock, or worse, a silent film.

Alpine is still restless in your lap, tapping the inlets in Bucky’s arm like they’re a piece of thread she’s playing with. Without warning, she jumps right over, landing in the crook of his elbow with feline precision.

Unexpectedly, Bucky winces, picking her up with his other hand and putting her down on the floor. She lets out an accusatory cry, bumping her head against his leg.

"Are you okay?" you ask.

"It’s fine," he hisses, looking the opposite of fine. "It happens sometimes. It’s the, uhm." He rolls his shoulder. "Not all the connective tissue healed properly."

"Can I do anything?"

"No, it’s okay. You might wanna just … this is kinda gross."

He grabs the metal arm by the joint and gives a sharp twist. With a whirring, metallic sound, it detaches from its socket, fingers frozen in their strain. It thumps onto the space between you on the couch, and Bucky sighs as the weight disappears from the old scars hidden under his shirt. He doesn’t look at you as he rubs the aching muscles, his jaw tensing even more at the pressure.

You watch him as softness blooms painfully in the pit of your stomach, warm and fond and impossible.

"I’m disappointed," you say at last, your voice cracking ever so slightly.

His fingers halt for just a moment before digging into his skin even more tightly. "I know it’s not—"

"I’m waiting for the gross part," you interrupt him. "I thought you’d have blood bags installed that were gonna explode or something."

An incredulous huff of a laugh escapes him. "That’s your definition of gross?"

"Don’t forget I’ve watched you die literally dozens of times," you remind him, tracing the golden lines laced through the vibranium. It seems less invasive, now that they’re not attached to him. "And I like your arm," you add quietly.

Bucky keeps looking at the screen, but you know he’s watching you out of the corner of his eye. You can feel it.

"It’s grotesque," he says.

"It’s impressive," you correct, absent-mindedly reaching for his pinkie. "But that tracks."

He stays silent for so long, you almost start to believe he’s not heard you at all. Finally, though, he clears his throat and asks, "Is he ever gonna tell her he’s a time traveler?"

It takes you a moment to remember the movie. "I don’t think so."

Bucky nods, producing the small notebook he always carries from his back pocket. "He’s a dick."

You snort and return to your side of the couch. "I know, right? We can watch something else if you want."

"Nah, it’s fine." He flicks through his notebook, jotting something down in the back.

"Do these keep?" you ask when he pockets it again.

"They don’t," he says simply, redirecting his attention to the screen.

You hum, attempting to lure Alpine closer with a shiny bit of chocolate wrapper. She’s decidedly uninterested.

"Were you so bored with the play you decided to ask me to marry you afterwards?"

"Something like that."

"I haven’t even asked," Bucky says and you flinch.

"Huh?" you say, a little shrilly.

"How are you feeling?"

"Oh. Yeah. Mostly normal again, I think."

His gaze flits to your hand as it goes to play with the pendant around your neck before returning to your eyes. "Anything … weird?"

You kissed him you kissed him you kissed him you—

"Not really." You clear your throat.

"I think you’re right, by the way," Bucky says.

"About what?"

He keeps staring straight ahead, his pen tapping against his thigh. "It doesn’t have to mean anything."

Even though it was your suggestion in the first place, it stings a little. You can’t help it.

"If Wong’s right, we’re already running out of time," Bucky continues. "We can figure everything else out once we’re out of this loop, but for now we should just focus on getting this right."

You hesitate. "You’re making it sound like we haven’t been doing just that all along."

"What do you want me to say?"

"I don’t know."

There’s something you’re missing staring you right in the face, but the problem with going through the same day so many times is that you’re running out of things to do. There’s only so much to do in these limited few hours you get before it all starts over again, because everything apart from the two of you stays the same every time.

Bucky’s arm glints in the morning sun like it’s threaded with gold string, his shoulders relaxed, and a different memory stirs in your mind.

That’s a lot of dedication when you could’ve just asked.

"What would you normally be doing right now?"

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "You trying to get rid of me already?"

"No. I’m saying you’re usually more unpredictable."

"Thank you."

"Not really a compliment. Sam has more going on on every given day than the two of us combined, but at least he’s consistent. You’re the one with no hobbies."

"What do you do for fun then?"

"I … Fuck you."

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he blushes.

"So, say there’s no time loop today, no mission, you have no memory of any of this shit. Normal July 4th. Where are you going?"

"Where am I going?"

"Before you remembered, when I didn’t tell you that you were going to die, you always disappeared for hours every morning. And then after Sam’s speech, you were gone again until the mission."

It’s another piece of the puzzle that you’re still missing.

Bucky contemplates you, taking another sip of coffee. His mouth does the little twitch again. "And you’re telling me you’ve never asked me that before?"

"Oh, I did," you reply. "A lot. I also tried following you once and you called me a shit spy."

"Well, you are." There’s a hint of a smile in his voice when he reaches for his arm. "Get your shoes, then."

* * *

It’s a long train ride down to Brooklyn, but it doesn’t feel like it. You manage to get a seat after a few stops, and because Bucky hasn’t said a word to you since you were standing on the platform, you take to watching the people around you.

It’s exciting, in a way, to be in a new space for the first time in a while. Not to know exactly what’s going to happen next. You’ve been making little pockets of time for yourself every now and again, walking different routes home after getting coffee or varying the time at which you leave, but it’s not the same as venturing into a different part of the city. There’s been too much going on for you to have even considered that.

"Are you going to tell me where we’re headed?" you ask after a while, when he has to step over your legs to make room for a stroller.

"Now where’d be the fun in that?" he answers, and then he turns silent again.

A small child is hugging a Mickey Mouse plushie to their chest and pointing at the window, wailing loudly. A girl with a septum piercing and at least three tote bags over her shoulders manages to maneuver a cello case and a scooter onto the carriage, leaning both against the back of some seats before taking out her phone and calmly starting to scroll. An elderly lady watches the whole affair, mumbling to herself disapprovingly, then resumes her knitting.

You catch Bucky already looking at you when you glance up at him. Something about it makes your cheeks heat and turn away quickly.

You remember that his government-issued apartment used to be somewhere near Flatbush, and you have a fleeting thought that this might be where you’re headed, even though that doesn’t really make sense. He still doesn’t make any attempt to move when you pass it by, continuing to stare out the window, his gloved hand wrapped tightly around the handrail above your head.

Finally, the train rolls to its last stop, and you make ready to get off with the rest of the passengers.

"Coney Island, huh?" you say as the heat on the platform slaps you across the face.

"Coney Island," Bucky repeats affirmingly. His hands are back in his pockets, and he doesn’t elaborate, even though you notice the significance in the way he says it.

Two words titling another subchapter in the mystery book that is James Buchanan Barnes.

You follow the masses streaming towards the water and a sigh dislodges from your throat. It’s been way too long since you’ve properly heard the ocean.

The beach is already swarming with people despite the fact it’s not even noon yet, filled with raucous laughter and music playing, but the sound of crashing waves is unmistakable. It fills you with a sense of longing, though for what you’re not sure.

Bucky keeps his hands tucked away as the two of you stroll along the boardwalk, dodging people left and right, until you have to grab hold of his sleeve in order to not get pulled away. His shoulders tense slightly, but he lets you, leading you towards the pier as if he, too, feels the pull coming from the sea.

You can’t figure out the look on his face. It’s like a weight has fallen off him when you left Manhattan, despite the crowds being considerably more dense down here, and yet there’s an anticipatory tension to his frame that you’ve only seen him assume in combat.

You clear your throat and he washes his face off it. "Is it usually like this?" you ask.

"It used to be not quite so bad," Bucky says, which isn’t quite what you asked. "Not this loud at least."

"What?" you shout teasingly. It earns you an eyeroll.

Thirty, you think. Took him long enough.

"We used to come here every summer," he continues, bending down to pick up a perfectly round pebble from the side of the road and weighing it in his hand before slipping it into his pocket. "Ate hot dogs until we were sick. Rode some of the rides if we could afford it. You know them fortune teller automatons? My sisters were obsessed with that."

Maybe you should recount the days you’ve been stuck in the loop, because this feels like an early birthday present. You hold on tightly to his sleeve, not wanting to interrupt the unusual flow of words. Bucky’s smile is miles away. Decades away.

"Becks came with us every year on the fourth, even when she was little. The twins never liked crowds much, but Rebecca loved it all. The noise and the excitement." His mouth tilts up in a grin. "One year, she was desperate for one of those giant stuffed teddy bears you can win," he says, nodding at one of the booths up ahead, "but we were all down to our last couple’a dimes, so she pretended she didn’t want it after all. Steve went, 'Hold on a minute', and he somehow won her that damn bear with two shots."

"Always the hero," you say quietly. Somehow, he hears you through the commotion.

"Yeah." He stops walking, then, leaning against the metal railing of the pier, letting the people flow past you. "The two of us would come here every year before the war, rain or shine, unless one of us was sick."

Nostalgia makes him seem younger, despite the tired eyes and the stubble on his cheek; or maybe this place is its own sort of time capsule and he’s just filling in that space he used to occupy.

"He kept it up." You’re not sure if you should tell him at all, if it helps or if it only makes this day a little more painful. But you figure that if it was you, you’d want to know. "During the Blip, he was always gone for his birthday. Only came home in the evening, I never asked why, though. I figured he just wanted—what?"

Bucky’s snickering. "You know today isn’t actually Steve’s birthday, right?"

"What?"

"He panicked during one of those press tours they had him do in ’41, said his birthday’s on the fourth. Everyone just ran with it without double-checking." He shakes his head. "I mean, Captain America born on Independence Day? The headlines practically wrote themselves."

"But—when’s his actual birthday then?"

"January 4th. Punk made himself half a year older than he actually is."

You laugh. "Of course he’s a Capricorn. That makes so much sense."

Bucky looks at you with raised eyebrows. "Was that a cap pun?"

You shove his arm and immediately regret it when your elbow hits vibranium. "That was terrible," you say. "The point is, he didn’t forget about your tradition."

"That was a while ago, though. 'Specially for him." He ducks his head. "I don’t know. I just wanted to see if …" He huffs mirthlessly. "Don’t think I’d even really want to see him. Not sure what I’d say to him if I did."

"How about, 'Hey, I’m stuck in a time loop, nice to see you?'"

He smiles as you lean against the railing next to him, your shoulders almost touching. "He’s done with that life. It’s fine."

You don’t know how he bears it. Being left behind already hurt bad enough for you, and you only knew Steve a couple of years, or maybe not at all. It sounds too painful, to be forced to keep wondering what if.

"I disagree," you say.

The silence that follows should be heavy, but the sea swallows it up; and so it floats. Around you, life goes on. People are shouting and fighting and laughing. Over at the boardwalk, a couple of buskers are just starting their set. A familiar melody drifts up to you, and it makes your heart ache a little, even though it’s not sad at all. It reminds you of Nat’s smile.

