#blink twice if it is and blink once if its not | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

softlymellow · 2 days ago

Text

The Order Forgot Me First - Chapter 11

☆⁠ PAIRING : Anakin Skywalker x Reader

☆⁠ word count: 3.6k

☆⁠ story themes: lovers to enemies to eventually lovers

☆⁠ warnings: spoilers to swtcw, angstttt and a bit of fluff !!!!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

"He finally understood just how badly he had lost you."

Your helmet hung loosely under your arm, your boots scraping against the cruiser's floor, fidgeting. Clones began to move around you in practised order as their voices blended in with the hum of the engine.

You tried to shake off what Anakin had done to you. But you couldn’t ignore the pang in your heart.

As you waited for the LAAT gunship to depart, you couldn’t miss the way you saw Rex shifting closer to you, inch by inch.

Until he cleared his throat.

“You holding up okay, General?” he asked cautiously.

You blinked and offered him a tight smile. “I’m not a general,” you softly said, adjusting your gloves.

Rex rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish smile on his face. “You could’ve fooled me.” He said, in an attempt to make you feel better.

You offered a humorless laugh. “I’m just here to help.”

“And you’re doing more than that,” Rex said gratefully.

Across the deck, Anakin shifted.

There was a subtle roll of his shoulders, his head tilting ever so slightly as if he was pretending to study the map and not eavesdrop onto your conversation. You caught it without meaning to.

And just as fast as you noticed, you dropped your gaze. Focus on the mission. That’s all you had right now.

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

Eventually, the gunship roared as it broke the dry clouds of Saleucami, red dirt and dust flying as you descended.

You stood in the troop bay, your blaster slung across your chest and your palms sweaty. It would be a lie to admit that you’re not nervous. You had fought in battles worse than this but not without your lightsaber. It wasn’t even clipped to your belt right now.

You were a soldier now. Just like the clones. No Jedi robes, no cloak. INstead, you had armour padded fabric and tactical plates. As soon as the ship touched down, you moved.

Cody’s voice cracked through the comms.

“Rex, sweep through the pass. L/n, take the ridge and get eyes on the southern basin. There could be droids underground.”

“Copy that,” you muttered.

Once the hatch opened, the hot air hit you like a furnace. It hadn’t since you and Dev were there. Still the same dry clay pit.

Anakin wasn’t paired with you, of course he wasn’t. He hadn’t looked at you once. He with some of his own troops from the 501st, and you with some of his.

Dogma and Kix were by your back, “Keep low,” you whispered. “There might be thermal signatures by the rocks. Last time I was here, there were big cave pockets that tunnel out.”

Kix gave a low whistle, “guess you’ve been here more than us.”

You shrugged, crouching near some scorched stones and you raised your macrobinoculars. There was movement, subtly but there was movement.

“Something’s moving,” you said, marking it. “West quadrant. Might be droids.” You pulled out your rifle.

And then a separatist droid stumbled into view, sparking, dragging one leg.

You shot it clean through the processor.

And then more.

And more.

The first shots rang out faster than expected.

“L/n, cut off the canyon mouth!” Cody barked through the comms.

“Already on it,” You said with clenched teeth.

Blaster bolts sliced through the air around you. Droids were swarming.

Dogma rolled beside you, “Ridge is clear!”

You turned sharply to look and then a B2 battle droid breached through the rocks and opened fire.

Immediately, you and Dogma turned to duck under a stone, blaster bolts leaving marks on said rock.

You waited a couple seconds for the droid to automatically reload its bullets. As soon as you had the chance, you peered over and fired once –twice– at the centre of the droid. It collapsed onto the ground, dust flying as he fell.

Dogma turned to you, “I-thanks, Commander.” You nodded at him.

And then there was a flash of blue that tore through the smoke beside you.

Anakin.

It was hard to miss him, his saber blazing and his own armour now dusted red. His broad shoulders flexed with every movement. He effortlessly and confidently cut down droids in brutal strokes.

He moved by instinct. Memory. Muscle. He deflected bullets like they were nothing and his saber kept swinging and spinning its own rhythmic dance.

You couldn’t help but pause to watch. You hadn’t seen him fight like this since before Dev. And even then, you were beside him, not watching from the sidelines.

He had a careless kind of confident look on his face. His presence burned and it was impossible to not feel it.

A stray bullet flew past your head, your ears rang as you duck. It immediately broke you out of your trance, and without thinking, you covered his flank.

You continued this until the last droids began to fall. The tunnel network began to collapse itself under repeated pressure. You had watched both Anakin and Obi-wan sweep through the perimeter.

Everything was quiet now. Rex moved past you, his shoulders brushing yours slightly. “Good work, Commander.” He said casually, trying to keep it normal.

You shot him a small smile and a nod, “thanks.”

Cody knelt beside one of the wounded and talked quietly with him.

You swung your blaster across your back. You still felt exposed. Your belt felt empty. Weightless.

Cody then came up to you, his eyes measured but respectful. “I heard that the supply unit will move through this pass tomorrow now.” He nodded to you. “This mission’s a success.”

Sighing, you rubbed your eyes tiredly. “Good job, guys.” Your boots sunk in the hot Saleucami sand, leaving footprints behind.

And then a crackle came in through the comms.

“Everyone regroup at Point Bravo. Perimeter clear.” Anakin’s voice came out.

Rex and the rest of the clones marched towards the rally point. Everyone’s tired. The hot air only makes it worse. Your feet dragged behind you and every minute that passed you would try to stifle a yawn.

You could not wait to get out of this dreadful planet and scrub yourself clean.

Obi-wan and Anakin were ahead now, chatting with Cody and Rex about the mission. You followed maybe ten paces behind them. Close enough that you could hear their boots shovelling against the ground but far enough that you would be forgotten.

“I assume we will have the brief the Senate after this,” Obi-wan said, trying to lighten the weight, his hand running through his hair.

Anakin nodded, “Padme was already pressing for details on the blockade before we left Coruscant.”

You felt yourself stiffen at the mention of Padme.

And then you felt something so small. Something nudging your sides. Something pulling you back. You stopped walking and your boot dragged along the sand.

Something was here. Something was wrong.

Biting your lip, you looked back at the craters formed during the battle. And then you turned your head towards the group that are now increasingly further away from you.

“I’m gonna quickly check something out,” you called out to Rex steadily, who now turned to look at you.

The squad slowed down and Obi-wan’s head lifted to look at you warily. Anakin straightened himself too, his hand instinctively brushed against his lightsaber, his eyebrows furrowed.

He didn’t say anything and lips tightened. His body shifted and his boots ever so slightly moved —as if he wanted to go after you.

Without a second thought, you turned your back on them and headed back to the ruins. Towards the force disturbance.

Your blaster was raised and ready for anything that came. Your eyes squinted as you moved towards the left, behind some of the destruction, out of sight from the rest.

You moved some more, allowing the Force to guide you. Further.

It was like walking through a storm where you couldn’t see, you could just feel. Feel that something was wrong.

Your heart was pounding against your chest and then—

Whrrrrrp

A hum of a lightsaber sliced out from the ruins and aimed for your head. You barely ducked as the crimson blade slashed the air where you had just been.

“Arrgh!” You hit the ground hard on instinct, rolling through dust and dirt.

And immediately you began to fire your blaster aimlessly, hoping that while you fell you landed a shot. The shots were deflected with little to no effort as the saber spinned through the smoke.

The attacker stepped into view, their body cloaked, but their face…

Master Sora Bulq.

Like he was twisted by the darkside.

Sora’s blade readied to hit you but you fired again.

One shot.

Two shots.

Three shots.

Four shots.

And without fail, each shot was deflected with casual precision. Without warning, he struck down onto you. You dove sideways, your shoulder slamming into a rock and you shrieked in pain.

You twisted, wanting to kick out his lightsaber from his hands without getting your arms impaled but he was faster, meaner. The hilt of his lightsaber slammed in your ribs sending you sprawling out on the floor, knocking the breath out of you.

You rolled and your blaster fell out of your hands, your hands scrambling through the dirt.

Pain flared sharply underneath your armour as you tried to get away from the crimson of the lightsaber.

Without a second thought, Master Bulq reached out with his hands and pushed you. The force flinging your body towards a boulder. Your head slammed against the rough surface.

Thud

You couldn’t scream in pain. Your voice hoarse and all air escaping from your lungs.

Your ears began to ring and the desert began to tilt. Light burst as your eyes rolled to the back of your head for a moment. You slumped. Gasping. The taste of blood in your mouth. And then something wet dripping down your forehead.

Your fingers scraped uselessly at the ground, wanting to push but you couldn’t. They had barely moved.

Your vision blurred and the force kept screaming at you. Your eyes fluttered, trying to keep them open.

Then there was a violent shift in the force. A snap. A fit of rage.

Without warning, two figures emerged from the dust with beams of light swinging with them. Anakin dove in, throwing his saber down with full force.

You couldn’t move and your ribs screamed in pain. Your mouth agape as you try to take in small breaths, your head lulling to the side.

Hits and more hits.

You couldn’t make out anything anymore.

Their figures were blurry and you couldn’t hear anything past the ringing in your skull. You tried your hardest to stay awake, your body falling in and out of consciousness in lapse.

There were clashes and screams of laser on laser. Obi-wan threw his own arm up, pulling Bulq to the floor. His lightsaber fell from his hands and his body slumped. Anakin surged through, his saber raised to finish it.

Something muffled. Like they were talking. Or screaming. You couldn’t hear anymore but Anakin was pulled back by Obi-wan.

You couldn’t feel your shoulders or your arms. It was all numb. You fell out of consciousness. And then fell in. And out. And in.

A figure rushed to your side, the weight of their feet made a crunchy sound on the ground.

“Hey — hey.” Their voice, closer than expected. Rougher.

He tried to lift you up without hurting you any further but you fell limp and tired. Your body fell forward and collapsed immediately onto his chest.

Anakin’s.

His strong arms immediately wrapped around you before you fell past him. You tried to speak but your mouth fell open. The goddamn ringing wouldn’t go away and everything felt tipsy and blurry.

“Got you,” he muttered, so soft that it could have just said it to reassure himself.

You let him carry you, lifting your body effortlessly and so tightly that he was scared you would slip past his hands. That you would leave him.

Anakin’s breaths came fast.

His eyes darted across your bruised lips and the trickle of blood that fell down your forehead. His gloved hands cradled the back of your head. Your skin was burning and your armour was streaked with dirt and ash.

“Y/n,” He said louder now, watching the way your eyes were looking at him but not seeing him. “Stay with me.” His throat was closing up and he could feel his eyes beginning to sting.

“Anakin!” Obi-wan called out. “We need to move her to the med-bay now-”

“She’s not breathing right.” Anakin’s voice shook.. His own chest heaving and stray strands of hair fell onto his face.

“She–she…her head…and..her ribs,” Anakin struggled to find the right words.

“We will lose her if we don’t move now.”

He couldn’t lose you. Not like he lost his mother. You were right here in his arms and he wouldn’t let you go away.

Anakin moved fast, faster than he had ever did before.

The hum of the ship faded into static. You weren’t sure what had happened. When the medics had begun to work on you, the cold bacta gel against your ribs. Or when Anakin had finally let go.

If he did at all.

The world blurred. And you found yourself being pulled in. Pulled into a flicker.

A moment straight from the force.

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

You were seventeen again.

Right before the war had begun and you were just two padawans

Smiling into your pillow late at night. The temple humming with cool ambience.

Anakin had snuck into your quarters, again. You felt his hands combing through your hair, so gently. Sometimes he would braid little pieces, and they would fall out during missions.

You moved until your forehead pressed against his collarbone, your lips ghosting just above his skin.

“I wish we could be together. For real.” Your voice came out, barely a whisper.

“We are for real,” he murmured, fingers still threading through your locks.

“Mhmm,” you hummed, planting a kiss on his neck. Anakin felt a smile growing on his face, his fingers now moved to tuck the hair behind your ear. He then leaned forward, and kissed your temple once.

You didn’t say anything, pulling back enough just to see his eyes. His amber eyes that scanned your face in love, taking in every feature of yours, his fingers caressing the parts he just gazed at.

You missed this. Missed him.

Your body twitched.

And then your monitor spiked.

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

Eyes fluttering open against the blinding medbay lights, you groaned quietly. You felt your scalp tingling and your sore limbs on the bed.

There were bandages wrapped around your torso and some on your head. Your armour was gone and you were in a medical robe. It was hard to ignore just how useless you felt.

Your first mission back and you were already injured on the bed. You couldn’t blame yourself, really. You had a blaster and he had a lightsaber.

Beside you, on the chair, was Anakin. His chair was far too close than you liked. You were less than an arm's reach away from him. His clenched hands were wrapped around his body, his eyes closed with a tired but hard expression on his face.

You didn’t know what to say, if you should call out to him or ignore him.

But the force had other plans. It shifted the air in the room, causing Anakin to cautiously open his eyes, his gaze meeting yours.

Anakin’s mouth fell slightly agape, surprised that you had woken up. He cleared his throat, wanting to find the right words to say.

“I…” His voice came out low.

“How are you feeling?” He came up with.

You didn’t know what to say. There was a right between you and Anakin. Ever since the meeting, it had only gotten worse and the last person you wanted to wake up to was him.

“Fine.” You hoarsely said. Your voice clearly hasn’t been used for however long it was you were in here.

Anakin nodded, inhaling deeply to calm him down.

“You had a pretty bad concussion.” He revealed, “If he had pushed you any harder…you might not have made it.”

You stayed silent, letting the words settle in the room. Your hands absently minded rubbed the bandages, feeling the fabric in between your fingers.

“You were out for a day...Mast-” He cut himself off. “-Sora has already been handled by the council.”

You still said nothing. You didn’t want Anakin to be one to explain these things to you. You wanted Obi-wan maybe, or no one. Just not Anakin.

Anakin felt the tension in the room and gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing.

And then finally, like he was debating against it, he spoke up again.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

The words hung in the air, his voice rough and apologetic. Seeing you on the floor, your body exhausted and on the brink of death. Seeing someone's lightsaber aimed at you to kill you. It changed something inside of him. He wouldn't lose you like his mother. As he waited in the medbay for you to wake, he swore he wouldn't let himself get angry again at you. He swore he would apologise and try to fix your relationship with him.

He shifted awkwardly, his boots scuffing against the tiles.

“Back at the briefing,” his voice lowered. “I’m sorry, Y/n. I was hurt. I was angry and I didn’t mean to-”

“Angry about what?” You scoffed, a look of disbelief on your face. “You were the one who came arguing with me at the temple.”

Anakin was taken back by the sharpness in your voice.

“Dev told me.” His eyebrows furrowed.

You shook your head confused. “Told you what?”

“He told me that you listened to my messages.” Anakin said. “For the entire year.”

You flinched.

“And you didn’t respond.” Anakin’s voice grew louder but he tried to maintain his composure.

You laughed in disbelief, tears began to prick your eyes. He had no idea. He really had no faith in you that he believed you would not answer him. That you didn’t care.