You watch the shadows that you cast over the water and you think, Dance with me, but you don’t say it out loud. You don’t want to ruin this moment.

So instead, you close your eyes and you breathe it in.

* * *

You spend what feels like hours at the pier, ebbing and flowing alongside the crowd in companionable silence, the only two people alive that are aware this day is like a snake biting its own tail; beautiful and sharp-teethed.

"Do you think we should head back?" you ask finally.

"You wanna head back?" Bucky says in lieu of an answer.

"We should. What if something happens to Sam again?"

He watches you, contemplating something for a moment, before he says, "He’s not gonna go without us today."

Torres’ message comes back to your mind, the lack of urgency in it. It seems, in the beginning, you’ve gotten a lot of things wrong, and you’re only just starting to chip away at those miscalculations.

Another memory, again of that day in the park.

I’m good, I didn’t end up going …Wanna just go home?

Home.

If the mission doesn’t have to happen today but you always go anyway …

"Do you ask him to go?"

He doesn’t answer, but you know his face so well by now.

"Oh, Bucky."

"Mission’s the easiest way to shut my mind up." He laughs dryly. "So, you see. Nothing about this is your fault. I pushed the first domino. Everything else happened after that."

You tug on his sleeve until he looks at you. "If I’m not allowed to blame myself, then you aren’t, either." Something twists in your gut. "Does that mean we’re not going on the mission today?"

The other question, the one you’re not asking, hangs in the air. Bucky swallows.

"It’s still early," he says.

"Right." You turn around and lean against the railing, looking at the booths on the other side of the pier. "Well, we’re here."

"I’m not riding the Cyclone with you."

You shudder. "Yeah, no thanks. Do people actually willingly go on that death trap?"

"Some idiots do," he smirks.

"Well, that’s not how I’m gonna go down, so no. I was thinking something like that." You point in the direction of one particular stand you walked past earlier.

Bucky follows your line of sight. "I thought you didn’t want any shooting today."

"That was before I saw that I could win a giant stuffed dragon."

"You know you can’t cheat, right?" He falls into step besides you with familiar ease, his hands back in his pockets.

"Let me rephrase that. That was before I saw that you could win me a giant stuffed dragon." You smile innocently and he laughs.

"I got banned from these things in ’36 but I’m sure you got this, sweetheart."

You nearly trip over your own feet as heat spreads in your chest. Bucky turns and looks at you in amusement.

You force yourself to ignore it, even though your heart is beating wildly. "That’s such a brag."

"Maybe I just want to see how your aim’s coming along."

Not at all, as it turns out. You walk away from the shooting gallery fifteen minutes later with a little plush keychain that looks like a sleeping bear, pouting.

"You could’ve helped me out," you grumble. "Instead of acting like they have your picture still up there ninety years after the fact."

"You never know. Besides, this is … cute."

"Oh, shut up, Barnes."

The keyring clacks against the back of his hand as it magnetically sticks to it. Your fingers brush as you keep holding onto the little bear. Bucky shakes his head.

"Besides," he says, gently tugging you along with the keyring still stuck to him. "You couldn’t have kept him."

He’s not wrong. Everything around you is set in stone in a way that permanence itself has lost all meaning. How can things ever be expected to change in a closed experiment?

You look around and marvel at all these lives around you, happening in just this way every single day in this loop, and yet this is the first time you’re truly aware of them. All these small, magnificent people around you, and yet it still boils down to the two of you.

"Listen, Y/N …" Bucky clears his throat, not looking at you as you keep walking. "There’s a dance to these things, and I’m not … you and me, we’re not …"

His cheeks are a dark shade of pink.

"I don’t think I follow," you say slowly.

"No. Of course. It’s just that … you should know …" He trails off again, mumbling something in Russian.

Your head is already whirring from the constant noise of the past couple of hours, but your heart is pounding faster again, something irrational like hope spreading wild and dangerous in your chest. He regards you with a sidewards glance, his eyes darkening like you’ve seen several times before now, the corner of his jaw twitching in that way of his; and so it’s easy to say it.

"Tell me."

You’ve asked him over and over, time after time, and you still haven’t gotten an answer. Weeks, months of this question that’s entirely meaningless in the grand scheme of things and yet refuses to leave the back of your mind.

Bucky’s mouth opens and closes, like the words are on his tongue but he needs to contain them just a little longer. His eyes trail over your face and off to the side, settling on something with a frown. "You have a …"

Thinking it’s a bug, you look at your arm and blink.

There, just below the elbow, someone has written four words in careful, slightly wonky letters. You don’t have to twist your arm to read them; you’ve done it many times.

No self-deprication. Скажи ей.

Familiar and slightly smudged under the heat of the afternoon sun, like they’ve been there all along. Like you’ve never washed them off your skin at all.

Memories meant for other timelines.

"Sorry." Bucky exhales slowly, then drags his other hand through his hair. "Think you’re up for another stop?"

Once again, you’re no closer to finding out what on earth he’s wanted to tell you all these times.

"Depends," you say, reminding yourself that you have no right to be disappointed. "Is there going to be coffee?"

"I’ll buy you some on the way." He takes a look at his wristwatch. "We have one last stop."

* * *

When you get to the cemetery, the sun is just setting on the horizon and the gates are locked. It doesn’t faze Bucky in the slightest. He just continues walking along the fencing until he reaches a couple of newspaper boxes lining it.

"After you," he says.

You stare at him. "No."

"Yes."

"You realize this is so illegal, right?"

Bucky shrugs. "I’ve done this dozens of times and they’ve not caught me yet. I’ll give you a lift."

"Again, I hate your ideas."

You place your foot into Bucky’s interlaced hands and only wince slightly when he propels you up. You come to a wobbly halt on top of the box, grabbing onto one of the spikes to keep your balance.

Bucky’s arm brushes your side when he climbs up next to you and nimbly jumps down on the other side of the fence. You sigh.

"You couldn’t have just busted the lock?"

"Probably." He opens his arms. "Come on. I’ve got you."

With a murmured curse, you take the leap. You crash into him, stumbling, his hands steadying your shoulders. You inhale involuntarily, letting yourself be surrounded by his presence for a moment before stepping away.

"I got it," you mutter.

You walk in silence as Bucky leads your way. Above your heads behind you, a passing N train rattles by.

It’s a beautiful sight, even though it’s sad. Rows upon rows of gravestones lined up as far as the eye can see, with paths crisscrossing between them.

Finally, he halts close to a spot in the shadow of an evergreen tree. You step up next to him to read the names on the stone, recognizing only the last one right above the inscriptions on the bottom.

REBECCA PROCTOR BARNES, 1926-2024

You remember the time right after he moved into the Tower; the odd hours, the baking, the candles, the silence, the long hair. The tear in his shirt. Your heart twists in regret, your mouth dry.

Bucky’s lips move with words you don’t hear, and then he pulls off his gloves and takes something out of his pocket, bending down. You recognize the pebble he picked up at the beach. He puts it down on the gravestone, then straightens again.

You reach out for his hand and squeeze it in silent condolence. Instead of letting go, he interlaces your fingers. His hand is warm.

Several minutes pass before he tugs on your hand again, pulling you to a bench a few steps back. You’re not sure what to say, and so you stay quiet, biting the inside of your cheek until Bucky bumps his shoulder against yours.

"I think this might be the longest time you’ve shut up since I met you."

You scowl at him. "I was trying to be respectful."

A small grin flits across his face. "There’s a first time for everything."

Another train passes resoundingly, an oddly mundane sound in such a solemn place; still, it adds to it, in a way. It makes you think of putting your loved ones on a train, then waving them good-bye; just for now.

"Where are your parents?" you ask softly.

"Back in Indiana. They moved to take care of my dad’s parents and then stayed to manage the house and all that." He closes his eyes. "I’ve not been there since I was fifteen years old, but I still remember the way the trees smell in summer right after it’s rained."

"And the twins?"

"Mira got married, moved out of state, died while I was in cryo. Jo was in a car crash in ’58. Apparently, she drove races."

You settle your head against his shoulder. "Did they have children?"

"Miriam did. I have a great-niece who’s an architect in Seattle."

"Fancy."

"Right?" He sighs. "It was always Becks and me, though, when we were kids."

"Do you come here a lot?"

"Not as often as I thought I would. But it’s good to remember things."

"Tell me about her."

You can hear his smile when he speaks again, and it’s almost better than seeing it. "She was exactly the kind of little sister you’d read about in novels. Pigtails. Sweet. Annoying as hell." He chuckles. "One time when she was nine, she ate so much cotton candy she was sick all over Steve’s shoes. And that made him sick."

"Gross," you comment, which makes him huff in amusement. Good. "You must miss her a lot."

"Yeah. I do." He hesitates for a moment, then adds, "You’d have liked her."

The admission blooms in your stomach, warm and wistful at the same time. "Somehow, I don’t doubt that."

"Do you have siblings?"

You sit up straight again. "What?"

Ask me tomorrow.

"What?" Bucky asks.

"Why did you ask me that?"

He looks at you like he just can’t figure you out. "I don’t know, it seemed appropriate."

"It’s just … you asked me before. In the loop."

"I have?" His brows knit. "Is it important?"

You hesitate, then shake your head. This day has been full of surprises you can’t make sense of; what’s one more? "I guess not."

"Well?" He looks at you expectantly.

"When I grew up … let’s just say super powers don’t exactly run in the family."

It comes out slower this time, your memories of the past, and Bucky listens just as carefully. You twist your rings around your fingers, over and over again.

"When you can do what I can do … even with my family around, I never felt like I could actually be a part of them. They never really understood what my powers meant and I … I think it scared them. Which I get now, after a shitton of therapy, but try explaining to a six-year-old why her dad never really talks to her."

"That’s horrible."

"I know. But I’m fine now." Strangely, unexpectedly, you find that you really mean it, too. "And then after that … I mean, you know. Those five years I had at the Compound were the first time I felt like I had a real family. We were all kind of broken together."

Bucky stays silent but you can tell his attention is still focused on you.

"I wasn’t in a very good place when you and Sam found me. I’d just lost everything. But then … that mission happened, and I was needed again even though you despised me—"

"I didn’t—"

"—but the truth is, fighting with you was the most fun I’d had in a long time."

"Ditto." He’s still looking at you as if he’s searching for something. As if he didn’t know all your secrets now. Finally, he looks away, clearing his throat. "It’s getting dark."

You nod. "Give me one second."

He watches you let go of his hand and walk back towards Rebecca’s grave, pulling out your keychain and setting it down as well. It looks like the little bear is resting its head on Bucky’s pebble.

The look on his face is heartbreakingly unreadable when you return, and it makes your insides clench in desperation. You come to a halt in front of him, wrapping your arms around yourself.

"We won’t make it ’til midnight," you say.

"Probably not," Bucky agrees.

"And I don’t want to have to go on that mission."

"Me neither."

Your eyes lock.

"Are you going to lose your mind again?" you say quietly.

He looks at the ground between you, hands hidden in the pockets of his jacket again. "No promises."

You swallow heavily. The anticipation makes you near dizzy, even though you’ve agreed that this doesn’t mean anything.

Your breath still hitches when his lips fan over yours, barely touching at first, just hovering, testing the waters. Like either of you have anything to lose. It’s making your stomach flutter.

In the end, you’re the one who leans in properly. You intend for it to be a short peck, but it’s just too tempting to linger, careful, soft, slow. He tastes like your coffee order: a little sweet and a little bitter.

You could see yourself becoming addicted to it.

The thought makes you break the kiss, your hands still on his chest. You can feel his heartbeat through the fabric of his shirt.

Bucky’s eyes open heavily, dark and blue and confused. His cheeks are flushed. "We’re still here?"

You are. You’ve made a fool of yourself. He’s going to die, anyway.

In a panic, you take a step backwards, blinking, wrapping your arms around yourself. Between one blink and the next, you realize you’re sitting in bed, the sun in your face, FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume.

Your lips are still tingling.

* * *

Something has shifted.

You can feel it in the air, humming like it did at the Bleecker Street Sanctum, vibrating with something akin to anticipation. The colors of the astral plane, warped and peculiar as they always are, feel sharpened, more insistently vibrant in their hue.

What now? the walls seem to ask, curling towards you as soon as you’re not looking at them directly; a presence hovering over your shoulder, close enough to feel its strange, otherworldly heat.

You reach for your necklace and feel its magic pulsating slowly and steadily, reassuring you. These ghosts cannot harm you in here; not yet, at least.

And yet, you feel this place quivering with kaleidoscopic impatience, straining against some invisible malevolence unraveling its very core with needle-pointed talons.

Playing with the fabric of everything is a dangerous pastime.

The symbols around your wrist are prickling, and when you examine them more closely, you notice they have started to lift off your skin, sitting there loosely like a worn-out bracelet.

"Y/N!"

Between one blink and the next, you’re squinting at an unforgiving midday sun, and you tumble backwards against a solid chest. Bucky’s arms come up to steady you as you take a gulp of air. It feels like you’ve been holding your head underwater.

"What are you doing up here?"

Slowly, confusion settles into your bones as you take a look at your surroundings. Somehow, you’ve gotten up to the roof again.

"I don’t know," you gasp, twisting in his hold. You can feel your pulse rushing through your ears. "I don’t remember."

You’ve not been able to forget anything in decades, and now it’s like that easy cord of memory has been snapped at some point between the astral plane and here. Gone, like that time has never existed in the first place.

Bucky studies you carefully, his face sober. His hands firm around your forearms, grounding you. It’s what does it, you’ve realized. The loop doesn’t snap back as long as you’re touching.

That doesn’t mean anything, though.

The important thing is, you’ve not woken up blood-soaked in nearly a week.

"You wanna go back downstairs?"

For a moment, the sky turns wild behind his head; you smell magic and fire as purples and greens and oranges swirl around in lazy, misty clouds, the stars glittering impossibly at the corner of your vision.

Bucky’s grip on you tightens and it all fades away until nothing remains but the intense blue of his eyes. You wonder if he might’ve noticed the colors, too, if he’d just looked away from you.

"Yeah," you whisper. "Yeah, that’s a good call."

His gaze flickers down and then leaves you, and it makes you want to restart the loop right then and there. Or at least have him look at you like that again.

It can’t mean anything and you know that, but if hope kills him, then let it break your heart into a million pieces. You welcome the ache. It’s much better than the alternative.

Curious, how you used to feel like you’ve known him for so long, through textbooks and newspaper articles and anecdotes told on long Campus nights. It’d always been hard for you to recognize the person from those stories in the man who was living just a few doors away from you and emptying your fridge. Hell, most days it was difficult to even imagine him capable of a smile.

But things are different now.

Over the course of this one, endless day, you’ve met a side of Bucky you’d barely believed existed before. A gentler person than he usually lets on, even towards you. Funny, too. Stubborn and capable, vicious, loyal, brave. So much more than meets the eye at first, not just the memory of a person, but a real, breathing, flawed, wonderful human being.

He’s got no clue, you think, how easy it is to fall in love with him.

"You wanna go back downstairs?"

You stare back at him, and a shiver runs down your spine. His brow starts to furrow, and so you nod. "Sure."

There’s no time to overthink this, especially not if time starts acting up again. And so you ignore the nausea in your stomach and the fact that, when Bucky holds the door up for you, the sun catches one of your rings in a way that gives it a soft emerald sheen for just a second. When you try to reach out for your powers, anyway, there’s that same surge of emptiness you’re already so familiar with.

Another fluke, then.

Or even more things that are starting to slip through reality’s cracks.

"So you’re both stuck in a time loop," Sam says skeptically.

"No way," Peter pipes up, eyes wide and astonished. "Like Palm Springs?"

"Really? Palm Springs? What’s wrong with Groundhog Day?"

"What, like—like the musical?"

Sam looks at you accusingly. "Who’s the kid again?"

"You gotta get with the times, bud," Bucky smirks, absent-mindedly scratching Alpine between the ears.

"That’s the million dollar question," you reply, turning to look at Peter. He’s tapping his fingers against his leg, his gaze flitting between the three of you. "Because whenever we tell you about this, you’re not surprised that we know you, you’re surprised we remember you."

He chuckles awkwardly. "Is there a difference?"

"There is," Bucky says.

"You’re not aware of the loop," you continue, tilting your head, "so you might be a symptom of it starting to break down."

"Thank you?"

"It would explain why you think we would know you. Maybe you’ve slipped in through some other part of the multiverse."

"Oh," Peter says, blinking. "Oh. Sorry, I didn’t—no, that’s not what’s happening here."

"I know this is a lot."

"It’s not. I mean, I get what you’re saying but this is not a multiverse problem in—the way you’re thinking."

You’re starting to get a headache. "So you are aware of the time loop?"

"No! That’s all—wow. I’m, uh, look …" He coughs, sitting up a little straighter. "So we’ve actually—it’s a bit more complicated than that because, well, there was this—"

"Ever been to Germany, kid?" Bucky interrupts.

All three of you turn to stare at him. Alpine continues to clean her paws.

"I … yeah, once," Peter replies, a curious look on his face. "Through an internship, why … why?"

Bucky nods, his expression unreadable. "He’s a dead end."

"Hey!"

You glance at Sam, but he frowns at Bucky, too. "How do you know that?"

"Call it a hunch."

"Wanna share with the group?" Sam deadpans.

"I’m good."

You rub your temples with an exhausted groan. If Peter doesn’t have anything to do with the loop brushing against other realities at all, you’re quickly running out of ideas. And time.

You manage a vaguely apologetic smile when Peter comes up with an excuse to leave, then continue to stare blankly at your own hands, twisting your rings around your fingers over and over again. They remain relentlessly black.

What’s the point, you think, and not for the first time. What the hell are you supposed to do when every path you start on leads you back in a damn circle like that stupid snake swallowing its own tail?

It used to be a comfort to know you’ll make it out of the loop somehow, but geez, you’d love to be as certain you’d succeed in not destroying the whole multiverse in the process.

Unfortunately, that outcome seems less likely with every Friday that passes. You’d have to make your move soon, but you don’t know what it is. You don’t know how. Even with the majority of the pieces of this day laid out, you still can’t make out the big picture. You don’t have all the answers.

So what’s the fucking point?

"Okay," Bucky says, leaning over the back of the couch until he can look at your face upside-down, "what the hell is going on with you?"

* * *

"I really don't think this should be our priority right now."

"And I think I definitely want a distraction," you say. "How do you feel about sage green?"

"I don't recall," he says pointedly, and you immediately regret your new honesty policy.

"I'm fine, I promise," you say, putting another paint bucket into your shopping cart. You’ve decided that since nothing fucking matters, you’re going to repaint the living room. "Careful, or I'll start thinking you worry about me."

"Will you stop pretending like you don't know I do for one second?"

You ignore him, staring at the shelves intently. "How about lilac?"

"Y/N," he says in that tone.

"Bucky," you echo.

"You're doing the thing again."

"What thing?" you ask, choosing a particularly ghastly shade of canary yellow just to spite him.

He grabs the wiring of your shopping cart to stop you from escaping into the next aisle. "Look at me."

So you do. "I’m fine, Buck."

It’s just that you’re skirting towards an emotional breakdown the likes of which this loop has never seen before. No big deal.

"What are we doing here? Literally, why are we here?" The metal squeaks as it dents between his fingers. "What are we even trying to do if you won't let me in?"

"What do you want me to say?" you ask in exasperation. "That I'm terrified? That I don't know what's happening? You know that already. I've never been an enigma to you. I remember every detail of my life in full technicolor, and it's been exhausting, but this … forgetting things, that's worse."

"You think I can't relate to that?" Bucky says, and your fingers twitch. Old habits.

"That's not fair."

"Neither is you saying we’re in this together and not acting like it. Why are you still trying to carry everything on your own?"

"Because it’s my responsibility—"

"No, it isn’t," he interrupts. "Even if I did die that first time, it still wouldn’t be your responsibility or your burden."

"Burden?" you say thinly. "You think your life is a burden?"

"Twelve."

There's a pull in your stomach at the old nickname, even though you know its intended meaning now. It's making you realize he hasn't used it since your trip to Avengers Campus. "Don’t Twelve me right now."

"Where is everyone?"

You turn around.

The aisles surrounding you are completely empty, like the few other shoppers that have been in here with you have just vanished off the face of the earth. You frown, leaving the cart behind to look around the corner. The store feels bigger, somehow, now that no one else is here. Your steps echo on the laminate flooring; in the distance, there’s some tinny music playing through the speakers, but there’s no other sound.

"I don’t like this," you say.

"Stay right there," Bucky says, stepping up next to you.

You scowl at him. "Did you just pull a gun out of your pocket? Do you always bring that thing when you go shopping?"

"I don’t," he says. "Do you usually wear your tac suit?"

"I’m not—" You look down. "Okay, something is very, very wrong here."

The aisle has grown in length, like you’re walking through an endless, brightly lit tunnel lined by bare shelves. When you look back, it stretches just as far in the other direction, the exit barely visible on the horizon. In a way, it’s very dreamlike, reality warping to create this odd alternative of itself.

"Stay behind me, at least," Bucky says, raising his weapon. He’s still in his civilian clothes, but a stern look has washed over his face.

"In your dreams, Barnes."

He rolls his eyes.

There’s only one way to go and so you continue walking, the aisles crossing yours continuously seemingly leading nowhere. Finally they disappear altogether as the shelves morph into a sort of avenue which shrinks down even more, the lights dimming. Your feet hit granite.

"This is impossible," you say.

"I think this is what Wong meant," Bucky replies grimly.

"We need to go back right now," you say, but when you turn to look over your shoulder, there’s only darkness and stone. "Bucky—"

He pushes you out of the way as a shot sounds through the tunnels, and one moment later you’re swarmed by white jackets on all sides. You curse, rolling to the side and reaching for the knife on your thigh. It’s not there.