“You really think I didn’t try?” Your voice broke, water began to visibly well up in your eyes that Anakin felt his stomach twist in guilt.

“I was trying, Anakin. The stupid device broke and I couldn’t relay any messages back.” Your voice cracked.

“Y/n…”

Your chest was screaming in protest under the bandages as you felt your back straighten, but you ignored it.

“You keep doing this, Anakin!” You said, your voice rising. “Over and over!” Tears began to stream down your face, blurring your vision. You couldn’t take it anymore. Even after all the shit you have been through, he had no faith. Even while you were in the med bay bed, there was no comfort. Nothing.

Anakin felt your words hit him harder than any wound he had taken in battle. He watched your body tremble under pure exhaustion and betrayal.

“Y/n, please.” Anakin extended his hand, trying to reach out to you but you jerked back like his touch was fire. And that broke something inside of him. He had hurt you to the point where you wouldn’t even let him touch you.

“And Padme?”

“Padme?” Anakin furrowed his eyebrows.

“You think it doesn’t hurt me when I see you close to her?” Your voice broke. “I used to come to you when we were together,” You pointed a finger at him. “I told you I was scared. I told you she liked you!”

Anakin’s mouth parted, stunned. “There’s nothing going on between me and Padme.” His voice was fast, not defensive but scared. Like he needed to say it before you could turn away.

You blinked. You didn’t trust him like you used to.

“You think I would’ve came running to you the second you fell?” Anakin’s throat began to close up. “I would have left your side as soon as I knew you were safe in the medbay. I would have left for the mission briefing like I was supposed to.”

He swallowed.

“It was always you.”

And then quieter.

“It’s still you.”

You weren’t crying about your injuries or the battle. You were crying because of him. Because of what he had done to you. And he hated watching you unfold like this in front of him.

Tears began to sting his own eyes —fast and hot.

“I didn’t know,” he whispered. “I didn’t know you tried—”

“I did everything I could,” you sobbed. “I was so alone, Anakin.” Your voice cracked.

“And all i wanted —all i wanted— was for you to believe in me when I came back.” You choked out, the palm of your hands aggressively trying to wipe away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” He looked down in guilt, his hair falling above his eyes, hiding them.

“I know I went too far! It’s just that–” his hands clenched, “-just something inside me — snapped.”

You shook your head, slow and exhausted. “Sometimes I don’t know who’s in there.”

“But Y/n—”

“I-I just…can’t do this anymore, Anakin.” You couldn’t stop crying now, your hands trembling.

Anakin pressed both his hands to his face and dragged them down. His chest rose and fell in ragged breaths. His mistakes crushing him from the inside.

“I’ll fix this,” he said. “I swear to the Force, I’ll fix it.”

“I don’t want you to fix this,” You gasped in another sob. “I just wanted you there.” You wanted him to help you, support you and comfort you all those times the Council spoke to you like you were nothing.

You didn’t want him to ignore you and in anger and rage.

“I’m sorry, Y/n. For all of it.”

Anakin didn’t speak again. He didn’t have anything else to say. He stood up to leave, his hands shaking and his heartbroken.

He finally understood just how badly he had lost you.

A/n: SRRY IT WAS A LITTLE LATE ive just been stuck with Uni labs all week </3 ALSOOO I REACHED 2K FOLLOWERS thxs so much yall im loving this little community on here genuinely i get so happy reading all ur asks and comments.

Taglist: @endairachristensen26 @hayden-christensen-verse @ducks118 @seventeen-x @movingalongthekiwi @ssnapsaurus @caramelfondu @dayrin085 @devilslittlehelper @f1wh0recom @green-lxght @bettysgardenswift @heyitsbeeeb @user-3113s-blog @fandomhoe101 @veronaspencil @zudooms @hiphopdancer101universe @starfire21 @devotedlypaleluminary @miksxz @lacherrysouldy @lotushzl @biddycums @wandasblacknails @moonixlity @icanmeltanigloo @isntthatsweetiguessso

if u want to be added or removed lmk!

201 notes · View notes

elikajinnie · 1 day ago

Text

P: Psycopath!Jungwon X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Dark Themes, Obsession, Mentioned Stalking, Psychological Manipulation, Yandere Behavior, Murder, Mental Instability, Dubious Content, Suggestive Content, Bondage.

Synopsis: You thought Jungwon was harmless, until people around you start vanishing. When you uncover the truth, it’s too late. He’s not just obsessed. He’s in love. And he’ll kill to prove it.

a/n: I pushed everything else away for this, but still feel its kinda rushed? (Requested by @chaerrysluv ) Reblogs and comments are highly valued!!

now playing: prom queen by insane clown posse | haunted by beyonce | two face by jake daniels | worship by ari abdul

A new start, that’s all you wanted.

Leaving behind the noise, the pressure, the mess you didn’t want to keep cleaning up. The small town you found was quiet, almost too quiet, but that’s what made it perfect. A place where no one knew your name, no one asked questions, and no one expected more than a smile and a polite nod.

Your house sat at the very edge of town, nestled near the woods and close enough to the lake that you could smell the water in the morning. It was old, with needed renovations and ivy climbing the porch railings, but it felt like something you could finally call your own. Peaceful. Private. Safe.

You enjoyed the silence that came with it, no more car horns, shouting neighbors, or blaring sirens. Just birdsong in the morning, wind brushing through the trees, and the occasional creak of the old house settling into itself. It was a kind of quiet that made you feel like you could finally breathe.

You had two neighbors, though you’d only officially met one—Minjae. Odd guy, always smelled like spices and coffee, but he was good at small talk, although he was an asshole. He’d mentioned your other neighbor once, in passing. Jungwon.

Apparently, Jungwon didn’t come out much during the day. Liked his solitude. Kept to himself.

Which explains why you hadn’t seen a hairstrand of him, and it had been over a week.

Minjae had laughed it off. Said something like, “He’s not the social type, don’t take it personally.”

You hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Some people just liked to be left alone.

But your curiosity still gnawed at you.

Jungwon’s house sat just a few trees away from your own, the rooftop visible through the gaps in the branches. And yet you never heard anything. Not the hum of a television. Not a door creaking open. Not even footsteps on the gravel path leading up to it.

It made you wonder if anyone even lived there at all.

There were no lights in the windows at night. The mailbox stayed empty, the yard overgrown but not quite wild. As if someone tended to it, just barely enough to keep up appearances.

Once or twice, you thought you saw movement behind the curtains, just a twitch, just a shift of shadow—but when you blinked, it was gone.

You tried to ignore it. Told yourself you were being dramatic.

After all, there had to be a reason Jungwon wasn’t so… well, social. Maybe he had anxiety, or health issues. Maybe he worked from home and liked his privacy. It wasn’t your business—people had their own lives, their own routines. Still, he’d have to leave the house eventually. For groceries, at least.

But every time you drove past his house on your way to the main road, the garage door was shut tight. The curtains stayed drawn. No porch lights flicked on, no signs of life behind the windows just stillness. As if the house had fallen asleep and never quite woken up again.

Sometimes you’d linger a second too long at the stop sign near his driveway, eyes scanning for movement.

Nothing.

and you tried not to think too hard about it.

Until… well, until you had to.

Because you saw him.

For the first time in a whole fucking month you caught sight of him.

It was late, the kind of late where the town felt like it didn’t exist. You couldn’t sleep, your head too full, so you decided on a walk to clear your mind. The air was cool, crisp, the scent of pine thick around you.

You hadn’t even looked toward his house at first. But something, some shift, some instinct made your eyes flick in that direction.

And there he was.

Standing just at the edge of his porch, his head was tilted slightly, like he was listening. Like he’d heard you coming. He wasn’t doing anything special. Just… standing. Watching with his eyes on you.

You froze.

For a second—less than that, really you wondered if he was sleepwalking. Or if he’d heard something outside. Maybe he’d just stepped out for air, like you.

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t wave. Didn’t speak.

Just stood there, staring like you were the unusual thing here. Like you were the one being observed.

Your heart picked up.

You gave a tight nod, a polite gesture, and turned your feet back toward your driveway.

You didn’t go on that walk.

After that night, things changed. You started seeing Jungwon more and more. Never during the day—never when others were around. Only in fleeting moments, when the world was still and the street lay empty under the quiet hush of twilight. Sometimes it was random. A glimpse of him at the edge of the trees when you stepped out to water the garden. His figure crossing behind a window as you passed by on your evening run. Always distant. Always brief. Other times… it felt timed. Too perfectly timed. Like the moment you’d open your front door to leave for work, and there he’d be, standing just outside his garage, as if he’d been waiting. Not doing anything, not even pretending to look busy. Just there. Eyes meeting yours for a fraction too long before he'd turn and vanish inside again.

Or the night you came home late, headlights sweeping across his driveway and caught him sitting on his porch steps in the dark, staring down the road. He didn’t flinch at the light. Didn’t look away. You locked your doors extra tight that night. You told yourself it was coincidence. A weird neighbor with a weird schedule. Nothing more. But the sightings kept happening. And soon, you realized—you weren’t just noticing him. He was watching you notice him. And not once, not ever, did he smile.

It got harder to pretend it was just coincidence.

Especially when it kept happening. When your door creaked open for the mail and he was suddenly at his window. When you went to take out the trash and heard footsteps stop like someone had been walking and suddenly paused.

And it was always just too late to catch him in the act.

Until the night it wasn’t.

You’d been out late, visiting the small 24-hour market on the edge of town, grabbing tea and snacks to distract yourself from the way your nerves had been crawling lately. The streets were empty on your walk back, save for the steady crunch of gravel under your shoes.

You turned the corner to your street and nearly dropped the bag.

Jungwon was standing in front of your house.

Not near it. Not passing by.

In front of it.

Facing your door. Like he’d been knocking. Or about to.

But he didn’t flinch when he saw you. Didn’t seem startled at all. Instead, he turned to face you slowly, as if he’d known you were coming all along. And then, he smiled.

Not a small smile. Not a polite one.

A wide, bright grin that split his face in a way that was so perfect, with dimples creasing both cheeks so deep it made him look innocent.

That was the first thing you noticed—his dimples.

The second was how his eyes looked. Catlike. Slanted and sharp, like he was amused by something only he understood. His nose scrunched slightly as he spoke, voice light and pleasant.

“Sorry to bother you,” he said, holding out a medium-sized box. “This was left on my porch this morning. Must’ve been delivered to the wrong house.”

You blinked, caught completely off guard. His tone was so casual. So normal.

“I figured I’d give it to you myself. Didn’t want it to get wet or anything,” he said, flashing another grin.

And just like that everything you’d suspected about him, the unease and the quiet dread… it all slipped quietly out the window.

Because how could someone with a smile like that be dangerous?

“Thank you,” you said quietly, reaching out to take the box from his hands.

Your fingers brushed his.

And for a second, you paused.

He wasn’t cold exactly, not like ice but there was a definite chill to him. Like he’d been standing outside far longer than you’d thought. Or.. like the warmth just didn’t quite reach his skin the way it should.

Still, he didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did and just didn’t care.

“You always keep your lights on late,” he said, his voice softer now, like he was sharing a secret. “It makes the street look… nicer. Brighter.” His eyes flicked to your porch light, then back to you. “Makes it feel less lonely out here.”

You gave a small smile, unsure of what to say. Trying to steer the conversation somewhere more neutral, you asked, “Have you lived here long?”

He nodded. “Long enough,” he said easily. “I know this town like the back of my hand. Every street. Every shortcut. Every sound the woods make when the wind picks up.” Then, with another smile—this one smaller, more thoughtful he added, “I think I was here before most people on this block.”

There was something in the way he said it. Not proud. Just… certain.

Like this place was his long before it had ever been yours.

You held the box a little tighter to your chest, not out of fear, but instinct. There was something about Jungwon that kept you suspended between comfort and unease, it was like he balanced delicately on a wire stretched between charming and unknowable.

He didn’t move right away. Just stood there, eyes flicking between you and the soft glow coming from your windows. “I’m glad you moved here,” he said suddenly, voice lower this time, like it wasn’t meant to be heard too loudly. “It’s nice having someone new on the street.”

You offered a tight smile, nodding slightly. “Yeah… it’s been nice so far. Quiet.”

He hummed at that. “It’s always quiet. That’s why I like it.”

A pause.

Then, he took a single step back, giving you space.

“Well,” he said, dimples flashing again, “I’ll let you get back inside. Long day, I’m guessing.”

You gave a quiet “yeah,” not entirely trusting your voice.

He nodded once more, then walked towards his house without another word. He didn’t rush. Didn’t even glance back.

But you watched him the entire time until his figure disappeared into his house, where the lights seemingly never seemed to turn on.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Jungwon let out a slow breath and leaned back against it, eyes fluttering shut.

So pretty. So flawless. Smells good. So lovely. So unmarked. Can’t stop wanting. Need. Desire. I need. All mine.

The thoughts circled like vultures, silent and persistent, scratching at the corners of his mind. They’d come on strong the second your fingers brushed his, just one small touch, but it had burned into his skin like a brand. A delicate moment, but to him, it felt like the world tipping off its axis.

He dragged his hands down his face and clenched his fists tightly at his sides, nails digging crescents into his palms.

Resist.

His breath shuddered.

Don’t want to.

You were just so... warm. So real. The light from your door still echoed behind his eyes, the shape of your smile hauntingly clear.

He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep grounded. Had to remind himself not to get carried away. But even then, the restraint was paper-thin.

Need. Must have.

He opened his eyes slowly.

Then rubbed his face with both hands, dragging them down with a muffled groan before tossing his head back to look up at the ceiling. “God,” he breathed, a strained laugh curling at the edge of his voice. “This is ridiculous.”

He groaned again, this time quieter, as if giving in to something he’d been fighting for too long. The thoughts were too loud tonight. Too vivid. You had been right there. Smiling. Talking. Trusting.

He let his hands fall to his sides, fingers twitching.

And then… he smiled.

Not from joy.

From surrender.

Because it was over now, any hope of pretending he didn’t want you. Of pretending this was something he could control.

You were close. Too close.

And that was all he needed.

Because in his mind, you belonged here. With him.

You weren’t much of a morning person. Waking up was always a slow, miserable process, each second before your alarm spent burrowed under warm covers, clinging to the last traces of sleep.

Although recently… sleep hadn’t been so kind.

You’d been plagued by dreams. Vivid ones. The kind that jolted you awake in the early hours, chest heaving, skin clammy, heart pounding like you’d sprinted through a nightmare, but they weren’t nightmares. Not exactly.

Because every time, it was the same.

Jungwon.

His face. Too close. Too clear. Smiling like he knew something you didn’t. Eyes dark and unreadable. His voice softer than usual, lower, like a whisper curling against your ear, warm and invasive, sending shivers down your spine. His hands… you didn’t even want to think about his hands. But you did.

Even now, you could feel the phantom sensation of them trailing along your arm, brushing your waist, resting against your throat like a promise.

And every time you closed your eyes, you saw it all again.

You hated how real it felt. Hated how your body reacted. Most of all… you hated how it left you wide awake, every damn night, staring at the ceiling in silence.

And you didn’t even know why you reacted like this.

You’d only had one real conversation with him—one—but your mind and body refused to let it go. It looped endlessly, the smile he gave you, the way his fingers brushed yours, the soft timbre of his voice as he spoke your name like he’d practiced it before. It wasn’t normal. None of this was normal.

But maybe that was on you.

Maybe it was your own fault for always falling for the morally grey characters in books and movies. For crushing on the charming villains. For feeling your heart skip a beat when the dangerous ones smirked from across the screen. You liked characters with sharp edges. Broken things. The ones that looked at the world like it was something they wanted to hold and tear apart all at once.

And Jungwon… well. He had that look.

The kind that made you wonder what he was thinking. What he wanted.

Even if he gave off a strange, unsettling vibe sometimes.

You really tried to put distance between yourself and Jungwon. It should’ve been easy right? After all, the guy was practically a ghost. Barely ever seen outside his house, silent as the shadows that clung to the edges of the street. You thought avoiding him would be simple. You told yourself it was just your imagination running wild, that the strange pull you felt wasn’t real.

But it wasn’t that simple.

Somehow, in the span of just a few days, you’d become a light and Jungwon the firefly, constantly drawn to you. The harder you tried to keep your distance, the closer he seemed to come. It was like the universe had conspired to make you the one person who could pull him out of the shadows.

You weren’t sure if it was just curiosity that kept making you look, kept making you wait just a little longer for the next chance encounter.

And no matter how much you told yourself to look away, to keep moving, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was exactly where he wanted to be, lingering just at the edge of your life, waiting for you to let him in.

You weren’t the only one who had noticed Jungwon’s strange behavior—or rather, his rare appearances. One afternoon, as you were closing the gate to your little house, Minjae’s car pulled up smoothly beside you. He rolled down the window with a friendly grin, starting up a conversation like he always did. It was lighthearted, normal chatter about the weather and how quiet the neighborhood had been lately.

Then, without warning, Minjae lifted his hand and waved toward something behind you. You turned around instinctively, following the direction of his motion, and your eyes locked onto a figure standing on the porch of the house next door.

Jungwon.

He was just standing there, still as a statue, but his eyes were fixed entirely on you. Not just glancing or casually watching, but staring, like he was trying to memorize every detail of your face. Your heart skipped a beat, and you found, almost against your will, that you couldn’t tear your gaze away from him.

It was Minjae’s voice that pulled you back to reality. “You know,” he said with a half-laugh, “you’re a miracle worker.”

You blinked, puzzled. “What?”

He nodded toward Jungwon again, still watching you from his porch. “I mean, look at him. He barely leaves the house, right? And now here he is, actually outside, and you’re the reason. You’ve somehow brought Jungwon out of his shell.”

You chuckled nervously, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “I don’t know about that. I’m just living my life.”

Minjae smirked, obviously not convinced. “Come on, tell me your secret. What did you do to make the impossible happen?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off, but Minjae was insistent. Then, with a casual ease that made you pause, he said, “Honestly, only someone as pretty as you could make that kind of miracle happen.”

The words hung in the air, but something about them felt… off.

It wasn’t like when Jungwon would call you pretty. That compliment was different, almost shy, like it came from a place of quiet admiration. The way he said it made you feel seen in a way that was almost tender.

Minjae’s words, on the other hand, felt like a label. Like an objectifying gaze, rather than genuine praise. It was as if he saw you as a prize or a tool, a way to coax Jungwon out, rather than a person in your own right.

You forced a smile, but inside, a little knot of discomfort tightened.

With Jungwon, you often found yourself wondering why he isolated himself from the world. When he was with you, he was warm, engaging even charming in that quiet way of his. He made you laugh, made you feel seen. There were times when you completely forgot he was ever the reclusive neighbor you’d only heard about from a distance. Around you, he seemed normal. Happy, even.

And maybe that was what made the contrast so jarring when you tried to leave.

It started small.

“Stay a little longer,” he’d say, voice quiet, hopeful. “Just until the rain lets up.” Even when there was barely a drizzle.

Or, “I made coffee. Your favorite,” even though you never actually told him what that was.

Little things. Little excuses. And the more time you spent with him, the more you began to realize that he didn’t want you to leave him.

He’d linger at your gate, walking you out only to hold onto your sleeve as you turned to go. His fingers would brush your wrist and he’d offer one more reason. “It gets so quiet when you’re gone.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that.

There was a neediness to it—not desperate, or dramatic but quietly intense. Like he wasn’t just fond of you, but dependent on your presence to stay grounded. You noticed how his shoulders drooped when you said goodbye, how his gaze followed you all the way until you disappeared from sight. How sometimes, when you didn’t come by, he’d appear at your door with some vague excuse, or a “hey, just checking in.”

He never said the words, but you could feel them lingering between you...

Please stay. Don’t go.

But you would never admit the fact that you kind of… liked the feeling. There was something about the way Jungwon looked at you, like you were the center of his universe. Like your presence alone kept his world spinning. He was a yearning man—and you were into it. Maybe it was a little twisted. Maybe it should’ve creeped you out. But it didn’t.

It made you feel wanted. Needed. Chosen.

And that quiet hunger in his eyes? It was hard to ignore. Harder not to feel a little thrill every time you caught it.

You were, in fact, so distracted by Jungwon the past week, your thoughts wrapped in the way he said your name, the way he smiled when you laughed that you hadn’t even noticed something else. Something small. Something strange.

You hadn’t seen Minjae.

Not once.

No casual waves as he passed by in his sportscar. No afternoon chit-chat over the fence. No light in his front window. The last time you remembered speaking to him was that day outside your gate. When Minjae had joked that you were a miracle worker for dragging Jungwon out of hiding. When he’d called you pretty.

That compliment still sat uncomfortably in your mind. Not because it was unwelcome, but because it felt... off. Too direct. Too aware of something you hadn’t even admitted to yourself yet. Something that made your skin itch under the surface.

You shook the thought off again.

Minjae was probably just busy. Or out of town. People had lives. You shouldn’t overthink it.

Still, you felt it was suspicious.

Minjae was the kind of neighbor who always made his presence known. Whether it was a wave from his porch, a casual comment over the fence, or him pulling up just to chat—he was there. Almost too often, sometimes. So for him to just vanish without so much as a goodbye? No lights on at night. No deliveries left on his doorstep. No sound from his side of the street.

It didn’t sit right with you.

You told yourself not to spiral, not to start imagining worst-case scenarios. You weren’t in a movie, and Minjae was probably just on vacation. People disappeared for a few days all the time. But something about the stillness around his house made your gut twist.

So when you finally gathered the courage to ask Jungwon—half-laughing, trying to keep it casual “Hey, have you seen Minjae around lately?”

He didn’t laugh with you.

He just looked at you for a moment too long, head tilting ever so slightly. Then that same soft smile returned to his face, and he said, “People like him tend to drift off when they’re not needed anymore.”

You blinked at him, unsure if you’d heard right. “What do you mean by that?” you asked, trying to sound casual. Curious, not alarmed. But there was an edge to your voice even you couldn’t mask.

Jungwon didn’t answer right away. He just kept smiling. That same soft, calm expression that had started to feel more and more like a mask. Like something carefully placed.

Finally, he shrugged lightly, looking off toward the trees lining the back of your neighborhood. “Some people... they like being in everyone’s business. Always asking questions. Watching. They forget their place.” He looked back at you then. “Eventually, they get bored. Or they bother the wrong person. And then they leave.”

His words were still gentle. His tone kind. But something about them felt heavy. Measured. Too intentional to be offhanded.

You laughed, nervous. “You say that like it happens often.”

Jungwon leaned a little closer, eyes gleaming like he knew something you didn’t. “In small towns,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, “it happens more than you’d think.” Then he straightened again, brushing invisible dust from his sweater like nothing had happened. “Anyway,” he added brightly, “you’ll be fine. You’re not like him.”

You forced a tight smile. “Yeah?”

Jungwon nodded slowly, but his gaze shifted over your shoulder before he could answer. His eyes narrowed just a little, then lit up, like he’d spotted something that genuinely delighted him. “Oh—” he said suddenly, voice perking up. “You got new flowers for your porch!”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in tone. “Oh… yeah,” you said, turning to glance at the small planter box near your front step. “Picked them up yesterday. Thought the place needed some color.”

“They suit you,” Jungwon said warmly, stepping closer to peer at them like they were the most interesting thing he’d seen all day. “Bright. Soft. Kind of hard to ignore.”

You swallowed, unsure if he meant the flowers at this point or you.

He crouched down slightly, fingers brushing the edge of one bloom without picking it. “You’ve really made this place yours,” he murmured.

You looked at him, unsettled by the way his attention lingered on the petals like they were something precious. Fragile. “Did you… ever talk to the people who lived here before me?” you asked quietly.

Jungwon stood again, that easy smile back on his face. “No,” he said simply. “They weren’t worth getting to know.” And just like that, he turned to you again. “Want help watering them later this week? I’m good with plants.” His head tilted. “Or I could teach you.”

Your heart beat faster, but you nodded slowly, trying not to let it show.

“Sure,” you said. “Maybe.”

Jungwon’s smile widened. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

As time passed, the line between comfort and dependency blurred.

Jungwon had a way of filling your space without ever overwhelming it. A warm smile, a quiet presence, a helping hand before you even asked. He was always there when you needed something. A lightbulb fixed, a jar opened, a walk shared when you were feeling low. It felt natural. Easy.

You didn’t even notice how often you reached for your phone to text him before anyone else. You didn’t notice how you hadn’t seen Minjae or anyone else, really in weeks. It wasn’t like you meant to drift from the rest of the town. You were just busy. Focused. Comfortable.

Jungwon made it easy to forget.

He never told you to stop going into town. He never said you couldn’t visit others. But somehow, whenever you tried, something got in the way. Plans fell through. People stopped responding. Your car wouldn’t start. A “small accident” at the store left you rattled, and Jungwon was the only one who showed up to help.

“Coincidences,” he’d hum, brushing your hair back from your face. “This town’s weird sometimes, isn’t it?”

You’d nod, resting against him. Trusting him. Because he was safe. He was there.

You didn’t question why you always felt so tired when he wasn’t around. Why it felt wrong to laugh too loudly with anyone else.

Jungwon never rushed. Never forced.

He was a slow, calculated tide that wore down your edges until all that remained was his shape. His name on your lips. His hands that you reached for. His words that echoed in your head late at night.

You didn’t notice the strings he tied around you. Not until they were woven too deep to undo.

Because why would you?

Jungwon was your sweet, harmless, and totally normal (handsome) neighbor. The kind of guy who remembered your coffee order after hearing it once. Who fixed your mailbox without asking. Who brought you soup when you had a cold and stayed just long enough to make sure you took your meds. Who smiled like the sun only rose if you were there to see it.

Sure, there were tiny moments, flickering seconds where something darker peeked through. Like when his voice dropped just a little too low when someone else said your name. Or how his eyes didn’t follow the conversation, but followed you. How once, just once, you saw red stains on his sleeve, and he brushed it off with a laugh: “Cooking mishap, you know how clumsy I can be.”

You had blinked, hesitated and then smiled back. Because he was so normal about it, so casual, that you felt silly for even asking.

Because every time your instincts whispered run, Jungwon countered with warmth, with gentle words and soft chuckles. He smoothed over your worries like wrinkles in a bedsheet. Wrapped you in the illusion that you were safe, wanted, loved. And eventually, you stopped listening to that inner voice. Because it was easier. Safer, in a way. After all… it wasn’t like he was hurting you.

Right?

Just caring for you.

in his way.

And in fact, that was his downfall.

He had gotten too close. Too used to your warmth, your attention, your trust.

That’s why it didn’t feel wrong to surprise him. It felt sweet. Thoughtful. Just like all the little surprises he gave you. And after all, he hadn’t been feeling well lately, said he was tired, worn down. So you had baked him muffins, his favorite kind, warm and sweet with a hint of cinnamon. You even wrapped them in a cloth to keep them from getting cold.

Smiling to yourself, you made your way up his driveway, your breath puffing softly in the chilly evening air. The trees rustled around you, the old swing on his porch creaking slightly in the wind. You bent by the old tree stump and lifted the loose bark, retrieving the spare key he didn’t think you knew about. But of course you did. Jungwon always forgot how observant you could be.

You turned the lock and pushed open the door.

Darkness. As always.

The thick blackout curtains were drawn tight, swallowing all natural light. You stepped inside and closed the door gently behind you, the soft click echoing a bit too loudly for your liking. The air was still. Cool. That unnatural cold that clung to his house no matter the season. You had always teased him about it. "You live like a vampire, Won," but he’d just smiled and said your place was cozier anyway.

Balancing the plate of muffins in your hands, you bent to untie your shoes, calling out lightly, “Jungwon? I brought you something!”

Silence.

You straightened, furrowing your brows. That was odd. Usually by now, he’d be thundering down the stairs like an excited puppy, a grin on his face and the dimples you secretly adored showing.

But nothing.

Just quiet.

You stood still for a moment, letting your eyes adjust to the dimness. The only sound was the low hum of the fridge in the kitchen, and the faint creak of the house. You stepped further in, your socks brushing against the cool wood floors.

“Won?” you called again, voice a little softer this time. A little more cautious.

Still no answer.

Weird.

Your fingers curled tighter around the plate. Maybe he was asleep? Maybe he’d taken something for the headache he’d mentioned and was knocked out? That wouldn’t be unusual.

But even as you told yourself that, something felt… off.

You moved deeper into the house, past the living room where the furniture was always too clean, too untouched. Like it was for show, not use.

“Jungwon?” you called again, softer now, unsure if you wanted an answer. Confusion gnawed at you. He was always here. He always answered. Even when tired, he’d greet you with a smile. So where the hell was he?

You turned back toward the front door, heart picking up as you considered just going home and calling him later. But then—

Your eyes dropped to the floor.

Your steps faltered.

There, near the hallway that led toward the kitchen, a faint discoloration marred the wooden boards. Faint streaks that stood out starkly against the polished surface. You took a slow, cautious step forward and crouched down, squinting.

Stains.

Your brows furrowed. Wet-looking. Dark.

Your fingers twitched, tempted to reach out but you stopped yourself. That wasn’t juice. That wasn’t water. And Jungwon… Jungwon hated mess. He vacuumed twice a week. He color-coded his closet. He folded your hoodie when you left it on a chair once and jokingly called it “chaos.”

You stood, pulse quickening now, and looked further ahead. The stains didn’t stop there, they trailed forward in uneven drags. Like something had been pulled.

You followed, slow, careful steps guiding you past the silent kitchen. The stains eventually stopped at a door you hadn’t paid much attention to before.

A door with a padlock that was now hanging open.

You stared at it.

This was the basement.