"We need to get out of here!" you shout, using your fist instead. Your pendant pulsates around your neck, but when you reach for your powers, there’s still an invisible wall barring you from using them.

"I thought you wanted to pick out paints," Bucky yells back.

"I don’t understand why you’re so mad about the—"

"I watched Groundhog Day."

If it could, time would freeze. You’re begging it to. "No."

"Yeah," he says, shooting at a white jacket. A spray of blood speckles their uniform. "It’s funny. A little fucked up, if you asked me, but when you get to the crux of it—"

"We’re not having this conversation again," you say, punching another one of them in the face. "We’re not."

"Why not?" Bucky demands. "I’d love to have been a part of it as well."

You let out a frustrated scream. "It’s not gonna work like Groundhog Day."

"You don’t know that. Unless you’re not telling me something."

"For fuck’s sake," you yelp, barely evading a knife aimed at your stomach, "do you really think I’d keep it from you if I had slept with you?"

Bucky twists the gun out of someone’s gloved hands and shoves it into yours. "You’re keeping something from me and I want to know why."

You’re back to back now, both of you trying to catch your breath. With the moment of surprise gone, your opponents are circling you now, waiting for your next move.

And you find yourself breaking.

"Your ma liked Voltaire," you say. "Your favorite ice cream flavor is mint chocolate chip and your favorite coffee order is mine. If you drink it black, you do this thing with your mouth that I’ve never seen anyone do, and it’s weirdly sweet." You let out a breath. "You have a fucked-up sense of humor, which I think is great, and you watch Hitchcock movies even though you don’t particularly enjoy them, which is just so stupid, and I’ve never met anyone who gives better hugs than you. Satisfied?"

You can feel him straighten behind you. "You’re deflecting," he says.

With a frustrated groan, you shoot at the next white jacket breaking formation. "Maybe I want things to be as simple as a damn movie as well, but they’re not. It’s fictional. Four o’clock!" You duck and Bucky hits the one coming from the side over the head with his arm. "It’s a bunch of writers coming up with a bullshit idea of love saving everyone’s problems once again. The girl falls in love with the guy, the loop ends, la-dee-dah-dah, day over."

"Yeah, that’s way more absurd than what’s happening here."

"Well, clearly it’s not fucking worked out so far, so if you have any other suggestion, I’m all ears."

A beat passes.

You bite the inside of your cheek hard, forcing yourself to stay vigilant. It’s out there now. You need to get out of here.

Bucky sounds very far away, even though he’s right there with you. "What are you saying?"

Your vision swims slightly, and you blink through it. Shoot. Kick. Protect. "Don’t," you say, shaking your head. "Don’t play stupid with me right now, I swear—"

"Y/N—"

"It doesn’t matter, alright? It doesn’t change shit because we’re still stuck in this nightmare that keeps getting worse, and it doesn’t matter what I feel because you don’t feel the same way anyway, and I’ve just been trying to—"

"I do."

You fall silent, staggering on your feet at the emotion in his voice.

"I do," he repeats. "I have."

"What?" Your voice cracks on that single word.

His magazine runs out and he throws the gun away, cursing under his breath. "You think every movie should be ten minutes shorter, as a rule. You don’t really like your job, but you’ve also never sat still for a minute in your life and you’d rather be miserable than ask someone else for help when it comes to money or, well, anything. You hate being alone with your thoughts, but you also wouldn’t admit that with a gun to your head."

Like magnets, you turn at the same time, reaching for each other. There’s blood on his nose. Your hands are shaking.

"I’ve been in love for you for months now and it’s been literally fucking killing me."

Tell her.

The tear falls.

"So stupid," you whisper.

He looks at you in that same way he has countless times before; you’ve never been able to put your finger on the emotion in his gaze, but now you know. You know.

And then a shot rings in your ears and you sit up in bed, the sun in your face, music blasting,

"—when I’ve known this all along—"

Your door slams shut behind you as you run across the hall to the elevator, repeatedly hitting the button to go down.

"Are you okay?" Sam shouts from the doorway just as the doors ping open.

"Fine!" you shout back, naked feet almost slipping as you hammer on the button to go to the lobby.

You can’t wait for Bucky to get back. You’re going to have to find him. Surely, he can’t be that far from the Tower anymore. Maybe you should’ve changed out of your pyjamas, you think on your endless way down, besides, you don’t know at all which direction to go, unless—

The doors slide open to reveal Bucky on the other side, panting. His blue eyes lock onto yours immediately, mirroring your own feelings of terror and hope.

"You still remember, right?"

"Yeah," he says, and your last resolve crumbles to pieces.

You both move at the same time.

It’s a little like having your powers back, because the world around you stops and ceases to exist. Nothing else is real except Bucky’s arms coming around you and pulling you into him, his mouth crashing into yours, your back pressing against the elevator wall.

Nothing about your previous brief, careful kisses could have prepared you for this one. It’s desperate. Neither of you is holding back anymore, all things laid out in the open and expressed in every starving touch. You want to live in this moment forever, breathing him in, swallowing every sound he makes.

When you finally have to come up for air, you involuntarily tighten your grasp on his hair, your eyes shut tightly, afraid you’ll be zapped right back to your bed. Instead, you feel Bucky chase your lips with his own, breathing heavily, his arms still steady and firm around you.

You look at him through heavy-lidded eyes, soaking all of him in. "Don’t let go," you whisper.

He steps even closer until your chests are fully touching, and he catches you easily when you wrap your legs around him.

"Never," he mumbles into your mouth, and then he kisses you again.

* * * * *

There was a package on the kitchen table.

It was addressed to you, which was concerning since you hadn’t actually ordered anything. Even if you had, you’d have used a fake name and had it sent to a p.o. box.

You’d rather be overly cautious than risk getting caught over a clothing delivery.

It wasn’t a very large package, only about the size of a shoe box. Still, you didn’t know what to make of it. You just stared at it from a safe distance.

"Are you gonna open it with your mind?"

You flinched slightly at Bucky’s voice right behind you. "You did this," you said sharply.

He crossed his arms, looking at you with something like a challenge in his eyes. "Do you wanna look inside before you kill me?"

Frowning, you ripped the package open to reveal a metal container. When you put it down on the counter, the locks unlatched with a low hiss. Inside, there were six simple, perfect black rings in differing sizes.

You turned to Bucky again. "What is this?"

"They measure fatigue. At least that’s what they’re supposed to do. May I?"

You were stunned enough to nod without thinking, watching him take one of the smaller rings out of the box. He reached for your hand and slid it onto your pinkie. It was a perfect fit, cool against your skin, just like his vibranium palm. You could feel your pulse rushing in your ears.

The ring turned a beautiful emerald green on your finger.

"Mazel tov," Bucky said. "You appear to be awake."

Your mouth was very dry. He was still holding your hand. "Who did you tell about me?"

"No one. Only that I know someone whose abilities are tied to their energy, and who could use a way to track that more easily." He dropped your hand and leaned against the counter, observing you. "So you’ll be able to tell how many redos you can manage without fainting."

Your thoughts were racing, confusion and awe taking the place of your left-over anger. You put another one of the rings on and watched it turn green on your finger.

"Thank you," you finally whispered. "You don’t know what this …"

Bucky nodded as if he did. "Consider it a peace offering."

"You—this is—can I hug you?"

He looked stunned for a second, stunned and maybe something else, but then he tilted his head and you wrapped your arms around him before he could take it back. It was a bit weird at first, awkward and stiff, until then he carefully put his arms around you, too, gently pulling you in.

Oh, you thought, this is nice.

Bucky’s head was touching yours and the scent of his shampoo made you slightly dizzy. When you let go of him, there was a strange look in his eyes, one that made you take half a step back with an embarrassed chuckle.

"You’re a good hugger, Barnes," you said.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t look away, either.

That’s what made you do it: that look. You didn’t know what to make of it, and suddenly you didn’t feel ready to let go.

"Consider it a peace offering."

You looked at your hands. The ring on your pinkie had maintained that glorious shade of emerald green, but the other had turned black. You laughed a little.

"This is incredible," you told Bucky earnestly. This time, you didn’t stumble over your own words. Instead, you watched his face. "Can I give you a hug?"

It wasn’t just surprise that passed over his features, but you couldn’t pinpoint the other thing. His arms enveloped you again and you sighed a little, burying your nose in his shirt until the warm smell of him was all you breathed in. It was just you and him in that moment, and your ever wandering mind was strangely soothed by that thought.

You didn’t let go when you had last time. You just stayed where you were with your eyes closed, letting Bucky rub the lightest circles on the flat of your back. He could probably feel your heartbeat, but for some reason you didn’t care.

"For the record," you mumbled after a while, "I’m thankful, but I’m also still annoyed with you, so this doesn’t change anything."

You could feel him hold back a surprised chuckle and it made you giddy even as he drew away.

"Wouldn’t expect anything else, doll." He takes another step back as if he’d only just noticed how close you were still standing. "Anyway, at least now we’ll know whether bringing you along will actually be useful."

And there it was, albeit with the usual venom in his voice. Maybe he really did mean it as a peace offering. You were willing to believe it for the time being.

"You’re a strange man, James Buchanan Barnes," you said quietly, shaking your head. Hiding your smile.

"Says the time witch."

You gasped in mock surprise. "Did you just call me a witch? Does that make me one of the Big Three?"

Bucky groaned. "It’s not a thing."

You ignored him. "I want a giant black hat for my birthday so I can scare little kids on Hallowe’en. Ooh, and a cauldron. Sam!" You turned to face the opening door. "Bucky finally admitted it!"

"Admitted what?"

"That I’m one of the Big Three!"

"Big three pains in my ass, maybe," Bucky muttered, the tips of his ears turning red.

"There’s just three?"

"Shut up, Sam."

You slipped on the rest of your new rings in delight and watched them each turn a slightly darker shade of green. The one you’d put on earlier stayed black, though, at least for now, as if to remind you the moment had happened.

It wasn’t breaking your promise, you told yourself. After all, he hadn’t shared anything with you at all. If anything, it had been the other way around.

It was just going to stay yours until you figured out what it meant.

chapter eleven

thank you for reading!! you can follow my library blog @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications 💚 also fun fact, my chapters are long enough to crash my drafts whenever i try to post so if you made it to this point, please do consider leaving a comment and/or a reblog. i don't get anything else out of writing this, and i really do love every single one of them.

[decayingearf]

his brothers best friend

✗ warnings: none really (sfw), slight use of the n-word (blk readers only), delusional!stack

synopsis: your bestfriends brother likes you and according to him, you like him back.