You remembered him telling you offhandedly, once, that he didn’t like going down there. Said it was dusty, cluttered, not worth the trouble. And you’d believed him. Why wouldn’t you?

But now? Now as you stood with a clear head?

Now that excuse felt wrong. Off-key. Hollow.

Because how could someone like Jungwon, so meticulous leave a whole part of his house in disarray? Let it sit, untouched, messy? It didn’t add up. Not when everything else about him screamed control. Cleanliness. Perfection.

You reached out slowly, fingers brushing the cool metal of the doorknob. You hesitated, your heart thudding heavily in your chest. Something was wrong. You felt it. Knew it. But curiosity.. It had already sunk its teeth in.

Hesitantly, you fully opened the door, cringing at the sharp clang as the padlock slipped from its hook and hit the wooden floor. The sound echoed louder than expected, like it didn’t belong in the stillness of this place. You froze, ears straining.

Nothing. No footsteps. No sound of Jungwon calling out. Just silence.

You exhaled, slow and shaky, then leaned over to peer down the narrow staircase. It was steep, poorly lit, and the air wafting up from below hit you like a wall.

Metallic.

Old.

Foul.

You wrinkled your nose, instinctively covering it with your sleeve. “Jesus, Jungwon…” you muttered to yourself, trying to play off the chill climbing up your spine, “you seriously need to find the source of that smell. It’s atrocious.”

With the plate of muffins still awkwardly cradled in your arm, you gripped the banister and took your first step down. Each board creaked beneath your weight, announcing your presence. You moved slowly, not even sure why you were whispering your movements into the quiet.

The further you descended, the colder it became. Not the kind of cold that came from lack of heating but the kind that sank into your skin, heavy and unnatural.

Jesus, Jungwon really sets the basement mood, you thought bitterly, forcing a weak laugh that died in your throat as soon as it left your lips.

Your foot hit the cold concrete at the base of the stairs, and with trembling fingers, you reached up to tug the dangling string of a single bulb. The old lamp crackled, flickered once, and then sputtered to life with a low buzz.

The basement flooded in dim, yellow light and your breath caught in your throat.

You were going to be sick.

In the corner, a cluster of large black waste bags were stacked on top of each other like a grotesque sculpture. The floor beneath them was stained dark red, the sticky sheen of old blood glistening faintly in the light.

Your gaze jerked to the wall, where tools hung in a perfect, obsessive arrangement, neat and polished, despite the horror of their placement. But the table directly beneath them… that was a different story.

The tools there were used. Bloodied, dried chunks clinging to their edges. A bone saw. A scalpel. Pliers. Things no sane person kept in their basement.

Your knees nearly gave out as your eyes swept further across the room and that’s when you saw them.

Chains.

Heavy metal chains hanging from the ceiling, swaying slightly as if someone had moved them just moments ago. And in the far right corner, barely lit by the bulb, a man was hanging by his wrists. His head lolled forward, body limp. Blood soaked his shirt, streaked down his arms. You couldn’t tell if he was alive or dead.

Behind him, resting too casually on another worktable, was a chainsaw—massive, streaked in fresh crimson, its handle glistening.

You dropped the plate of muffins.

It shattered on the floor, ceramic and chocolate scattering across the bloodstained concrete like confetti at the world’s sickest celebration.

Your breath hitched, your pulse roaring in your ears.

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

Your body was shaking, your head reeling. You didn’t know if you wanted to scream or throw up—or both. The sight before you was grotesque, a sickly distortion of everything you thought you knew. Your skin felt too tight for your body, your lungs too small for your breath. Panic buzzed like static under your skin, your heart pounding so violently in your chest you swore it would give out.

The air smelled like rust and rot. The kind of scent that clung to your clothes and hair.

You wanted to cry, but your body was in too much shock to produce tears. Your eyes just stung, dry and wide, unable to blink, unable to look away.

And then—your gaze lifted.

A cork board.

Right in front of you.

That’s what made you move. That’s what made your brain finally snap into place, as your body responded before your mind could even fully comprehend it. You stumbled back with a choked breath.

The cork board was covered in photos. All of you.

Some were recent—your walk to the grocery store last Thursday, when you thought you felt someone watching you. You sipping coffee on your porch. You closing your gate behind you. You in your kitchen window, tying your hair up. One of you sleeping... inside your bedroom.

Your knees gave out and you hit the floor, palms scraping against the concrete. A dry sob wracked through your chest.

They were pinned in perfect rows, marked with little notes scribbled underneath in tight, obsessive handwriting.

“Blue sweater. Pretty. Smiled at me today.” “Talked to Minjae. Upset.” “Slept at 2:43 AM. Dreaming again?” “Jealous. Looked too long at cashier.” “No one else but you”

And beneath the board, on a small table, a journal. You didn’t want to touch it, didn’t want to know, but your body moved on its own. You flipped it open, and it was pages and pages of more—more pictures, sketches, descriptions. Timelines.

You were being studied.

Stalked.

Catalogued like a beloved pet or a future possession.

You were so caught up in the horror you didn’t notice anything else until a soft giggle rang out behind you.

You whipped around so fast it made your vision blur, the motion jerking your whole body like a snap. Whiplash shot through your neck and shoulders, but it didn’t matter.

Because standing there… was Jungwon.

His clothes were spattered in red. His face, normally so calm and sweet, now twisted into something else. Something delighted. Like he was genuinely happy to see you.

And in his hands… was the chainsaw.

You glanced to your left. The one you’d just seen moments ago on the table. The same one. But he hadn’t passed you.. Hadn’t made a sound... How had he—

Jungwon giggled again, eyes raking over you from head to toe like you were his favorite thing in the world. His tongue peeked out to wet his lips, and then he tilted his head, speaking in that same gentle, lilting voice he always used when he dropped by your porch with tea or borrowed sugar.

“I told you not to come, didn’t I, baby?” he said, voice light and lilting. “Told you I didn’t want you catching whatever I have.”

He smiled again, wider this time.

Like this was all some elaborate joke. Like he wasn’t holding something meant for destruction. Like he hadn’t just shattered the thin glass of the world you thought you understood.

Your heart thudded so loudly it drowned out everything else. You didn’t know whether to run… Or scream. Or beg.

You tried to speak, but your throat tightened and your words caught in a choking sob. “Please… just leave me alone,” you managed to choke out, voice trembling and barely a whisper. “I don’t want.. I don’t want any of this. Just… go away.”

Jungwon didn’t move. Didn’t blink. He simply stood there, watching you with those cold, catlike eyes that seemed to pierce right through you before he let out a short, almost amused laugh. “That was… cute,” he said, tilting his head to the side like you were an interesting puzzle. “But no,” he whispered, his voice dropping into something softer, almost tender, but no less chilling. “I would never leave you alone. Not now. Not ever.” He stepped closer, the chainsaw forgotten at his side as his gaze locked onto yours. “You’re everything I need. Everything I want.”

Jungwon set the chainsaw down with unnerving gentleness, as his fingers found the thick, bloodied rope hanging from the handle and tightened it around his hands with slow movements, his gaze never once leaving you. His eyes were heavy-lidded and glassy, like he was somewhere far away, but still utterly focused on you.

“This won’t hurt at all, baby,” he said in a dazed, almost hypnotic tone, each word dripping with unsettling sweetness. “Just need you to stay still…”

Your heart slammed against your ribs, panic exploding inside your chest. Desperation drove your hand to the nearest object on the table: a heavy, cold wrench. You gripped it tightly and swung with everything you had, hoping to catch him off guard.

But Jungwon was faster. His hand shot out like a striking snake, wrapping around your wrist and halting your movement mid-air. A shock ran through you when you realized the wrench was stained with fresh, sticky blood—your fingers now coated in it, too. Your stomach turned violently, bile rising.

You let out a raw, terrified scream, the sound tearing through the heavy, silent air of the basement. You struggled, twisting and pulling to free yourself from his grip, but he only pressed you harder against the unforgiving surface of the table.

Jungwon’s lips parted in a chilling, high-pitched giggle as his voice dropped to a whisper, laced with cruel amusement “No one can hear you scream. I soundproofed the basement myself.”

Before you could fully register the weight of his words, he gripped the bloodied rope tightly in his hand. Without hesitation, he wrapped it swiftly around one of your wrists, the coarse fibers biting into your skin as he pulled it tight, securing the knot with a practiced hand. Your pulse raced, panic flooding your senses, and just as he reached for your other wrist to bind it as well, a sudden surge of desperation propelled you into action.

With every ounce of strength, you drove your knee sharply into his groin. The sound of his breath catching was almost as loud as your pounding heartbeat. Jungwon groaned, doubling over in pain, clutching himself, his grip on the rope loosening instantly.

The moment was yours.

You stumbled backward, adrenaline lending power to your legs, and pushed past him, your breath coming out in ragged gasps as you scrambled toward the stairs. Each step felt like it dragged you closer to freedom, even as your body screamed for relief.

When you reached the basement door, you threw yourself against it with everything you had. The door slammed open with a brutal crash, echoing off the walls as it violently hit the wall. You barely had a moment to catch your breath before scrambling upright, ignoring the sharp sting of the rope cutting into your left wrist as you moved.

Your mind was racing, heart hammering painfully against your ribs, drowning out Jungwon’s desperate shouts trailing behind you.

“Wait! Don’t leave me! Please! Come back!”

Panic surged through your veins, and you forced your legs to carry you faster, your bare feet slipping inside your damp socks as you stumbled out into the cold night air. The back door was just steps away, the only real chance for escape. Your fingers fumbled with the handle, finally wrenching it open as you spilled out into the wild darkness of the forest.

The trees stood tall and unyielding, shadows blending with the night sky, but you didn’t hesitate. Moss cushioned your frantic footsteps as you pushed forward, branches clawing at your arms and face, but you barely registered the scratches. Your entire focus was on putting distance between yourself and that suffocating basement.

Behind you, the dreadful sound started low at first, the unmistakable growl of a chainsaw revving to life. It cut through the stillness of the night like a predator’s roar, and terror twisted in your gut. Your breath came in ragged gasps, lungs burning as you pushed harder, every muscle screaming in protest.

The chainsaw’s roar grew louder, relentless, a nightmare chasing you through the forest’s tangled embrace. Your eyes darted around wildly, searching for any glimmer of safety, any break in the endless trees. But all you could do was run, run with every ounce of strength you had left because behind you, the nightmare was catching up.

Every time your foot caught on an exposed root or a patch of uneven earth, you hit the forest floor hard but every time, you pushed yourself back up. Dirt clung to your hands, leaves stuck to your clothes, and your knees throbbed from the falls. Still, you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

You cursed yourself silently. Running into the forest had been a mistake. The fear had taken over, and your only thought had been escape, an exit, any exit. In the rush, you’d completely forgotten the front door, the one that opened onto the street, onto people, onto safety. But now you were too deep. You couldn’t even see Jungwon’s house anymore, and turning back wasn’t an option.

The only thing keeping you from breaking down entirely was the quiet.

The chainsaw was gone.

The loud, gut-churning roar that had chased you through the trees had faded, leaving only the sound of your ragged breathing and the whisper of wind through the branches. You slowed to a stop near a cluster of tall pine trees, bracing yourself against one of them as you struggled to steady your breath. Your chest rose and fell in quick, sharp movements, heart still pounding in your ears.

The silence was eerie, but it was also the first chance you had to really think.

Maybe he gave up.

Maybe he couldn’t track you in here.

You let out a shaky exhale, closing your eyes. The rope still tied around your wrist felt heavier now, a bitter reminder.

Then— A breath.

Not yours.

It ghosted over your neck before a low, almost gentle voice said, “There you are.”

Your blood turned to ice.

Jungwon’s arms came around you like a lover’s embrace, one hand pressing over your mouth before you could scream. The other wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. He was warm. His heartbeat against your spine was steady. Calm. Unlike yours.

“You really made me chase you,” he whispered, sounding more amused than angry. “That was naughty, bunny.”

You shook your head, whimpering under his palm. He just chuckled, leaning closer so his breath brushed your ear.

“Did you really think you could run from me? After everything we’ve shared?” His voice dropped, coaxing. Mocking. “After all the time I spent making you mine?” He slowly pulled his hand away from your mouth, waiting to see if you’d scream. You didn’t. You couldn’t. Fear had strangled your voice.

“That’s what I thought,” he whispered sweetly, brushing your hair back with blood-stained fingers. “Let’s go home now.” His tone was gentle, coaxing… but behind it, there was iron. Finality. You could feel it in your bones.

You didn’t resist as he turned you in his arms. Not yet. Not now. But your mind was racing. Because if you were going to survive this, you’d need to be smarter. Smarter than him. Smarter than the sweet nightmare with a smile stitched in lies.

You let him lead you back—half pulled, half dragged—through the forest. Your wrists were bound tightly in front of you with the same rope he’d tried to use before, now knotted so expertly there was no hope of slipping free. The scratch of branches against your skin barely registered. Your mind was a blur of white noise and racing thoughts, flipping through options you didn’t have.

Jungwon didn’t speak as he walked. His grip on your arm was firm but not painful, almost like he thought this was normal. Like he believed this was still salvageable. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. He looked content enough.

You needed a plan.

Something.

Anything.

That’s when you saw it up ahead—the ravine. It wasn’t huge, but the drop was enough to matter. The slope wasn’t a sheer cliff, but it was uneven, slick with moss and just far enough across that it might buy you time. If you could make it.

You had one shot.

You slowed your steps, carefully adjusting your breathing as if you were calming down, eyes softening when you glanced at Jungwon. “I’m sorry,” you murmured, just above a whisper, letting your voice tremble with fake vulnerability. “You scared me… that’s all.”

He stopped, blinking down at you like you’d just confessed something precious. His expression melted into something close to adoration, lips parting slightly.

“You don’t have to be scared of me,” he said, voice so soft it nearly caught in the breeze. “I just want to take care of you.”

That was your cue.

You leaned forward, lifting your bound hands like you were going to touch his face. He leaned in instinctively—lovesick and completely unaware.

Perfect.

With everything you had, you pulled your fists back and slammed them into his face.

His head snapped to the side, a startled grunt escaping his lips as he staggered, cussing out. Blood sprayed from his nose, and for the first time, his expression twisted, not in pain, but in disbelief.

You didn’t wait to see more.

You ran.

You sprinted full force toward the ravine, legs screaming, lungs burning. Your socks slipped on the mossy ground, but momentum carried you. You didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

And when you reached the edge, you leapt.

Your stomach dropped as you flew through the air, barely making it to the other side. Your knees hit first, hard, sending a jolt up your legs. You scrambled on all fours, digging your fingers into the earth, dragging yourself up over the edge.

Then you turned.

Jungwon was still on the other side.

His nose was bleeding, smeared red down to his chin. His chest rose and fell with short, rapid breaths. His hair was wild now, curling damply at his forehead from the sweat and heat of the chase. But it was his eyes that froze you in place, wide, crazed, and fixed on you like a predator denied its kill.

He didn’t shout.

He didn’t move.

He just stared, fists clenched at his sides, rage and obsession twisted into something inhuman across his face.

You stood, still shaking, backing away one slow step at a time. You didn’t blink.. You couldn’t. Not with Jungwon staring at you like that, chest heaving like he might leap across the ravine after you.

And then… something in him snapped.

His lips curled into a grin, and his head tilted, ever so slightly. “Oh, you bad bunny,” he called out, voice sing-song sweet and bone-deep wrong. “Running… hiding… making me chase you. Tsk, tsk. You know this is pointless, right?”

His smile widened, blood staining his teeth now. “You’re only prolonging the inevitable. But that’s okay. I like the thrill.”

You didn’t stay to hear the rest.

You turned and ran.

You finally burst through your front door, heart pounding wildly as if it might leap right out of your chest. Your legs trembled, but you forced yourself to keep moving, scrambling toward the kitchen, desperate to find something sharp to cut the ropes binding your wrists.

You rifled through drawer after drawer, panic making your hands clumsy.

A breath, close and warm suddenly brushed your ear.

“Caught you,” Jungwon murmured, voice low and dangerous yet oddly gentle. He moved quickly before you could comprehend anything, strong hands grabbing you and flipping you around before you could react. Your tied arms went over his head, and around his neck as his grip tightened, pulling you close until your chest pressed firmly against his.

He brushed the stray strands of hair away from your face with an almost tender touch, his fingers lingering on your cheek just long enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Making me lose control like that... bad bunny,” he whispered, his voice low and velvety, dripping with teasing warmth.

Before you could even find the words to respond, his lips pressed against yours, hard and shockingly electric. The suddenness of the kiss caught you completely off guard, your breath hitching as your body froze in surprise.

Taking the chance, Jungwon deepened the kiss, his lips parting slightly as he leaned closer, holding you tight against him. His hands tangled gently in your hair, pulling you just enough to claim your attention fully.

Your mind raced, heart pounding like a wild drum in your chest. Every nerve seemed to ignite beneath his touch, caught between fear and something you couldn’t quite name. You wanted to pull away, in gact your instincts screamed at you to, but the strength of his hold and the kiss kept you rooted in place.

His breath mingled with yours, warm and heavy, as he slowly eased the pressure, giving you just enough space to catch your breath but not enough to break the hold. His eyes searched yours, dark and deep, like he was trying to read every hidden thought inside you.

“See?” Jungwon murmured softly, his voice a mixture of challenge and affection. “You don’t want to run away after all.”

He tilted your chin up gently, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate line across your bottom lip. “Now be still,” he whispered, voice low and coaxing, “so I can give you exactly what you need, bunny…”

me now:

══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

Perm taglist: @ilyunjina @nshmrarki @laylasbunbunny

@wensurr @immelissaaa @simj4k3 @vegahrid @03sunoos

@hollxe1 @moonpri @cherriesfine @badtzsan @anushkaaaiaiiaiaia

@heeseungbabydoll @wondash @renjiishot @demigodmahash

@strawberrieswithchocolateo3o @honeybunnee @jjongstar111

@enhaprettystars @zorange13 @jiminie-08 @chocowonnie

@enhamonsterghoul @mrsjjongstby @bussolares @kiripimaspillow

@sumsumtingz @norucking @tunafishyfishylike @txnwvc

@jakeluvrrs @firstclassjaylee @xnatqq @arclviie @aussie-boys-wife

@vvenusoncasual @bamguetismee @cristy-101 @lynreiii

323 notes · View notes

starmaidengarden · 2 days ago

Note

Can I request Riddle rosehearts with a s/o that has a big inferiority complex 😫? for example they didnt confess to him (until he did) because they thought he was too good for someone like them. Pleaseee!

— riddle : x gn!reader. Self-esteem struggles, Emotional distress. dividers: uzmacchiato

Heartslabyul's rose gardens were usually where you felt the most at ease. Maybe it was the scent of fresh blossoms or the meticulous rows of red and white that spoke of control—perfect and orderly, everything in its right place. Things you never felt about yourself. You weren’t sure when your admiration for Riddle turned into affection. At first, it was simply respect. He was brilliant, confident, articulate—everything you weren't. Even in his strictness, there was a sense of purpose. People either feared or respected him, and in your case… it was both. But quietly, as time passed, something softer took root.

You loved the way his expression softened when he talked about the Queen of Hearts’ rules, how he sometimes adjusted his collar when flustered, and especially how hard he tried to be better than the boy he'd once been. You knew the stories—Trey had told you some, Cater had filled in the rest with dramatic flair. Riddle wasn't perfect. But he was trying. And that made him feel even further away.

But you? You weren’t strict or smart, or powerful. You struggled with things others breezed through. You often second-guessed your own existence in a room. And what did you have to offer someone like him? A heart too small, a voice too hesitant, and eyes that rarely met his. You could never be his equal. So you stayed quiet. Until he didn’t.

You hadn’t expected him to show up at the garden that afternoon, red robes fluttering in the wind and an expression unreadable. You were watering the roses. You barely registered his presence until his shadow crossed over yours. “I’ve been looking for you.” Your heart jumped. “I... I didn’t break any rules, did I?” looking back heart still beating. He blinked. “No. This isn’t about rules.” Then, with a short breath: “It’s something I would like to tell you.” Your grip on the watering can tighten.

“I wanted to speak plainly. I've thought about this long enough.” Riddle stood straighter, his voice calm but betraying a tremble of nerves. “I’ve admired your gentleness. Your quiet dedication. Your way of listening—not just hearing, but understanding. You see things in people that others miss. I—” He hesitated, eyes burning crimson, “I thought I’d made it obvious.” The silence that followed wasn't romantic. It was suffocating. You stared down at the ground. “I like you,” he repeated, more softly. You almost dropped the watering can. Your chest caved in on itself. “You shouldn’t.” His head tilted slightly. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re... ,” you said painfully. “You’re brilliant and respected and strong. And I’m—” “Stop.” His voice was sharp, commanding, but not unkind. “Don't say that about yourself!” You flinched. “But it’s true. I’ve always been behind everyone else. I can’t cast spells, I’m not clever in class, and I mess up when I speak. I’m nothing like you. You’re the top student in the dorm. Why would someone like you ever look twice at someone like me?” The words spilled out like poison, old wounds you’d kept buried for too long.

Riddle stepped forward, slowly, as if approaching a frightened animal. “Is that why you never said anything? Why you avoid me when I tried to speak with you more... personally?” You nodded, eyes brimming with tears you hadn’t realized had formed. “I thought you were just being kind. Or... polite. I didn’t think I was even an option for you.” Riddle was quiet for a long moment. Then he spoke with a clarity that made your breath catch. “I never cared about status, or power, or magic ability—not when it comes to you. If anything, I envied how you made people feel at ease, how even the first-years come to you for comfort. You carry warmth in a way I... struggle to.” You looked at him then. Really looked

“I’ve made so many mistakes thinking everything had to be perfect. But the truth is, I like you because of how you are, not despite it.” His gloved hand reached for yours, tentative, but not trembling. Your breath hitched as your fingers curled into his. “I don’t expect you to believe it right away,” he said quietly. “But I’ll remind you every day if I must. Until you can see what I see.” You choked out a laugh through your tears and leaned into the warmth of his palm. For the first time in a long while, you let yourself believe—maybe you weren’t too little. Maybe you were just enough.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst headcanons #twst x reader #riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle x reader #twst riddle

96 notes · View notes

barnesonly · 8 hours ago

Note

i need more of dad bucky!!

Here you go!

Warrior

dad!bucky barnes x reader

summary: braiding your daughter’s hair is too much for a super-soldier apparently… but he still tries!

tropes: fluff, girl dad bucky

word count: 458

It started with a scream.

Not the scary kind, more like the frustrated, five-year-old kind. You paused mid-pour with the pancake batter, listening.

“Daaaaaad! You’re pulling too hard!”

“Sweetheart, I’m trying—I just—okay, okay, hold still, I think this is how Nat said to do it once—ow! don’t hit me with the brush—!”

You set the bowl down and leaned in the doorway of your daughter’s bedroom, already biting your lip to keep from laughing.

The sight was priceless: Bucky sitting cross-legged on the floor with your daughter on a little stool in front of him. Her thick curls were wild, halfway wrangled, the brush stuck at an awkward angle. He looked genuinely stressed, like he was defusing a bomb with one hand.

“You okay there, Sarge?” you teased.

Bucky glared at you, not seriously. “She said she wanted two braids. Not one, not a ponytail. Two. Like a warrior princess, specifically.”

“I am a warrior princess!” your daughter mumbled and crossed her little arms.

Bucky ran a hand through his own hair and sighed. “I know, I just didn’t know warrior princesses needed so many bobby pins.”

“Maybe if you didn’t brush so hard—”

“Maybe if you didn’t have such strong hair—”

You stepped in before it devolved into full-on civil war. Kneeling behind them, you gently took the brush from Bucky and untangled the section he’d been wrestling with. “Okay, Daddy’s learning. How about we show him together, huh?”

Your daughter pouted, then nodded. “Okay. But he has to watch.”

Bucky raised both hands in surrender. „Okay, okay… I’m watching.”

She pointed sternly at him. “No pulling. No tying it so tight my brain can’t breathe.”

Bucky blinked. “That happened once.”

“Twice.”

You giggled and parted her hair while explaining each step to Bucky slowly — how to separate the strands, how to fold them over each other, how to tuck loose hairs in with your fingers. He leaned in like she was a mission briefing.

When you finished one braid, he took over the other side. Clumsy, careful fingers, tongue poking out slightly as he concentrated. Your daughter sat perfectly still, her small hands resting in her lap. When he was done, it was a little crooked, a little loose but perfect in its own messy way.

“Ta-da!” he said, proud evident in his voice.

Your daughter turned to the mirror, then to him. “It’s not bad.”

Bucky put a hand over his heart. “Not bad?” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair „Well… I’m getting there, alright?”

She launched into his lap and hugged him hard. “I know… Thanks, Daddy.”

He wrapped his arms around her, eyes soft as he kissed her head. “Anytime, sweetheart. Just don’t tell Sam I learned braids, or he’ll never let me live it down...”

#marvel #bucky barnes #barnesonly #james buchanan barnes #writing #mcu #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #dad!bucky barnes #oneshot #buckybarnes oneshot #fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fanfic

67 notes · View notes

jennxxe · 2 days ago

Text

Dessert redemption arc.

pairing — bobby campbell x fem! reader

summary — bobby has an allergic reaction to a dessert. overall this one is short ‘nd fluffy <33

warnings — peanut allergic reaction, unprofessional restaurant, cursing, u lose ur shit for a moment

a/n — had to write this to cope with fd6.

It happens so fast.

One moment Bobby’s laughing through a mouthful of dessert, all cheeks and dimples and that dopey little sparkle in his eye as he offers you a bite of whatever rich chocolate thing the waiter swore was safe. The next, he’s gone quiet. Too quiet.

He coughs. Once. Twice. Then grabs at his throat.

“Bobby?” you say, your smile fading as the color drains from his face. His blue eyes are wide, scared—he’s already wheezing. His hand fumbles at his chest like he’s trying to find air and can't.

“No, no, no— fuck,” you hiss, already out of your chair. “Peanuts?”

He nods, barely, lips turning blotchy. You practically shove the table aside, ignoring the startled gasps around you, and haul your bag into your lap with shaking hands.

“It’s okay,” you mutter, yanking out the EpiPen. “You’re okay, I’ve got you, Bobby, just breathe—try to breathe—”

You kneel beside him, grip his thigh to steady your hand, and jab the pen into his outer thigh in one smooth motion. His body jerks. You count, whispering, soothing, brushing the sweaty blonde strands off his forehead as his breathing slowly claws its way back from the brink.

“You’re okay, baby. You’re okay,” you murmur against his temple, your voice tight. “I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

A waiter hovers nearby. “Should I call someone?”

“No,” you snap. “Call the manager.”

Bobby’s chest is still rising too fast, but color is coming back into his face. His hand squeezes yours.

“Hey,” he whispers, rasping through the adrenaline crash. “You… look kinda hot when you’re mad.”

You blink hard. Then stand up, fury rising with the full force of the adrenaline now that he’s not dying.

“Who served this?” you bark, spinning toward the nearest staff member. “I told you. I told you before we even ordered. Peanuts. Anaphylactic. And you nodded like you understood, so tell me—what was in that dessert?”

The waiter stammers something, but your voice cuts through like a blade. “He could’ve died. Do you get that? Dead. Gone. From one bite.”

Behind you, Bobby’s still catching his breath. Still alive. Still safe. He looks up at you from the booth, eyes a little glassy, mouth trembling into a soft, grateful smile.

“I think I need to marry you,” he says hoarsely.

You snort and crouch down again, kissing his temple. “You need to not die from a peanut first, baby.”

“Y-yeah..” he says sheepishly, a blush creeping up his face.

You bring him home because he’s still a little shaky, even though he tries to pretend otherwise.

“Bobby, you literally had a whole brush-with-death moment like thirty minutes ago,” you murmur, unlocking your door while he trails behind you like a sulking puppy.

“I’m fine,” he whines, but his voice is still scratchy, and his hand stays curled loosely in yours. He looks pale, tired. His hoodie sleeves are pulled over his palms like a kid trying to disappear into himself. And the worst part?

He’s pouting.

“That dessert was so good,” he sighs, dragging his feet behind you. “Why would something that tries to kill me taste so nice? That feels illegal.”

You stop in the middle of the kitchen and turn. He’s looking at the floor like the answer might be hidden in the tiles. Your heart cracks just a little at how genuinely betrayed he looks.

“Okay,” you say gently, tilting his chin up. “Then I guess it’s time I blow your mind with desserts that won’t try to assassinate you.”

His eyes brighten. “Wait. You mean...?”

You open the fridge dramatically. “Peanut-free cookie dough ice cream. Chocolate cupcakes I made yesterday—safe. And strawberry mochi.”

He blinks. “You had all this ready?”

“I have a boyfriend with a sweet tooth and a tragic allergy,” you say, nudging him toward the couch. “I plan ahead. Now sit. You’re being doted on.”

Bobby lets you push him down onto the cushions, blush creeping up his neck like a rising tide. “You’re seriously spoiling me.”

You crawl up beside him with a tub of ice cream, a spoon, and one very serious look. “You almost died. Let me spoil you or I’ll start crying again and you’ll feel bad.”

He laughs, soft and sweet. You feed him a bite, watching the way his whole face lights up like you just handed him a miracle.

“Oh my God,” he moans around the spoon. “This is better than the poison dessert.”

“That’s the goal.”

Later, once he’s full of sugar and finally starting to relax, you tug him down until his head’s in your lap. Your fingers trail through his hair, combing softly, and he sighs like he’s never felt this safe in his life.

“You’re so good to me,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut.

You press a kiss to his forehead. “Always will be.”

He hums, cheeks still faintly pink, and curls closer. “I’m never eating anything without asking you first again.”