[a/n: ik i said i was gonna release this later this week but im lowk bored sooo]

you’ve known stack and smoke since they were elias and elijah.

you and elijah were inseparable. from grade school til now, still close like white on rice. unfortunately for you, the moore boys were a package deal. you had called smoke to tell him you were gonna stop by. “a’igh, i aint home right now but, stack gon’ be there” he soon revealed.

you didn’t have a problem with stack, no never that. just didn’t feel like hearing any smug or flirty comments. “w’nt no point in putting them pretty clothes on..’m just gon’ take em off” stack would say with a shrug and a smile.

you would always brush off elias’ advances over the years. in high school, you said it was his hormones. that he didn’t really like you and was just a horny teen. but now? he’s fully developed; mentally and physically, and knows exactly what he wants (you).

you end the call and started your car going straight to the house.

once you arrived, you’re met by music and deep voices. plural. you skip going in the house and make a beeline for the backyard to see who you were hearing.

you were ultimately met with elias and his friends sitting around smoking, “oh my bad, i just wanted to let you know i was here” you speak with a smile, one hand on your hip and the other being used as a visor to block the beaming sun.

“oh a’right, you aint gon’ give me a hug?” he asked with a teasing smile and open arms. you rolled your eyes walking past him and into the house, through the backdoor. although it was a short walk, you felt like a deer in front of a bunch of tigers, everyone eyeing you up and down. their gazes; hungry.

once in the house you laid on the couch for literally five minutes before stack came in the house. “im finna walk them out real quick, you good?” he asked in a irritated tone. “yeah im okay..are you?” you replied nodding towards him as he shrugged it of with a nod.

he soon came back in and walked to the kitchen grabbing a beer. “what’s up?” was all that came out of your mouth, seeing as how you knew he was mad. “them niggas disrespectful”.

“what happened? they say something out the way?” you questioned sitting up to look over at the kitchen only to see he was walking towards you. “yeah they talkin’ ‘bout—‘she bad as hell’” he answered before kissing his teeth.

thats what you’re mad about?

“oh—boy, you funny, they was complimentin’ me” you laughed as he sat next to you. “nah baby, they was pissin’ me off is what they was doin’” before cracking his beer open, “i told them niggas you was my girl and they st-“ “hold on hold on, what? you told them i was your girlfriend? stack, i aint with you” you corrected with a scoff and a look of disbelief.

“you aint with who?” he snorted “you with me..i’ont even know why you would say that” elias finished with a shake if his head and a laugh.

before you could respond, smoke walked in nodding towards yall, “yall look like a couple all cuddled up” he stated unknowing of the previous events.

god were they delusional.

[sglossmin]

Bewitched | JJK

In a world where magic pulsed quietly beneath the surface, he showed up. Too curious. Too kind. And maybe just a little too familiar. The closer he got, the harder I pushed him away. And in this place built on secrets, even the smallest spark can unravel everything. Maybe having him by my side isn’t that bad…

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: WITCH!! Fluff(?) matured(?), fantasy, angst(?) slow burn, hate->?

This is a work of fiction. Events, characters, and depictions are entirely imagined and do not represent the real-life actions or personalities of any real individuals, including the idols mentioned.

A/N: Reader is MEANY MEAN at first (?) I like my oc's a girlboss hehe ^^

(Wattpad link)

LIKE, REBLOG or COMMENT (I really like hearing ur thoughts guys)

ctto (divider) @kodaswrld @anitalenia

Thanks for reading!!

“What do you mean I have to take care of… it? I’m not a babysitter, you know?” I huffed as I eyed the man—who is twice my size, if I must say. But knowing myself, no matter how big he is, it didn't matter. With a simple spell, he could be flying out of my house now. He had his bag on his shoulder, and the other two bigger bags on his hands. He really seemed like he planned to live here—as if I'd let him!

This place is my sanctuary, definitely not for someone like him.

“I'm 26 years old… not a baby,” he muttered, which made me roll my eyes. 

“Well, I’m 248 years old. Do I look like I care?,” I replied as I smiled at him mockingly. 

His eyes widened as he met my gaze in a snap. I raised a brow at him, analyzing why he would react like that. If my trusted ally brought him here, he wouldn’t have reacted like that.

Jin cleared his throat to get our attention. “I’m not asking you to babysit him. I’m telling you to let him stay here and teach him some of your spells. Just enough that he could protect himself,” he said calmly, but his tone had that authority I’ve always known.

His statement made me pause and think. Crossing my arms, I eyed the youngest again. “Are you sure he’s… a witch? I don’t sense any mana in him.”

“There’s more than meets the eye, Y/n,” he said with a deep chuckle, smirking briefly before it fades right away. “And he’s a half-blood.”

I let out a loud laugh upon hearing his last statement. “A half-blood? Which moron would fall for a trap and fall for a… human?” I uttered with pure disgust, especially on the last word.

Laughing like there’s no tomorrow, Jin cut me off by the name I made sure I won’t hear again. “Lyra. His mother is Lyra while his father is a man-”

“Who betrayed her. You know I know him.” My jaw clenched at the mention of them. Memories of my best friend suddenly flooded my mind, and as for the man… My blood boiled just by hearing about him again. “The great Jeon Hyunsoo… The only human who somehow tricked the leader and made her leave all of us. Turn her back as if we were nothing but old comrades.” I spat, disgusted by the words that were coming out of my own mouth. 

Never have I ever thought, after all these years, I would hear from them again. Moreover, seeing their… child.

No wonder he looks familiar...

“W-what do you mean? My dad loved my mom. He would never...” The youngest chimed in, looking at me like a lost sheep.

“Oh, really?” I said before laughing sarcastically. Laughing like a maniac that I had become. “He loved your mom? Hmm… interesting… He loved her enough to betray the clan of her lover…”

Smirking, I walked closer to him, leaving some space—enough that he’d feel my maddening mana. “Say… do you remember seeing me when you were around… eight, perhaps? No? Ever wonder why?” My tone and voice were laced with deadly poison—clinging to the sharp prick of my words.

“Y/n, that’s enough.” Jin said sternly from behind which I completely ignored.

The young half-blood looked at me with uncertainty, shock… with fear, just how I like it. Thousands of questions must be running in his head by now, and who am I to not give him the answers.

Smiling like a creep, I asked him, “Tell me, are you fond of necklaces?”

“N-no…” He breathed, afraid that if he stepped with the wrong foot, he’d vanish through the air.

My brows narrowed while I pouted in a mocking manner. “That’s… sad. Anyways, do you wanna know what my necklace is made of?” 

He didn’t utter nor did he breathe. The corners of my lips tugged upward, forming a sadistic smile. A normal human—or any witch who knows me—would have their knees trembling, and they would immediately kneel and bow, begging for my nonexistent mercy. 

Even with his fear, he stood still. He surely is the son of Lyra—both are amusingly stubborn. Not even death made her falter. I knew it, because I saw it.

“My necklace is made by hundreds of humans’ and witches' memories. Some asked me to do it so that the pain they felt would be gone, while some were… Let’s say I had no choice but to take a certain memory.”

I stepped back, my grin earlier also faltered. “But do you know the curse of having this ability? I can’t take mine, or else my memory would ruin the others and it will break the necklace. All of the memories will scatter and float around like ghosts. Someone has to keep it. Sometimes, out of boredom, I play those memories like a video—using my necklace as a projector.”

“So… you’re saying that you have a certain memory of mine?” He uttered in disbelief.

“Bingo!” I winked at him, mocking him even more. “You’re not that dumb after all, I guess.”

“Why?! What is it about?” His voice raised a bit. The earlier fearful gaze turned into… something. A flicker of defiance in his eyes as he stepped closer.

Did I see it right? No… It’s impossible. From what I know, I’m the only witch left who has that trait.

“It’ll be better, if you don’t know.” Jin chimed in, stepping to stand in between us.

“He’s right, kiddo. Even though I’d love to torment you with the memories—I can’t. I can’t make you watch it nor give back the memory itself to you.” I shrugged casually before walking away to plop myself on the couch.

“Why?” he asked in a stern tone.

I chuckled sarcastically as I turned on the TV. “I’ve never tried, and… I don’t wanna try. Who knows if the consequence is way worse.”

Sensing that he’d ask more, I murmured a simple spell so that he’d fall asleep. I closed my eyes as I vividly imagined his face before whispering, “Extovea…” (eks-to-vi-yah)

Soon, a loud thud echoed across the room that left me smirking. Changing channels as I couldn’t care less to bother to even check on him. Before I could find something to watch, Jin stepped in front—blocking the screen.

He’s gonna nag, isn’t he?

“Y/n? Really?” Jin groaned and snatched the remote in my hand. “Now I have to carry him to his room,” he said as he glared at me.

With a scoff, I raised a brow and stood up to meet his eyes that bore into me. “What room? I never agreed to let him stay here.” 

“Y/n, this is not up for discussion. He'll stay here,” he said sternly, his eyes throwing daggers at me. 

“Then why does he have to stay here? Why here?”

“Because you can protect him.”

I took a step back, not expecting him—out of all people— to ask me such a favor like this. “And what made you think that I'd protect his—their child?” I spat as I gritted my teeth.

“Because I know you. You won't let the past ruin the future,” he said, his voice remained neutral and calm. 

Hypocrite…

I scoffed, “Fine. Protect him from who exactly?”

I could see the hesitation in his eyes… But why? 

“I… I can't tell you yet.”

“Wha—No. Tell me or I'll feed him to the wild boars.”

“Oh, you wouldn't do that.”

I snorted and smirked at him—daring him to push my limits. “We'll see…”

“He can shapeshift into any animal...? The young half-blood asked as he stared at my bruises.

We're sitting in the living room where the situation all started.

He had just woken up from his sweet little nap an hour ago. I told him that if he ever does something stupid, I'd turn him into a frog—good thing he's stupid enough to believe it. 

Then I asked him how he met Jin, and no wonder that dirty shapeshifter was away from me for weeks—he had been the kid's pet, a cat, to be exact. 

“Yeah… And this is all because of you! He turned into a bird and pecked me nonstop… Witches don't heal like humans do, you know?” I hissed when I dabbed the drenched cotton on the bruises. 

Of course he doesn't.

“Anyways, I didn't get your name.”

“Oh- I'm Jungkook…”

“Such an ugly name… I bet your father chose it, huh?” I snorted, trying to focus on my wounds.

His brows twitched before he calmly replied, “My mom did, actually…

Whatever.

I scoffed as I finished treating my wounds.

Jungkook just stared at me the whole time. I didn't know why, but even his breathing irked me so much.

Gritting my teeth, I turned to him and frowned. “What?”

“Aren't you… uh… a witch? Can't you make a potion and heal yourself instead?” he said with a rather genuine curiosity that annoyed me even more.

Patience, Y/n… Jin told you he'd do it again if you won't teach this kid a thing or two.

"Witches don't work like that." I rolled my eyes and sighed. “Okay, listen. Witches have different special traits. 

First, Florohex (flor-oh-hex). They're the nature witches. They take care of the balance of nature in this world. Since humans like to destroy anything that breathes. They make potions to plant, or in rare areas they make barriers.