“Good,” you say, stroking his hair, your voice low and sure. “Because I like keeping you alive.”

#final destination bloodlines #final destination x reader #final destination 6 #bobby campbell #bobby campbell x reader #final destination franchise #the final destination #final destination

66 notes · View notes

loversmantra · 2 days ago

Text

LOCK YOUR PHONE!

synopsis. a secret relationship. a fantasy.

content. itoshi sae x cisfem!reader. aged up characters (+20). fluffy but suggestive. implied sexy times. profanity. secret relationship. sending and receiving nudes. sae's kinda possessive in this but there's nothing crazy. lowercase intended.

wc. 1.3k

message from noe. i adore him i fear... listen to billie bossa nova by billie eilish for a better experience. been wanting to write something based on this song for a while and i thought sae fit perfectly! enjoy.

there’s a warm body in sae’s bed.

his still asleep brain takes a second to make the connection; the softness of you under him is no longer a feeling he’s used to. he puts two and two together, eventually, and wraps his arms tighter around you. awake, but unwilling to let the moment end, he buries his face into your neck.

too late. you stir, push yourself away from him. he can’t bring himself to blame you: it’s hot in the room, hot under the sheets.

there will be no more sleeping for him, but it isn’t too late for you — with that thought in mind he too rolls away, blinking once, twice, context coming back to him as his surroundings do.

the bed is neither his nor yours, though he could have put that together himself — the satin sheets gliding on his skin in such an alien way.

creams and soft pinks blur before his eyes, pale under the early morning’s light. paris. the hotel room he booked for you in a haze, almost feverish in his longing for you.

the downside of keeping a relationship under wraps, he supposes: his noose-tight schedule and the hawk eye of the public force meetings to be few and far in-between, the secret protected like crown jewels. he knows you’re tired of it; he knows because he is, too. it’s exhausting, constantly looking over his shoulder when taking you to his place, or on his way to yours. it’s exhausting, always having to find a different hang out spot, for fear of the media figuring him out. it’s exhausting, waking up and wondering: is today the day the world sinks its teeth into you?

sae’s never cared to keep secrets, at least never willingly — he says things as they are, does things as they need doing, full transparency, if it’s up to him.

it’s exhausting, it is. but that’s just one more thing on the list — and it’s so. damn. worth it. every downside comes with an upside, or else itoshi sae wouldn’t ever bother.

these hidden moments sae shares with you, no one else is privy to them. only he gets to know you like this, love you like this, warm and soft underneath him. no one knows because no one needs to know. just you and him.

no one gets to see you in your entirety: the shine of your eyes when they land on him; the loving curve of your mouth as you smile at him.

everything that belongs to you. for him only.

the face you made when you first entered today’s suite will stick with him for a while, he thinks. the pure delight and adoration shining in your eyes. your lips parting in wonder. all for him. all because of him. your princess room, that’s what you’d called it. a child’s dream, delicate in its simplicity, crushed and torn apart by the cruel world’s sharp, sharp teeth. stitched back together by him.

he knows how it feels, to be ripped to shreds. he’s glad he can do this for you, at the very least.

the world awakens and so does he; slumber slipping through his fingers as he rubs it away from his eyes, tiny sand grains leaving a small sting behind. he slept well. better than usual.

his phone is still on do not disturb. he doesn’t bother checking the time.

sae sits up, covers dropping to his thighs. beside him, you stir again, whine a little. maybe you can feel him leaving, even now in your sleep, feel the shadow of his absence. maybe you’re just bothered by his movements rocking the mattress. either way, you sleep. finding his pants in the mess of the suite bedroom, without the aggressive light of his phone’s flashlight to aid him, proves to be no easy task, but he manages eventually. he slips them on and slips away, closing the bedroom door softly.

it isn’t much brighter in the living space. the lazy sun is barely rising, only the idea of it permeating the gradual brightening of the sky.

phone still clutched in his hand, sae lets himself drop on the abnormally large leather couch, massaging the tender spots you viciously bit into his neck. with just a few swipes, he’s opened his camera roll. time to collect the prize: the surprise you leave for him after every passionate encounter.

the first time you did it, he didn’t even notice until a few days after the fact, when he went browsing through his pictures for a home screen-worthy photo of you.

there it was: a beautifully crafted souvenir of the time spent together. the flash of his phone camera punctuating every shot, barely noticed in the heat of the moment. the red of the set you wore that day.

selfies of you before, and after. your lingerie still intact — and the canvas of your chest painted purple by his loving mouth. not a single video, but at least a dozen pictures: of you, of him, of the two of you together.

a gift from you to him — one that had his blood boiling, had him flushed, aching, yearning all over again.

he sent you his favorite of the bunch — a mirror selfie of you, chest painted purple, a teasing finger pulling your bottom lip down — followed by a question mark. a wordless interrogation.

finally, thought you were never gonna see them, 11:22pm

-is the answer he got.

want more? 11:23pm

and he did. and he got more.

it’s been a while, since then — long enough for it to become a tradition, a little present left in his phone after a secret rendez-vous. so you don’t forget me, you joke.

but how could he?

he’s learned a lot, since that first time. the most important: you’re a fucking tease. lighting, cropping, outfit, pose, it’s an art form to you, down to the time it is for him, when you press send. more often than not, he gets the pictures in the middle of the day, when he can see but can’t do anything.

you’re decent enough to warn him beforehand, at least.

you better lock your phone ;)

and then the raunchiest picture he’s ever seen — you outdo yourself every time — is all over his screen. he’s had many, many close calls. you don’t stop. he never asks you to. he loves the damn pics.

always pictures, never videos — they’re not your thing, he’s learned. not that it matters.

sae would’ve never guessed you’d be such a great soft porn photographer.

the couch’s leather sticks to his skin as he moves, trying to get just a bit more comfortable. he’s about to open his camera roll, ready to unwrap his present, when shuffling near his head startles him out of his reverie.

“why’d you leave?” you murmur, voice still rough with sleep.

you’re completely wrapped in a thin sheet, the only barrier between his hungry eyes and your soft, soft skin. the only glimpse he gets is that of your ankles. a small golden chain rests there, snug. his name is spelled out among the links, hidden. for his eyes only. his chest constricts, almost painfully.

he doesn’t answer; only opens his arms so you can take your rightful place tucked against him. you lay down, covering the both of you with the sheet.

the sun finally peeks from below the horizon, warming your face. it’s peaceful.

“i didn’t want to wake you,” sae decides to say.

you shrug. “more time with you.”

he feels the same — still, your sleep and your comfort take precedence over anything, for him. over anything.

you look so beautiful, like this. waking the sun, blessed by its gentle glow. for his eyes only.

it won’t last. he knows it won’t — secrets never stay secret for long. but for now, simply living like this is enough, more than enough. enjoying the sun. enjoying you.

sae slept well. better than usual. you’re warm on his chest, traces of you warm on his skin. there’s a present waiting for him in his camera roll.

it won’t last — but it won’t hurt to enjoy it while it does.

you fall back asleep quickly, lulled by his steady heartbeat. he follows easily. his dreams are swaddled in creams and soft pinks, and the warmth of the sun on his chest.

#☆ — by noe #❥ — sae #bllk #blue lock #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae #itoshi sae x you #itoshi sae x y/n #blue lock x reader #blue lock scenarios #blue lock x you #itoshi sae fluff #itoshi sae smut #blue lock fanfiction

58 notes · View notes

bearforcecaptions · 1 day ago

Text

He didn’t own a dog. Yet, there the pup was—brown and white, muscular but mellow—snoozing peacefully at the foot of his bed when he woke up.

The morning light crept across the room, sliding past the blinds in lazy shafts of gold. He blinked once, twice, then sat up slowly, his sheets pooling at his waist. His first thought was that someone else’s dog had gotten in. That there must’ve been some mistake. But that thought—like so many others that morning—felt far away, like it belonged to a different person entirely. As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, the weight of confusion should’ve settled in. Should’ve made him ask questions. Panic, maybe. But none of that came.

Instead, his head was heavy. Thoughts sluggish. The kind of mental haze that clung like a fog after too many drinks or too little sleep. He stared down at the dog. It looked back with warm, trusting eyes and wagged its tail once, softly, like it had known him forever.

He opened his mouth to speak—to say, "Whose dog is this?"—but no sound came. Only a breath. Only stillness.

He stood slowly, his body aching in places that didn’t usually ache. Shoulders stiff. Hips tighter than usual. He chalked it up to a bad night’s sleep. Maybe too many push-ups the day before? But then… had he even worked out yesterday? That thought drifted away just as easily as it came.

Padding barefoot into the hallway, he stepped over a leash. Black nylon, a little frayed. Familiar, somehow. Had it always been there? It didn’t matter. His mind barely brushed the thought before letting it go, moving on like a record skipping past a scratch. His attention was fixed now on the kitchen, drawn like gravity to something that didn’t feel quite right.

He turned the corner. Stopped. Tilted his head.

Two stainless steel bowls sat by the fridge. One filled with water. The other, kibble. And next to them, a bright red rubber Kong toy smeared with peanut butter. He squinted at the items like they might disappear if he blinked. They didn’t. Of course they didn’t.

Of course.

His eyes trailed up to the fridge, where a magnet now held a printed schedule labeled “Rex’s Feeding & Walk Times.” His fingers traced the paper. His name was printed on it. His handwriting in the margins. Notes about vitamins, poop consistency, weather preferences.

The haze in his head thickened, not with panic, but with acceptance. Like the fog of a dream that was too real to question. Like slipping into a warm bath and forgetting what cold ever felt like.

He scratched absently at his chest and wandered into the bathroom. A clump of dog fur clung to his towel on the floor. Dog shampoo sat beside his own products. “Oatmeal & Chamomile.” He lifted it, sniffed it. It smelled… comforting. Like walks in the park. Like routine. Like him.

He caught his reflection in the mirror and paused.

His face. It looked the same—but subtly different. His jaw was stronger. Cheeks slightly leaner. His eyes looked more focused, less foggy. His biceps seemed to stretch the sleeves of his shirt more than they used to. He flexed one arm, watching the tricep pop just a bit. Weird, he thought. But not wrong.

He leaned in, seeing a faint shadow along his jawline. Stubble. That hadn't been there last night, had it? He ran a hand across it and smiled softly, like it was some old friend returning home.

By the time he wandered back to the bedroom, the place had transformed further.

The wall art had changed: a framed photo of him with Rex on a hiking trail. A pair of muddy boots stood by the door where his loafers used to be. A stack of Runner’s World magazines cluttered the coffee table, next to a tangle of resistance bands and a phone charger plugged into a different model of phone than he remembered owning. The wallpaper on the screen showed Rex curled up next to him on a couch he didn’t recall buying. But it was his couch. Had always been.

He sat down and slipped on a pair of worn sneakers—the ones by the door that hadn’t existed an hour ago. He didn’t question them. They fit like they were made for him.

Rex barked, eager now, tail wagging near the leash. It was time. Of course it was time.

He clipped it on, his movements smooth and practiced. The leash felt good in his hand. Familiar.

As he stepped outside, the sunlight washed over him. His shirt stretched tighter across his chest than it had minutes ago. The fabric subtly shifted as he walked, darkening to a deep olive green, hugging muscles that seemed just a bit fuller with every step. His shorts rode higher now, revealing thighs that had thickened into the kind of legs that knew what squats and lunges were.

He didn’t notice his gait changing. Didn’t notice his posture straightening, growing more confident. His stride widened as if his legs needed more room. His calves bunched and flexed with each step, stretching the knit of his socks, and his arms swung with casual, athletic ease.

People passed him and smiled. He nodded back. A woman jogged by and waved.

“Morning, Nate,” she said.

He smiled, returned the wave. “Morning,” he said, voice deeper now, with a timbre that carried.

...Nate?

He blinked. That… was his name. Right? Of course it was.

A soft buzzing from his phone pulled his attention. He pulled it from his pocket—same phone as before now, but with a lockscreen notification: “Client session at noon – don’t forget to bring the resistance bands!”

His fingers tapped it away without a second thought. He was a trainer. He’d always been a trainer. The fog in his head was clearing now, not all at once, but in soft increments like mist burned off by a rising sun. Every moment outside, every step, he became more himself. The new real self.

His height ticked upward subtly, joints stretching imperceptibly, each vertebra adjusting until he stood a solid two inches taller than he had inside his apartment. His jawline sharpened just slightly more. The stubble thickened across his face, giving him the rugged edge of a man comfortable in his skin. His eyes, once sleepy and confused, now held clarity. Focus. Experience.

By the time he reached the park, he was the man everyone expected him to be.

Tall, fit, confident. Athletic shorts, green fitted shirt, earbuds in. He checked his client schedule with a small frown of concentration. Three sessions today. One at noon, two later in the afternoon. He’d need to grab another protein shake after this walk.

Rex trotted happily beside him, tongue lolling.

“Good boy,” Nate said, kneeling to scratch behind his ears. “We’ll hit the trails this weekend, huh?”

Rex barked in approval.

The world felt solid. Balanced. Perfect. There was no echo of who he’d been that morning. No memory of a dogless apartment or a different face in the mirror. The transformation was complete. Mind, body, and life.

And somewhere, deep beneath the haze that had long since lifted, the old self faded like morning mist—replaced entirely by the man walking tall into the rest of his day.

#male transformation

52 notes · View notes

scriptumsempra · 2 days ago

Text

Constellations

Wordcount: ~2.1k Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC (no Y/N) Rating: G / T Warnings: No major warnings. Just yearning, freckles, and a touch of denial.

Six hundred fifty-five steps—give or take a breath or a stumble.

Fifty gone with the shortcut through the courtyard. Another eight, if her laces behaved and she didn’t have to circle back. She was headed to stargaze—naturally. The stars were the only thing she’d ever chased, but thank Merlin Arithmancy hadn’t been a total waste.

Six hundred seventy-four… six hundred seventy-five. Twenty more since she last counted— from the quiet of her bed to where the sky spun its silver thread. She was made of rituals. Same stones, same shortcuts, same breath held through the moving stair, same hundreds of steps. All for a bit of sky. The stars had always been her refuge. On quiet nights, she’d find herself counting her steps to Astronomy Tower, a borrowed telescope on one arm and ink-stained cuffs brushing the charts rolled under the other.

There was something infinite about the cosmos, something that made her feel small in the best possible way. She adored how the patterns connected across the night sky, drawing maps of stories and myths older than Hogwarts itself.

But lately—somewhere between Aries and Andromeda—her rituals began to shift. Her fascination towards constellations remained; if anything, it just took on a new shape : less chart, more chaos. It drifted from the heavens to something—or rather, someone—far closer. Less sky, more freckles. They were distracting. Not in an irritating way, but in a way that made her chest tighten every time he leaned in—no matter how close. They dusted his face like tiny stars—scattered across his cheeks and nose in patterns she itched to trace (if only her courage let her. But courage? That’s for Gryffindor). She noticed them once. Occasionally twice. His freckles were magnetic—subtle, quiet, yet utterly consuming. And perhaps worst of all: they looked too much like the stars she’d spent her days chasing. Those constellations on his face—She didn’t merely see them. She studied them. As though their arrangement might reveal something hidden. Sacred. Something no one else had thought to look for.

“You’re staring,” Sebastian said one afternoon in the library, his voice lazy, teasing, not even looking up from his parchment.

“I’m not,” she shot back—too fast, too unconvincing.

His smirk widened, and he leaned forward—too close, if you asked. “You are,” he insisted, his amber eyes glinting with mischief. “Don’t tell me you’re finally falling for my devilish good looks.” She rolled her eyes, ignoring the flush creeping into her cheeks. “You mean delusional.” But her retort lacked their usual edge, and Sebastian must have noticed because his grin tilted, then softened. Less mischief, more curiosity. “Alright, then,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “If you’re not staring, what are you doing?” She hesitated. Her gaze flicked—betraying her—to the dusting of freckles on his cheeks. “Nothing,” she muttered, far too quietly to be convincing. “Nothing,” he repeated, leaning closer still. His voice dropped, low and teasing.

A pause.

“Is this about my freckles?”

Her breath hitched. Fingers twitched. He caught her—red-handed. Say no. Laugh it off. Change the subject. But instead, the truth slipped through. “They look like constellations.”

Sebastian blinked, his playful smirk faltering. For once, he seemed genuinely taken aback. “Constellations?” he echoed, his tone softer. She nodded, her cheeks burning under his gaze. “Yeah,” she said, barely louder than a whisper. “They remind me of the stars.” Beautiful. (Not that she’d ever say it out loud.) The silence that followed was deafening. She risked a glance, fully expecting him to laugh or make some witty remark. No laughter. No remark.

Instead, his expression softened in a way she rarely saw, his usual cheekiness giving way to something far more vulnerable. “Stars, huh?” he said at last, the corners of his lips tugging into the faintest of smiles—soft, hesitant. Uncertain. Her heart stumbled, her fingers clutching the edges of her parchment in a desperate attempt to ground herself. “Don’t let it get to your head, Sallow,” she mumbled, voice lacking its usual bite. His grin returned, warmer this time, more sincere. “Too late,” he said, leaning back slightly but still watching her as though her words had carved a small, permanent place somewhere inside him.

Later that night, as she sat under the vast expanse of the night sky, her telescope pointed toward Orion, her thoughts lingered on him. It felt absurd, comparing freckles to the stars. But as she traced the familiar lines of the constellations above, she couldn’t help but think of him—

Of the patterns she’d memorised on his face.

Of the way he’d looked at her in the library, as though she’d just handed him the universe. Another six hundred and seventy-five steps. Another night spent chasing more than stars.

Astronomy was her favourite subject. And Sebastian? He was her favourite constellation.

#Hogwarts Legacy #Hogwarts Legacy fanfiction #Sebastian Sallow #Sebastian Sallow fanfiction #Sebastian Sallow x MC #Sebastian Sallow x f!MC #Sebastian Sallow x Reader #Slow Burn #No Y/N #Hogwarts Legacy Oneshot #Oneshot #Sebastian Sallow Oneshot

41 notes · View notes

sonics-atelier · 2 days ago

Text

𝐀𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬, 𝐄𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫

To @irithiadourden,

Summary: Eris buried his tyrant father, spiraled into an emotional crisis, and accidentally made out with Tamlin by his grave—because grief and unresolved sexual tension always go hand in hand.

WC: 2K. Read On AO3 Here or below the cut.

. . .

The funeral pyres had long since guttered out, leaving only the scent of char and cypress drifting through the amber-drenched glade. The ceremonial rites were over, the courtiers had dispersed, and still Eris stood—alone beneath the arching limbs of a dying oak, its leaves curled gold and rust-red like embers captured mid-fall. His posture was statuesque from a distance, regal even, but up close, there was a subtle tremble to his fingers, as though he couldn’t quite let go of something he no longer needed to hold.

He was not mourning Beron. Not in the way a son typically mourns a father. But grief, he had learned, did not always follow logic or tradition. It could be sharp in strange places. Cold where you expected heat. And on this particular dusk-tinted afternoon, with the world quiet around him and power freshly laid across his shoulders like an ill-fitting mantle, Eris felt… unmoored.

He didn’t hear the footsteps. Didn’t register the soft crunch of twigs behind him or the breeze stirred by another's presence. Only when a firm hand tapped his shoulder did he jolt, whirling so fast that a dagger of flame flickered at his palm before flickering out just as quickly.

Tamlin stood there in a dark green tunic that matched the forest shadows, gaze steady and warm despite the cool edge to the air.

“Sorry,” he said, not flinching from the sudden magic. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

Eris blinked, heart thudding erratically, though not from the scare. “You didn’t,” he murmured, voice rough. “I just wasn’t… paying attention.”

Tamlin tilted his head, the early evening light casting gold through his hair. “How are you doing?”

The question hung between them like mist. Eris opened his mouth to say fine, to brush it off with his usual sardonic flare, but the lie caught in his throat. Something about the way Tamlin looked at him—patient, solid, real—unraveled the easy evasion.

So he shrugged, helplessly, like a leaf giving in to wind.

Tamlin’s hand slid from his shoulder to his palm, and Eris startled at the contact. Not because it was unexpected—Tamlin had touched him before—but because the warmth felt like an anchor he hadn’t realized he needed. The fluttering in his chest was instant and unwelcome. Or perhaps… far too welcome.

Without a word, Tamlin guided him down to the forest floor, the moss cool beneath their legs, dappled with fallen leaves in ochre and flame hues. With a flick of his fingers, Tamlin summoned two bottles of scotch from wherever he kept such comforts hidden. Autumn clung to them both: in the chill threading through their clothes, in the breath-fog between them, in the color of the liquor itself—rich as burnt topaz.

Tamlin unscrewed the cap and handed Eris a bottle. “Try again,” he said softly, watching him closely. “How are you, really?”

Eris stared down into the bottle, the liquid trembling slightly with the unsteadiness of his grip. He swallowed hard—once, twice—and Tamlin, ever observant, watched the movement of his throat with more attention than was strictly platonic. His own breath caught. Gods, he thought, let me be what he swallows next.

“I should be happy,” Eris finally muttered, voice cracking around the confession. “Beron is dead. I’m High Lord. I have what I wanted. But I don’t feel… anything. Or maybe I feel too much. I don’t even know.”

“That’s still a feeling,” Tamlin replied after a long pause, his voice gentle but certain. “Emptiness doesn’t mean you’re broken. It just means you’re clearing space for what comes next.”

Eris turned to look at him, a faint smile breaking across his otherwise solemn features. “That sounds like something Lucien would say.”

Tamlin smirked, taking a sip of his scotch. “Probably. I listen, sometimes.”

They sat like that for a while, side by side, as the wind carried the scent of woodsmoke and the last flowers of summer into the hollow. Eris drank, slowly now, his long fingers curling around the bottle like it was a lifeline.

“I’m afraid,” he admitted, so quietly Tamlin barely heard it. “That I’ll be worse than him. That I’ll turn into something like Beron without even realizing it. I can’t—” He broke off, eyes clouding.

Tamlin turned to face him fully, one knee brushing against Eris’s thigh. He reached out and placed a firm hand on Eris’s bicep, grounding him.

“You won’t,” Tamlin said, and there was iron in his voice now. “You are already more than he ever was. You’re not cruel for sport. You don’t rule by fear. You care. That alone sets you apart.”

Eris’s throat worked again, but no words came. He simply tipped the last of the scotch down his throat and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.

Tamlin smiled softly and leaned closer, the weight of him reassuring. “And for the record,” he added, voice dipping low, “you’ve never needed to be him. Or better than him. Just be yourself. That’s already more than enough.”

Something in Eris cracked. A breath trembled out of him like a released spell, and he turned his head away, not wanting Tamlin to see the red at the corner of his eyes. But Tamlin only nudged him gently with his shoulder, and they sat there until the sky faded to violet and the first stars began to blink through the canopy.

“Remember that time you threatened to incinerate my entire orchard because I made fun of your hair?” Tamlin asked suddenly.

Eris huffed a laugh, caught between mortification and amusement. “You deserved it. You called it a ‘burnt broom.’”

Tamlin grinned. “It did look like one back then.”

“And you were a walking haystack with muscles.”

“I still am.”

Eris snorted into his sleeve, and for the first time all day, something like genuine warmth curled through his chest—not fire, not duty. Just the comforting kind of heat that came from someone knowing all your worst parts and still sitting beside you in the leaves.

And when Tamlin passed him the second bottle, their fingers touched again, lingering just a beat longer than necessary.

The stars kept coming. And so did the memories, tumbling one after another as they drank and laughed, wrapped in the wild hush of a forest preparing for its long sleep. And maybe—just maybe—Eris began to believe that he wasn’t alone in the weight he carried.

Not anymore.

. . .

Night had settled fully now, laying its velvet shroud over the forest. The stars had multiplied above them, shimmering like frost caught in black silk, and the air had taken on that unmistakable edge of late-autumn chill—crisp, bracing, smelling faintly of woodsmoke, damp bark, and the faded sweetness of decaying leaves. Somewhere, an owl called—low and mournful.

They were still talking. Quietly, slowly, like neither of them wished to acknowledge the hour. The second bottle of scotch sat half-drained beside them, forgotten. Eris leaned back against the twisted roots of the oak tree, his flame-red hair a striking smear against the dark bark. Tamlin was cross-legged beside him, arms folded over his chest, breath misting faintly in front of his mouth.

The silence between their words wasn’t awkward—it was worn in, comfortable. Sacred, almost.

Then Eris noticed it—the slight tremble in Tamlin’s shoulders. Barely visible, but there. The night air had turned colder still, curling with the promise of frost. Tamlin exhaled again, a little more shallowly now, his jaw tensing for a beat as a shiver visibly rolled through him.

“You’re cold,” Eris said, more a statement than a question.

Tamlin blinked, surprised to be caught. “It’s fine—”

“Shift closer,” Eris interrupted, already moving an inch to the side, creating space in the cradle of roots. “Come on. I can share heat. You forget who you’re sitting next to?”

Tamlin hesitated, just for a moment. But the cold was getting in, and truth be told, he’d wanted to be closer to Eris all evening. He cleared his throat and scooted over, settling beside him until their thighs were pressed together. The warmth that bled from Eris’s body was instantaneous—he radiated it like a hearth, molten and steady, the magic in his blood humming just beneath the surface.

Tamlin all but sighed at the contact, his body instinctively leaning toward the heat. “Gods,” he muttered, “you’re like a living bonfire.”

“You’re welcome,” Eris murmured, a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth.

Tamlin rubbed his hands together absently, trying to coax warmth back into his fingers. Eris noticed. With a quiet sigh, he reached out and took Tamlin’s hands in his own.

“Here,” he said simply.

Tamlin stilled.

Eris’s hands, elegant and callused in places, were hot—deliberately so, like sun-warmed stones. He cradled Tamlin’s much larger hands gently, rubbing slow, rhythmic circles into his palms, coaxing life back into every stiff joint and cold knuckle. His magic flared softly, subtle but deliberate, threading warmth into Tamlin’s skin like fire winding its way through roots.

Tamlin was quiet, breath caught somewhere in his throat. The touch was so careful. Reverent, almost. His gaze slid up, slowly, irresistibly—and there Eris was, brow furrowed in concentration, flame-touched lashes lowered, cheeks flushed faintly from the cold and the scotch and perhaps something else.

He was beautiful.

Gods, he was beautiful.

Eris looked up—and froze. Because Tamlin was staring at him with such naked softness, such honest yearning, that his words caught on the edge of his tongue and dissolved into the night air.

Their hands were still entwined.

The silence cracked, wide and fragile.

Tamlin’s voice, when it came, was a rasp of breath more than sound. “Can I kiss you?”

Eris’s heart stuttered, then surged so hard he swore Tamlin must have felt it through their hands. His lips parted. “Yes,” he said, breathless. “Yes.”

The kiss began with careful gravity, like they both knew how much it meant. Tamlin leaned in slowly, letting Eris meet him halfway. Their mouths brushed once—featherlight, testing. Then again, deeper. A shared exhale warmed the space between them before their lips met more firmly.

Eris made a soft, broken sound as Tamlin tilted his head and kissed him with deliberate slowness, like they had all the time in the world. Their mouths slid together, warm and tentative, reverent. A whisper of scotch and magic lingered on both their tongues. Eris reached up, fingers threading into Tamlin’s hair, drawing him closer. Tamlin’s hand cupped Eris’s jaw with aching gentleness, thumb sweeping over the flame-burnished curve of his cheek.

The kiss deepened, became something else entirely—something molten and quietly desperate. Tamlin kissed like he was starved for it, like he’d been dreaming of this for years. Eris responded in kind, gasping softly when Tamlin’s mouth parted against his, when their tongues brushed, slow and exploratory.

They kissed like autumn itself—slow-burning and rich, full of colors you could only see in the right light. All around them, the forest held its breath. Even the wind stilled.

And there, not far behind them, Beron’s grave sat in silence.

It should have felt morbid, almost sacrilegious. But instead, it felt like defiance. Like a promise that something better could bloom where rot had once ruled. A fire born not of destruction, but of warmth.

When they finally pulled apart, barely an inch remained between them. Tamlin’s pupils were blown wide, his chest rising and falling a little too fast. Eris’s lips were kiss-bitten, parted, the faintest smudge of pink brushing the corner of his mouth.

Neither of them said anything for a long while.

Tamlin finally broke the silence, voice rough and low: “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

Eris laughed—softly, breathlessly—and leaned in again, his forehead brushing Tamlin’s. “Then don’t stop.”

And he kissed him again—under the brittle stars and the ancient trees and the hush of a world not quite ready to speak.

And for once, Eris let himself feel everything.

. . .

27 notes · View notes

h1nanii · 2 days ago

Note

Pink cloudssssss we need moreeee😫😩😩🙏🏾🙏🏾 you been feeding us good PLZZ

LOLLLL YALL have been pressing me😭😭 HERES the longest chapter of this story it’s been sitting in my drafts [I can’t believe this is really turning into a series wow, lmk if I should continue]

DONE WITH GAMES [Pink Clouds pt.4]

Pairing: Plug!Law x Fem!Reader. [ P.t1] [ Pt.2] [ Pt.3]

[Genre: ModernAU! NSFW 18+, smut (multiple scenes), Soft dom!, Princess treatment, Romance, Angst—happy ending?, porn with lots of plot basically.]

[Warnings: Violence, Weed use, Relationship turmoil, Heavy vulnerability, makeup sex, p in v sex, Riding, Missionary, Luxury romance, Heavy language, Emotional tension]

MINORS DNI

Every relationship has its ups & downs, what happens if one button gets pressed too hard, how will you both deal with it? Will you both deal with it?

It started with something small.

You didn’t even remember what.

A tone. A comment. Law being snappy. You snapping back.