“W-witches do that?” He stuttered as he hesitated—seeming like testing the waters.

I scoffed, annoyed by how much explaining I needed to do. “Humans portrayed us as the ones that destroy everything—the wicked. But, I think you're old enough to know that humans are, right?”

“Well… kinda…I mean, not all.”

“Yeah, whatever. Next is, Faunex (fow-nex). They guard and can communicate with animals. Some can even transform into them—like Jin. They also ensure ecological balance.

Next is the stereotype witch, Nocturex (noc-tuh-rex). They practice black magic.”

“Like, cursing people?”

“Exactly—cursing people. They are the last type of witches you'd want to meet. Don't you ever mess with them, got it?”

Even with fear in his eyes, he nodded—understanding the possible consequences.

“And the last one, is Sanohex (sah-no-hex). They're practically the healers. Can cure everything but can never revive the dead. But the thing is… it's probably the most useless one.”

Jungkook frowned and tilted his head. “Why is it useless?”

It's weird to see that face looking so… naive.

“Because that kind of witch can heal others but not themselves. It's a curse, I think. That's why some use Sanohex as their slaves—a lot have died from it.” I said bluntly as I put away the medicines that I had used. “But Sanohex can heal a fellow Sanohex too.”

“Then… What kind of witch are you?”

I smirked, turning my gaze to him. “Why don't we test my powers on you to know?”

He quickly looked away. It's kinda odd to see a grown man like him looking so scared… or flushed? 

As I let out a dark chuckle, I walked away to put the things in the small drawer next to the TV.

“Every witch is born with mana. It is the only way someone could practice these magics. Without mana, no matter how many times you chant a spell or do those ridiculous gestures you see on TV, it'll be useless.” I paused, looking back at him. “Thinking about it… I don't sense any mana in you…”

“How do you know if a person has mana?”

I walked back and sat close to him—where he quickly scooted away, making sure there was enough space for him to escape. I snorted, and got closer to him again. Before he could scoot away again, I forced him to look at me. Grasping his face with both of my hands as I leaned in closer.

“Stay still. Look at my eyes,” I said softly but still had that commanding edge. Jungkook did as he's told, then I asked him, “What do you see?”

“Uh… eyes?”

My patience was wearing thin with this kid. It took more than just courage to keep myself from rolling my eyes at him.

“What color are they?”

His eyes widened—probably because of the realization. “P-purple..?”

“Technically amethyst purple, but sure.” I shrugged before losing my hold onto him and leaning back. “Witches have different types of eye color, depending on their mana or what type they are. Other than that, you'll just feel it. Like… spider sense. Have you watched that movie? Excellent, if I must say.”

Regardless of my babbling, Jungkook remained still—as if looking so confused.

“We're the same,” he uttered.

“Wha-”

“Our eye color—it's the same.”

I snorted, waving him off dismissively. “It's impossible. Witches like me are rare.”

“No, wait,” he said before touching the inside of his eye.

“Oh fuck—What the heck? Why are you taking out your eyeball? Put it back! For fucksake, put it back!!” I snapped as I was too disgusted to even look at him.

He choked on his laugh, and handed me something, but I refused and remained looking away. “If that's your fucking eyeball, keep it.”

“It's not my eyeball. It's a contact lens.” 

I slowly turned my gaze to his hand, still frowning disgustingly. “A what?”

“A… contact lens..? You've been living for years and never tried to use one? How do you buy stuffs or go outside without people batting an eye on you?”

I huffed, staring at the thin plastic. “I never had to buy my stuffs, I ask Jin for it. And… I only hangout in safe places.”

“So you've never tried to hang out in crowded places?”

“Yeah, what's so good about it? Especially since there's a bunch of useless humans.”

This time, he didn't suppress it and let out  a chuckle, showing his bunny-like smile. He must've gotten comfortable. 

But that didn't last.

When my eyes met his, I suddenly felt the surrounding blur. He wasn't bluffing at all. It was true—his eyes are like mine. The only thing is… it's only the left eye, the other one remains black like the ones humans have. 

In a beat, I came closer to him—pushing him that made his back hit the backrest. I pinned him to the couch and leaned in closer, staring deeply in his eye. 

His laugh died out and his breathing hitched.

“Why are your eyes like that?” I asked sternly.

“I-I don't know… It's been like this since I was born,” he said softly, his eyes flickered to my lips.

“Impossible… Lyra is a florohex… Y-you can't…” My words faltered and my hold on him loosened. I stood up, pacing back and forth as I tried to think of every possible reason why I didn't sense it right away. 

I stopped my track, looking back at him. I met his innocent gaze—contrast to my icy glare. “Then why the fuck I don't sense your mana?! You've been walking around freely all this time when you're—UGH!”

Sensing my panic, he looked at me confused. “I'm what?”

“You're a Sanohex—like me.”

He gaped, nodding slightly before he replied. “So what?”

I scoffed, “ ‘So what?’ You don't know half of the ability us Sanohex have. If any human or Nocturex find out… You'd be dead—worse, slave.” I paused, only to see his reaction still looking at me with those big doe eyes. 

I despise how you got his eyes…

“And the fact that you're a child of Lyra…” I paused, feeling a tight knot in my chest. 

and Hyunsoo…

“..doesn't help at all. Is this why Jin brought you here? Because he knows you're a Sanohex?”

He nodded slowly, “M-maybe..? He never really told me why he brought me here.”

I snorted, finding how ironic it is. “What a good kid you are, huh? So you just follow random people?”

“I don't really have much going on in my life, and he said he'll bring me somewhere where I belong...” he uttered softly—still pouting like a sulky child.

“Well obviously, he's a fraud. You don't belong here. Not in my place at least.”

I sat on the couch once again—far from him. With crossed arms, I thought of all possible things that could happen if I kicked him out.

First and foremost, I'll have my peace. Second, I won't have to deal with him nor teach him. And lastly… I won't have to see the face of the constant reminder of where it all went wrong.

But all these excuses are nothing compared to the consequence of him living out there. Because one thing for sure, Nocturex will be out looking for him, and who knows what would they do as they use his limbs for potions—not that I care—or use his ability to do cruel things to other witches… 

It'll be like the Midnight Times again.

After a long dreadful silence, my train of thoughts were cut off when Jungkook spoke. “Just… let me stay. Please… Just for a month…”

His words were faint but audible enough to pull me from the abyss of contemplation.

With gritted teeth, I replied as I made up my mind. “Fine… But you'll do as you're told. No buts and especially—no complaining.”

His eyes lit up like a puppy seeing his owner. He nodded as he smiled. “Got it. Oh—by the way… what should I call you? Master?”

I frowned, feeling weird about someone calling me a ‘master’. “Just—just Y/n.”

“Okay… Y/n… Can I ask a question?”

Raising a brow, I replied, “Already?”

Jungkook rubbed his nape as he looked away. “You told me you're 248 years old, right?”

“Yeah? What about it?”

“You… weren't lying about it..?”

He believes that I'm a witch, but not about my age? Kids these days...

“Why would I lie about my age like some teenager wanting to watch porno?” I deadpanned.

“H-how come you look so… young?”

Ah… I see…

Instead of answering right away, I stood up and walked towards him. He watched my every move as I did so. When I'm right in front of him, he looked up at me with the same naive, wide-eyed doe eyes. I smirked as I crouched down—enough that our faces were inches apart.

“What? Are you…” I paused, leaning even closer that I saw how his eyes flickered to my lips then back to my eyes again. “attracted to me?”

His Adam's apple bobbed, and immediately looked away. “Wha—Why would I be attracted to a granny,” he said as he scoffed.

Did he just scoff at me? Called me granny?

Jungkook’s eyes widened—probably at the realization of what he did and called me, but my grin only widened. 

I traced his cheek down to his jaw with the back of my hand. “You know what?.. I think you're right. I'm starting to look like a granny again… Your skin is soft, by the way…Oh- Do you wanna know how I keep my youthful face?”

I knew how much my touch affected him and sent a shiver to his spine by how his breathing hitched. He hesitated but faced me anyway. “H-how..?” he asked, gulping once again, seemingly finding it hard to speak without stuttering. 

My hand went downwards toward his chin, tilting his head a bit. “With a cauldron… I heat up a lot of water…” My voice that was once soft went stern with my next words—wanting to scare and mock him more. “and boil the young half-bloods. Peel their skin after, then eat it.”

His eyes went wide. His body froze—eating my bullshit once again.

I leaned back, laughing out loud as I genuinely enjoyed his reaction. It might be the first time in a while someone made me laugh like this.

How can someone be so naive?

I clutched my stomach as it started to hurt from laughing so much. “You should've seen your face—wait—my stomach hurts.”

He frowned and stood up, “Then—were you lying about your age too?”

My laughter soon died out as I noticed how he easily towered over me. I sighed, looking at him deadpan. “Why are you so curious about my age—”

He cut me off before I could even finish my snarky reply. “Just— Earlier… you seemed like you know my parents a lot… So, I was wondering how you knew them that much when you look…like the same age as me. I've never seen you my whole life…”

“I really seem like I know a lot about them, don't I? I thought I knew them… I was wrong. Besides, it's in the past. I don't really care about them anymore.” I bluntly said as I shrugged, hoping he'd drop the topic.

Despite my flat reply, he remained unfazed and curious about it. Standing on his ground, he looked at me pleadingly—so eager to hear some answers.

“So, you knew them? Were you close? How come they never mentioned you once?”

If you only knew how much I want to sew your mouth… Be thankful to Jin, half-blood.

I snorted. “They didn't, huh? That… Well, I'm not really expecting anything from them. But yeah, let's say, we were friends… Also, I told you, we met once. I just erased your memory of it.”

“Why?”

I shrugged again—this time, in a mocking manner—as I grinned at him like a maniac.

“Give me a break, kid. You think you're the only one trying to adapt this new infos? Nuh-uh. What I feel right now is much worse. Some things are not meant to be answered.” 

As I was about to walk away, I couldn't help but answer his earlier question. “Oh—and, us—witches—don't get old. I stopped aging at the age of 25, and you seem like that too.” I paused, as I saw his lost innocent gaze at me. Him biting his lips a bit as he sulkily pouted. “248 years old sounds ancient, huh?… In human years, think of me as 24 years old…”

I huffed before turning my back at him and walked away—not giving him the chance to respond. I locked myself up in my room and threw myself on the bed.

“Why did I suddenly feel the need to empathize with him…” I mumbled, and before I knew it, I fell asleep.

(Jungkook POV)

<1 month ago>

After I resigned from my shitty job, it's been a while and I've been applying for another—better—job everywhere but none of them accepted me. I guess this is what I get for becoming a college dropout. 

But was it really my fault? Or was it society's? 

I've been lost for a while now—too confused on which path I'd take. The only savings I have left is the only thing that kept me alive.

Walking on the sidewalk, soft light by the lamp post illuminates the dark street. Each step of mine felt heavy as I dragged myself toward the only thing that was left to me. The house that used to be lived in by the three most cheerful souls in the world—our family house. 

Actually, if I'd sell the house and lot, I'd get enough money to survive for three more years—but I won't. I promised my mom to keep this house and never leave my dad's side.

But not all promises are meant to be kept. As much as I love my dad, there's no fucking way I’d stay with him on his grave. I mean—of course I visit him and mom from time to time. Besides, why would he need me there when his grave is literally beside her.

That's why the house is the only thing I have that reminds me of them. 

When I was younger, they never liked to get us a picture. Even if we did, my mom would immediately burn it. She told me to never keep a picture of us three.

But did I listen? No. I kept at least one; stuck it in my journal to have at least a reminder of their faces—their existence.

As I neared my house, I saw a black cat on my way to it. It looks like it's shivering from the cold, but he also doesn't look like a street cat. His fur was shiny and smooth—as if he was taken care of by the royals.

Thinking about it, he might be lost… just like me.

I crouched down, petting its soft fur. The cat purred at my touch, leaning even more to it. I chuckled, feeling soft at the sight of the cat.

Wait—Aren't black cats considered bad luck? Well… Who am I to say that.. Between me and this cat, I’ve had so much bad luck, I might start producing it too.

“Are you cold, buddy?”

It seemed like he understood me, and jumped to me. I was surprised but caught him just on time. “You like me, don't you?” I chuckled, and stood up with him in my arms, starting to walk again.

I brought him inside the house, putting him down as I went to the kitchen. I took a container and filled it with water and let him drink. 

He only sniffed it, walking graciously back to me. “You don't like it? It's water. You can never go wrong with water.”

The cat looked up at me, looking at me dead in the eye. I pouted slightly as I lifted him up, and put him in my arms. “Okay, Mr Attitude… You're choosy for a stray cat, huh?”

I walked back to the living room as I plopped myself on the couch—the cat was still in my arms.

“Do you have a name?” 

The cat only stared at me.

“Right… That was stupid. Anyways, I should give you one!”

But can I even afford to take care of a cat? 

I shook off that thought. I certainly can't just let him stay there freezing.

“Hmm… Let's see… I'm Jeon Jungkook… I should name you after a food—Kimchi! So, it'll be Kimchijeon, get it?” I laughed loudly, and the cat slapped me.

HE SLAPPED ME??  

Not even scratch or bite—but slap. Of course since it's a cat, it rather felt like a hard pat.

“Ow… Bad kitty,” I muttered as I frowned at him. “Fine… I'll call you kitty for now since I'm too tired to think of names.”

I put him down the couch and went to my room to get a towel. With a soft towel in my arms when I came back, I placed it around him. I'm not gonna lie, he's pretty much obedient and behave for a stray cat.

“Don't pee nor poop in here, got it?” I said as I pet the cat once again. “Good night, kitty.”

After petting him more, I walked back to my room and threw myself on the bed—too tired from today's event. I sighed as I stared at the wall clock.

9:30… and I haven't even eaten.

“Just breathe today and hope to breathe tomorrow.” I murmured the phrase that I always say whenever I have a hard time. It was my way to keep me sane and keep on going every day. It pretty much works, I think. 

Murmuring it a few more times before I drifted off to sleep.

“Just breathe today and hope to breathe tomorrow…”

Weeks have passed, and I was sitting on the couch while watching TV when the electricity suddenly went off.

“Ugh… Shit.”  I groaned as I turned to the cat beside me. “Sorry, buddy. No electricity for now…”

The payment was probably due today, and if you ask me? I don't really mind. I knew it's going to happen anyway.

I reached out for my phone and went to my email. Constantly refreshing it to check if I at least passed an interview. 

Still, none.

I didn't know if it's because of the headache I've been having for a while, but I heard soft voices chanting in the back of my head.

“Sotamul… Sotamul… Sotamul…” (SOH-tah-mul) 

Their chants made me feel like I'm getting hypnotized—even if their voices sound too far away.

“Don't listen to it, kid.”

Another voice brought me back to reality. My head snapped to look where the voice came from since the sound was loud enough—as if the person was literally beside me.

But I found no one. 

After those voices, the house fell completely silent. I could even hear my breathing.

“Great. I'm unemployed, my electricity got cut off, and now I'm starting to hear voices… Just great.” 

Then just right after I paused, the same voice of a man echoed across the room. “Life's hard, huh?”

I whipped my head to the side where the voice came from, but I still saw no one.

I swear… it sounded so close.

“Hey, eyes down here.” 

I did as it said, but all I saw was my cat staring at me.  

“D-did you…”

“Boo..?”

My eyes widened, and before I fainted, I heard him mutter, “What a human thing to do. Still amazes me every time this happens.”

When I gained consciousness, my eyes fluttered open. I felt someone poked my cheek, then a voice echoed through my ears. 

“Are you awake? Whoa… You guys really have the same eye…”

My head snapped toward the side, only to find a strange man looking back at me. I sat up immediately, shifting into a guarded stance—even though my limbs feel weak. “Who are you?!”

“Calm down, kid. Those stupid witches’ spell is still working a bit on you.” 

“Answer my question! How did you get inside?!”

“Ooh… scary,” he muttered, a subtle smirk formed on his lips. “You know me as kitty,” he paused, rolling his eyes before he continued. “but my name is Seokjin. Kim Seokjin.”

“Wha—Are you kidding me right now??”

He shook his head, and replied bluntly. “No. I'm a witch, and I turned into a cat to see if the rumors were true.”

“A witch? Rumors? I-i don't understand—what rumors?”

“That you have a different eye color on your left eye. A rare one, if I must say. But, dear great heavens, you were always not at home and even if you are, I barely see you without your contacts.” He huffed as he crossed his arms.

I didn't put my guard down, still not able to understand what was going on. “I don't believe you.”

“Really?” 

Then he took something from his coat that made me even back away. Who knows if he has a gun in there.

He chuckled as he saw my reaction, and then he took it out.

“A stick?”

“It is a wand. Now, watch.” 

With a swirling gesture, he uttered a spell and pointed it at the glass of water on the table. The water soon turned red. The glass was a clear one so I saw how it subtly changed to red until it completely transformed.

What..?

He walked towards it, taking the glass and he lifted it up to his lips. “Hmm… A pretty good wine made by a pretty witch. Wanna taste?” he said, offering it to me as he extended the glass.

“No.”

“So you believe me now? Or do you want me to turn you into a frog so you would?”

I frowned, putting my guard down, and sat back on the couch. “Fine.” I sighed as I slowly processed whatever was going on. “But why are you here? Why are you interested in my left eye?”

As I thought he would snidely reply to me, he did the opposite instead. He smiled and sat on the chair across from me. “I'm gonna be honest with you, Jungkook. You're not safe here. Especially since you're alone. Sooner or later, they will find you.”

So that smile was supposed to be a reassuring one…

“Who's 'they' ? Why am I not safe? Who are you exactly?” I tried to ask as calmly as possible, not wanting to show how scared I am right now.

“I can't explain the full details, but all I'm asking of you is to trust me. I'll bring you somewhere you truly belong.”

“Okay… So, she's kinda mean, but trust me, she's a softie behind her rigid armor,” Jin hyung chuckled as he rubbed his nape.

Yesterday, I found out that I'm half witch. To be exact—I just found out that my mom was actually some type of leader of the witches. I also learned that me being a half witch means my mana is twice more powerful than an average witch—given that my mother was also a powerful one.

But weirdly, Jin hyung said he doesn't sense any mana in me, nor do I feel anything odd.

It was still a lot to process, but because of it, I somehow realized why my mom was so strict back then. 

After Jin hyung mentally prepared me, we went inside of the house. As soon as we entered, a dagger flew across the room, and nearly hit me—right beside my head to be exact. It got stuck on the wall behind me which left me frozen.

“Where were you?” A voice of a woman echoed across the room.

And as I searched for where the voice came from, my eyes landed on the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. My eyes widened, heart beating fast as if it wanted to burst out of my ribs—I even forgot how to breathe.

Whoa… She's really pretty…

“Yah! Don't you know how I've been craving for buldak??” she exclaimed as she put her phone in front of Jin hyung's face—showing a mukbang video. 

It seems like she didn't sense my presence yet as she kept on nagging at him.

“Where were you that you were away for weeks, huh?! Tsk.”

“You're so dramatic. Anyways, I was away because I was sorting some stuff,” Jin hyung calmly replied.

“In this age? What ‘stuff’ were you sorting?” she scoffed as she eyed the man.

Jin hyung shrugged and he pointed at me. “This stuff.”

She turned her head towards me, raising her brow as she did. “And… Wait—Is he a human?”

“He's not. He's a witch. I brought him here because I trust you that you will take care of him.”

She snorted, then eyed me from head to toe. “What do you mean I have to take care of… it?” The way she uttered the last word—I could feel her disgust.

Okay… That was rude…

“I'm not a babysitter, you know?” she added.

Damn… for a pretty woman, she's really mean. Jin hyung was right.

I refrain from scoffing or react anything negatively. I'll be living in here from now on after all. I want to be closer to her—maybe a little too close. 

The way she acts so rudely for someone who looks younger than me doesn't sit right.

So, I decided to at least mutter my age to let her know that she should at least give me some respect, and  show that I'm at the age where I'm a bit responsible and I won't be a nuisance for the time being that I'd stay here. “I'm 26 years old… not a baby.”

“Well, I'm 248 years old. Do I look like I care?” she sneered.

My eyes widened, not expecting her to say that at all.

248 what?! No wonder she's mean… The last time I worked in a nursing home, old people were mad—mad, at first. They eventually warmed up because who doesn't melt with this face?

Jin hyung cleared his throat. “I'm not asking you to babysit him. I'm telling you to let him stay here and teach him some of your spells. Just enough that he could protect himself.”

Crossing her arms, she eyed me again. “Are you sure he's… a witch? I don't sense any mana in him.”

“There's more than meets the eye, Y/n,” he said with a deep chuckle.

Why don't just Jin hyung say that my left eye is purple?

He smirked briefly before it faded right away. “And he's a half -blood,” he added.

Unexpectedly, she let out a loud mocking laugh. “A half-blood? Which moron would fall for a trap and fall for a… human?” Her words dripped with an immense disgust that made me wonder, Why does she seem like she hates humans that much?

Even with her sarcasm, she kept laughing like there was no tomorrow. But it soon died down when Jin hyung cut her off. 

“Lyra. His mother is Lyra while his father is a man-”

“Who betrayed her. You know I know him.” I could see the way her jaw clenched; her eyes having this visible irritation just by the mention of my parents.

They know each other?

“The great Jeon Hyunsoo… The only human who somehow tricked the leader and made her leave all of us. Turn her back as if we were nothing but old comrades.”

Okay… Something bad really happened. 

Even though I sensed something wrong, I couldn't help but feel a sting hearing her bad mouth my parents.

I grew up seeing how much they loved each other. No one knows them better than I do.

At least that was what I knew.

I tried to remain calm but it only made me stutter as a result. “W-what do you mean? My dad loved my mom. He would never…”

“Oh, really?” She laughed out loud again before continuing. “He loved your mom? Hmm… interesting… He loved her enough to betray the clan of her lover?”

What is she talking about? What clan?

Hundreds of questions ran through my mind but I couldn't voice them out because the next thing I knew, she was so close to me.

 “Say… do you remember seeing me when you were around… eight, perhaps?”

I stood still, holding my breath as she was too close.

We already met each other? What is she talking about now..?

When I didn’t answer, she continued. I could tell by her voice that she wanted me gone. “No? Ever wonder why?”

“Y/n, that’s enough.” 

My eyes flicked to Jin and saw how he gripped the bridge of his nose. While on the other hand, the woman in front of me remained unfazed—grinning eerily as she stared at me.

“Tell me, are you fond of necklaces?”

I blinked, confused by her antics—and kinda scared of her at the same time. She’s a powerful witch after all—based on what Jin said, at least.

“N-no…” 

Why does my voice keep trembling? Man up, Jungkook!

She frowned as she pouted. I had to bite the inside of my cheek just to suppress my emotion.

It’s unfair how she’s mean and cute… But something really feels off.

“That’s… sad. Anyways, do you wanna know what my necklace is made of?” 

I didn’t reply, too scared of what I’ll find out with her next words.

“My necklace is made of hundreds of humans’ and witches' memories. Some asked me to do it so that the pain they felt would be gone, while some were… Let’s say I had no choice but to take a certain memory.”

Wha— Okay… This is getting out of hand.

I frowned, looking everywhere but them. My mind couldn’t fully register what she said as my confusion and curiosity rose. 

“But do you know the curse of having this ability? I can’t take mine, or else my memory would ruin the others and it will break the necklace. All of the memories will scatter and float around like ghosts. Someone has to keep it. Sometimes, out of boredom, I play those memories like a video—using my necklace as a projector.”

After a long pause, I found my voice.

“So… you’re saying that you have a certain memory of mine?”

“Bingo! You’re not that dumb after all, I guess.”

As she kept mocking me, I couldn’t help but feel that pit in my stomach—the one I used to feel whenever these things happened. The one that made me fall into a void of madness and made it hard to crawl back. It was a feeling that was too hard for me to explain, but also the feeling that was too familiar—like it clung to me since I was a child.

When I looked back at her, she was already a few feet away from me.

I took a step, glaring at her—no—pleading her to give me some answers. 

“Why?! What is it about?”

If it's about my parents, I have to know it.

“It’ll be better, if you don’t know.” Jin chimed in, stepping to stand in between us.

“He’s right, kiddo. Even though I’d love to torment you with the memories—I can’t. I can’t make you watch it nor give back the memory itself to you.” she shrugged casually before walking away to plop herself on the couch.

“Why?” I kept my voice grounded but my fists clenched on my side.

She only chuckled sarcastically as she turned on the TV. “I’ve never tried, and… I don’t wanna try. Who knows if the consequence is way worse.”

As I opened my mouth to reply, a wave of dizziness hit me. Everything sounded so muffled, my limbs felt weak—and before I knew it, I collapsed on the ground.

“B-but… we need you, Lyra. Everyone is dying out there a-and you—you chose him? His kind??” 

It's been months since she cut herself off from us—the one she used to call her family. Even I didn't want to ask for help from her, but we knew we'd be too helpless to fight back with the Norturex, especially now that they forged an alliance with the humans.

“I have a family now, Y/n. I have to protect them too,” her voice was grounded, the kind that she only used to talk with the people she considers an enemy—never for me.

“Y/n… please leave. We're sorry,” Hyunsoo pleaded but not one bit it sounded sincere.

I took a step back, my lips trembled as I tried to form my thoughts into words. Frowning, I looked everywhere but them. I felt something flowed into my veins. My vision became blurry, my head hurt so much I couldn't bear it.

This is beyond betrayal. 

“But we were your family too!! Innocent witches are dying out there, and all you care about is if your family is too happy to care in the world!!!” I yelled as I felt my mana overflowing in my core. 

Turning my hand into fist, I closed my eyes. I felt so hopeless… so alone. 

“I trusted you, but you tore me apart.” 

The ring in my finger started to crack, and I felt my body starting to heat up too. 

As I opened my eyes, I never felt this kind of rage before. It hurts so much, yet it feels good.

“Y-y/n… Calm down… Y-you're turning to—” Lyra's voice cracked, her eyes widened in panic.

My senses became too sensitive; I even heard a small voice coming to the side. I turned my head towards it, and I saw a small child peeking from his bedroom, his big does eyes looking at me with awe and astonishment.

“Wow… you're beautiful…” 

“Jungkook, go back inside! Now!” Lyra commanded that made him flinch. “Take our son, I'll take care of Y/n,” she muttered to her husband, but before Hyunsoo could even take a step, I muttered a spell to freeze him on his spot.

“Y/n, don’t.”

She tackled me with her spell as she whipped her wand. I quickly fought back making her stumble.

Never once in a hundred years I had hurt her like that. I didn't know why but I felt that my power overflowed.

No… This is not good…

I snapped my head to the mirror on the side, and my eyes landed on the monster that was looking back at me.

No… This can't…

I felt my chest tighten—worsening the pain that I feel emotionally and physically.

My eyes glowed into deep red, and black lines slowly ran down to my face and body, like a cursed, etched ink. 

I felt a hand softly tugging my pinky finger. I looked down on it, only to see the kid's innocent eyes again—looking at me with confusion but the awe in it never left.

“Why are you crying?”

“H-huh?” 

I didn't even notice that tears flowed down on my cheeks as I felt my rage overflowing in me more.

I crouched down to meet his eyes, confused by this bizarre kid. 

“Aren't you scared of me? I literally just made your mother fly across the room.” 

Even my voice sounded so different in my ears. I felt so disgusted.

The kid chuckled a bit before replying. “ I think I'm not. Also, my mom is strong so she'll be fine. But… I don't know about you…” he pouted, his hold on my pinky tightened.

“You're weird. You're not scared of me? With this look? Not even a bit?” My eyes narrowed at him but he looked rather amazed.

“You look like a superhero character I'd see in comics, so why would I?” he cheekily grinned.

I didn't know why, but the longer I had contact with this small human, I felt more at ease. My mind that was cloudy became clear, and so does the ink on my skin.

“Oh- It's gone? Your eyes changed too.” He looked at me in confusion before he cracked a smile again. “You look better in this. You look more of a fairy than a superhero now, though..”

Coming to my senses, I pulled back. “You're weird.”

“But cute?” he grinned.

I let out a soft chuckle as I shook my head.

He's weird… Or maybe it was just me for feeling this calm sensation when we touched.

Taking a step back, I swished my finger as I muttered a spell. “Extovea…”

Soon as he was out of his consciousness, I held my necklace and hovered my other hand on his head. I said the spell three times to make it work and make sure he won't remember anything of this day. 

“Scordomemora… Scordomemora… Scordomemora…” (skor-do-me-MO-ra)

The last thing I want—even though I hate his kind—is to traumatize the innocent.

+* +*+*+

I should've known since then. You saved me once again.

A/N: Comment your @ if u wanna be added to the taglist^^

A/N 2: I really thought deep and hard bcz the trope might be "weird" but I promise, it won't be. hehe

[getmeoutofhell]

Slashers W/ Gorgeous F! Reader

𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬:

He’s so nervous about approaching you that his usual confidence seems to vanish whenever he sees you. Even with his big ego, he hesitates; it took Stu a lot of convincing just to get him to look in your direction. Despite his efforts to play it cool, his nerves are evident. In his eyes, you’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen, and the moment he lays eyes on you, he can't help but think of all the ways he could fuck you.

“Let me take you on a date, beautiful,” he says with a charming smile. You find him quite smooth and, without hesitation, agree to go out with him. Little did you know, just a few weeks later, he would try to take your life.

𝐒𝐭𝐮 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫:

Mr. Blush-a-Lot here! He'll become obsessed with you as soon as his eyes land on you. "She's so pretty," he tells Billy constantly, which drives Billy crazy. Eventually, after a couple of weeks of observing you, he decides to ask you out. You think he's cute, so when he shows up at your house to pick you up, you smile at him and say, "You're so pretty." Everything turns out good in the end! Besides the occasional Ghostface attacks, he turns out to be a great boyfriend. He always makes sure you feel protected—especially from himself!

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫:

“Hey, I’m Charlie. I’m your partner for the project.” That’s when he first sees you, and he's in awe, too speechless to say anything in your presence. “Hey, nice to meet you. I’m Y/N,” you reply, and you exchange numbers to keep in touch outside of school. As you work on the project together, you manage to pass with a grade of 90. Slowly, you start to develop feelings for him. “You’re cute,” you say, and he blushes at your compliment as he walks away.

𝐉𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤:

Straight to the point—if she thinks you’re attractive, she won’t hesitate to let you know. “You’re hot; we should hang out.” Obviously, you agree—who wouldn’t? Even though you’ve only known each other for a couple of months, she asks you out on a date. She requests that you keep it private and not tell anyone that she asked you out. However, she has no problem showing you off at school or anywhere else for that matter.

𝐓𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞:

“Hey, hunny bun.” She was very subtle with her words. When she first saw you, she seemed cute and shy. You initially thought she didn't like you because she was so quiet, but you were mistaken. She calls you "Puddin" as a nickname, and you still had no idea she had a crush on you. Tiffany is incredibly gorgeous, so she had no problem finally approaching you and asking for your number. You both end up dating, but Chucky was not too happy about it.

𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤 (𝐭𝐡𝐭𝐣𝐛):

He has to practice both physically and mentally to see you. He doesn’t want to say the wrong things, especially considering his age; you would expect him to know a few things about love and how to treat others. He can’t help but call you beautiful every five minutes. He’ll ask you random questions and expects you to answer them correctly. Don’t worry, he doesn’t call you “simple”—he actually uses your real name.

𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐲 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐧:

He will definitely sexualize you—I'm not joking. He may call you beautiful, but he often goes overboard with compliments. However, if you continue to date him, he might evolve into more of a boyfriend material over time. He struggles with communication, especially with girls, so you are the first person he’s genuinely trying to date.

𝐀𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐧:

He floods your phone with heart emojis. While he may not be able to speak, he definitely knows how to express his feelings for you through writing. He protects you and shows admiration for you in his own unique way. Art will always be present in your space, and he likes to gift you things he finds useful.

𝐄𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐲:

He's such a man-baby. He gets really shy when he first talks to you—he blushes, gets flustered, and sometimes even stutters. At first, you thought he was adorable, so eventually, you both hung out and started dating. His Ghostface side started to show a couple of months into the relationship, which took you by surprise. Even with his strange behavior, you still adored him, especially when he got jealous or possessive of you.