But it spiraled—fast and sharp.

You were in the kitchen, arms crossed, voice tight. He was pacing by the window, hoodie half-off, chain swinging as he got louder.

“Why do you always do that?” you snapped.

“Do what, ma?” Law bit back, voice rising. “Call you out when you pretend shit don’t bother you?”

“You don’t call me out. You shut me down. You don’t listen. You just react!”

“Oh, I’m sorry—was I supposed to be calm when I found out you went out with your girls and didn’t tell me your ex was there?”

You blinked. “He showed up, Law. I didn’t invite him—”

“You didn’t leave either.”

That cut.

It wasn’t what he said—it was how he said it. Cold. Accusing. Like he didn’t trust you.

Like you weren’t the one who bailed him out. Loved him. Stayed.

You stepped back.

“I don’t need permission to go out.”

“No, but some respect would be nice.”

You shook your head. “You’re not mad about respect. You’re mad because you’re insecure that you can’t even trust me.”

That did it.

His jaw clenched. “Wow.”

“Yeah. Wow.”

He laughed bitterly and grabbed his keys.

Your heart thudded. “You’re leaving?”

He paused at the door, voice low, dangerous. “If I don’t, I’ma say something I can’t take back.”

You didn’t stop him.

You wanted to.

But you didn’t.

—

Two days passed.

No texts. No calls. Nothing but silence.

You cried once. Then twice. Then stopped eating. Stopped sleeping.

He didn’t come home.

You didn’t reach out.

The necklace stayed on—but you hadn’t touched it since.

You missed him.

But your pride kept your fingers off your phone.

Until the third night.

Until the dark wrapped around you tight, and the space beside you in bed felt hollow, and you broke down—chest heaving, heart aching, tears soaking your pillow.

You grabbed your phone, hands trembling.

Are you up?

No reply.

You waited ten minutes.

Then

I’m sorry.

Still nothing.

So you called.

—————

One ring.

Two.

Then—

“Baby?”

His voice was hoarse. Tired. Like he hadn’t slept either.

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t talk.

Only sob.

“Baby—baby, what’s wrong? Where are you?” His voice got louder, you could hear him forcing the grogginess away to listen to you.

“I—I miss you.. I’m sorry Law” you choked. “I didn’t want you to go.”

“I didn’t wanna leave.”

“But you did.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I fucked up.”

You cried harder, the tears you dried out from crying earlier resurfaced.

“I was scared, alright?” he said, breath shaky. “You out with your girls, he’s there, and I just—I panicked. I didn’t trust the situation, and I took it out on you. I was wrong.”

You sniffled.

“I hated the way you looked at me,” he said, voice cracking. “Like you were already halfway gone.” His tone softened, allowing you to hear the background noise from his end—wherever he was it did not sound like his apartment at all, too loud, the sound of an engine rolling maybe. The one of his favorite car, the one with the passenger seat decked out with your personal touches.

“I wasn’t,” you whispered. “But I could’ve been.”

Silence.

Then

“I’m outside.”

You froze. The line ended, and you hurried to go wash the puffiness off your face.

He knocked seconds later. And when you opened the door, he looked like hell—hoodie up, eyes red—not the type from getting strained out. like he’d been replaying the argument over and over.

You didn’t say anything.

You just launched into his arms.

He held you tight. His chain was cold against your cheek. His heart beat wild in his chest.

“I love you,” he murmured into your hair. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better. Don’t leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered. “But don’t make me feel like I should.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, brushing your tears away with shaking hands.

“Never again.”

—

Law’s arms didn’t leave you for a long time.

You just stood there in the middle of the apartment, your face in his neck, his breath in your hair. He didn’t speak unless you did. He held you like he was afraid to let go again—like you might disappear if he blinked too long.

Eventually, you pulled back just a little, hands still clutching his hoodie.

“You eat?”

He shook his head. “Wasn’t hungry.”

You looked at the clock—1:13 a.m.

With a sigh, you tugged on his hand and led him to the kitchen.

You moved quietly—pulling out bread, eggs, cheese, whatever you had to whip up a sandwich. Law sat at the counter, eyes on you the whole time. Not possessive—just quiet. Grateful.

When you set the plate down in front of him, he hesitated.

Then stood up and kissed your cheek.

“Didn’t know how much I missed this,” he murmured. “You taking care of me like this.”

“I didn’t know how much I needed to.”

He ate in silence, and you just leaned on the counter, watching him—watching the way his shoulders dropped, the tension slowly leaking out of him.

And then, without a word, you both turned in for the night.

The bed felt different now.

Not because of distance—but because of everything that’d cracked wide open between you.

You laid down beside him, your back pressed to his chest, his arm around your waist. You thought you’d sleep easy, heart finally full again.

But twenty minutes passed.

Then forty.

Then your chest started to ache.

It crept in quietly at first. That horrible, thick feeling. The fear. The echo of his voice saying “If I don’t leave, I’ma say something I can’t take back.”

And the silence that followed.

You broke.

Your shoulders started shaking, soft sobs muffled into your pillow. You didn’t want to wake him.

But Law was already leaning up behind you, voice groggy and concerned. “Baby?”

You shook your head. “Sorry. Sorry—I’m okay—”

“You’re crying,” he said, sitting up, pulling you into his lap. “Come here. What is it?”

You gripped his shirt, forehead pressed to his chest.

“I hated that night,” you whispered. “I hated thinking I’d wake up and you’d be gone for good. It scared me so bad, Law.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

“I don’t care how mad we get,” you said through tears. “Don’t leave. Please. Don’t walk away like that again.”

He cupped your jaw, thumbing away the tears. “I won’t. I swear to God, I won’t. I’ll sit on the damn floor if I have to, but I’m not walking away again.”

You just stared at him, bottom lip trembling.

And then—so softly you barely heard.

“Let me hold you right.”

He kissed you.

Not rough. Not urgent.

Intentional.

Like every part of him needed to remind every part of you—you were his. Still. Always.

Law’s mouth was on yours before you could say anything else, hands already roaming your waist like he needed to feel every inch of you to believe you were still his.

The kiss was rough at first—like he was angry at himself, like he needed to say I’m sorry without words. But then it softened, his lips dragging slow over yours, lingering. Savoring.

You climbed onto him again, straddling his lap, your hands in his curls, tugging as his tongue slid past your lips, deepening the kiss. His hands gripped your thighs, then your waist, then up your back, like he didn’t know where to touch first.

When he pulled away, his voice was low and hoarse. “Let me see you, baby. All of you.”

You lifted your shirt slowly, your eyes never leaving his. His hands were there before you finished, tugging it off the rest of the way, pressing his lips to your collarbone, your chest, the center of your stomach like he was grounding himself in the feel of your body.

You could feel him hard beneath you, pressing up against you through his sweats, and your hips rolled without thinking.

His breath hitched.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he warned softly, but there was no bite in it. Just need. Just reverence.

You leaned in and kissed him again, moving against him slowly, teasing the friction between your bodies until he groaned, tilting his head back, giving you a view of his neck, his jawline, the strain in his throat.

“You gonna ride me?” he whispered, eyes fluttering half-shut. “Make up for all that silence?”

Your fingers slid under his hoodie, tugging it off him, revealing inked skin and lean muscle. His chest rose and fell beneath your touch as you leaned down, kissing your way along one of his tattoos.

“I missed you,” you whispered against his skin.

“You got no idea,” he muttered, his hands sliding down to your hips again, guiding you as you ground down harder.

Eventually, you pulled down his sweats, freeing him, your breath catching at the way he twitched against your inner thigh. He looked wrecked already, watching you slide your underwear to the side as you sank down onto him slowly—inch by inch—his name already slipping off your lips in a breathless moan.

He hissed in a breath, eyes locked on yours.

“Fuck, baby…”

You rolled your hips slowly, letting yourself get lost in the feel of him stretching you, filling you, the heat between your bodies dizzying.

You rode him until your thighs trembled, until your rhythm faltered, and he noticed. He always did.

“Come here,” he said, voice thick, and flipped you onto your back in one smooth motion.

His pace picked up—deep, steady thrusts that left you gasping, gripping the sheets, your nails digging into his back.

You wrapped your legs around him, heels pressing into the small of his back as he drove into you harder, each stroke pressing you deeper into the mattress.

“Look at me,” he growled, thumb under your chin. “Let me see those eyes when you fall apart.”

You did.

And when you came—your body arching beneath him, moaning his name like it was all that kept you tethered—he followed with a deep groan, burying himself inside you as he came undone.

For a long time, neither of you moved. His forehead rested against yours, breath mingling, hands still stroking gently over your waist like he was afraid you’d vanish.

“I’m still here,” you whispered, brushing a hand over his damp curls.

He kissed your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth.

“So am I.”

—

Things had shifted since the night of the fight.

He started spoiling you harder.

Not just with gifts—but with presence. Time. Thought. He learned the way you liked your coffee without asking. Paid attention to which songs made you hum in the car. Took you shopping and never let you touch the door. If you admired something—even once—it showed up in a bag the next day, neatly wrapped.

You were his girl. And he made sure the world knew.

Lingerie from boutiques you used to scroll through but never buy. Reservations at candle-lit rooftop spots. Nights wrapped in Egyptian cotton, his chain swinging low between your bare bodies, fingers running through your hair while you drifted off on his chest.

Princess treatment wasn’t a phrase anymore. It was your lifestyle.

But not everything glowed.

Not everything glittered.

One night—late, after the city had gone still—you two were driving. His hand rested on your thigh, the other on the wheel, smoke curling from the joint between his fingers. The music was low, bass heavy, something ambient and soft, almost hypnotic.

You were high, warm in your seat, his hoodie around your shoulders, the city lights bleeding past you in a blur.

He pulled into a quiet overlook—trees framing the skyline in shadows—and passed you the joint with a smirk.

“You good, baby?” he asked, leaning in, lips brushing your ear.

You nodded, lazily. “Better than good.”

You reached for his glovebox without thinking—searching for napkins or gum—and your fingers froze.

There it was.

A black Glock. Clean. Cold. Sitting like it belonged there.

Your buzz vanished.

You slammed the glovebox shut, pulse suddenly hammering in your ears.

He noticed.

“What’s wrong?”

You looked at him—heart pounding. “Why the fuck is there a gun in your car?”

[TO BE CONTINUED] [Part 5 is out here]

52 notes · View notes

night-scare · 3 days ago

Text

almost lover.

bob reynolds x witch!oc

Summary: Bob and Lucy Jean are both idiots when it comes to feelings.

Word Count: 2.5k

Content: fluff, angst, a little steamy, bob and lucy jean are yearners

Other Bob Fics: to know grief.

To Read on AO3

════════════════════════════════════════════

The cold surface of the training room mat should have provided sweet relief against her sweat-soaked back. Instead, as she stared up at the ceiling tiles, all she could think about was her struggle to catch her breath after being slammed down onto it. Her vision swam, desperately trying to stabilize itself in turbulent waters as she blinked once, then twice. Above her stood Bucky Barnes, arms crossed and scowling down at her. “You can’t rely on your powers all the time, you know,” he chided, but there was no bite to his words, not really.

Lucy Jean couldn’t argue back because 1) he was right, and 2) she hadn’t quite regained lung function yet. So, she lay there, maybe hoping that Bucky would have pity on her and cut the training early while also wishing that it was Yelena who had taken on training her in physical combat and not the Winter Soldier. At least with Yelena, she could pout her lips a little and take on the demeanor of a kicked animal to get some sympathy.

Yelena’s voice whispered to her from this alternate reality. “I’m sorry, solnyshko.” The baby voice she’d say it with would be punctuated by a gentle pinch of her cheek, filling Lucy Jean with a swell of happiness.

Instead, she felt herself being hauled to her feet, letting out a wheezy breath that cracked on its way out. Bucky held onto her just long enough to ensure she was steady before backing up a few paces. “Alright, again,” he ordered. Despite very much not wanting to go again, she held her arms up as she positioned herself into a defensive stance, her green eyes tired but narrowed.

About thirty seconds later, Bob would walk into the training room like he was lost (he wasn’t; he just always had that air about him) to find Lucy Jean pinned to the mat by Bucky, her body bent at an angle he didn’t think was humanly possible. At the same time, Bucky looked like he hadn’t even broken a sweat.

“Uncle, uncle,” Lucy Jean gasped, frantically tapping the ground next to her with what little movement Bucky had allowed in his grapple.

As he released her, the same disapproving scowl remained on his face, watching as she sprawled across the floor with a relieved sigh before his head turned to Bob, who flinched at the man’s unknowingly harsh stare. “Did you need something?”

“Uh, yeah, Yelena wanted to see you in the common area,” he stammered. “Walker and Ava are getting into it, and she said it’s your turn to deal with ‘the children’.” He punctuated his statement with tiny quotation marks and a horrible impression of Yelena’s accent that made Lucy Jean giggle. He felt his cheeks warm.

Bucky sighed, the ferocious look on his face melting away as he stalked towards the exit of the training room, but not before glancing back over his shoulder at Lucy Jean. “I’ll be back, don’t get comfortable.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Lucy Jean groaned and gave a thumbs up from her position on the ground.

There’s a beat, a pause filled with silence as the doors close behind Bucky, leaving Bob and Lucy Jean alone. “He knows that you uh, you have powers, right?” He approaches the mat as she sits up with a wince, a muscle in her back she wasn’t even aware of throbbing with a dull ache.

“He thinks I rely on them too much,” she grumbled, and when she saw Bob begin to open his mouth, undoubtedly about to defend her, she added: “He’s right, I do.”

Bob’s gaze trailed Lucy Jean’s form, trying not to admire the way the spandex leggings clung to her soft curves or take too much notice of the bead of sweat that rolled down her chest, disappearing into a crevice he definitely didn’t find himself fixating on more than what was appropriate.

She wasn’t built like a fighter.

He hadn’t been either, but now he was decidedly bulletproof, wielding power he was scared to test the limits of. Lucy Jean, though, for the raw energy she could harness in battle, was still human. She didn’t have a super soldier serum to fall back on when she took a stray bullet, or the training of the Red Room driving her instincts in combat.

About a month ago, she and Yelena were sent on a mission to the Canadian wilderness, where some competitor for O.X.E. had set up a remote laboratory in an attempt to replicate Project Sentry. It wasn’t supposed to be a heavy, combative mission, simply reconnaissance—a quick in and out. They would've sent more than Lucy Jean and Yelena if they knew how heavily outfitted the operation was.

He wasn’t privy to all of the details of the mission. Still, it was bad enough that he had heard Bucky reprimanding Lucy Jean once she’d recovered, with Bucky making the executive decision that he would train Lucy Jean for combat despite her protestations. Bob couldn’t find it in him to think Bucky’s reaction was over the top, not when he knew how much Lucy Jean meant to Bucky, nor when he recalled the sight of Lucy Jean lying in the hospital bed after.

Bob’s eyes focused on the still pink and agitated scar across her neck where she’d almost had her throat slit had it not been for Yelena. Unbidden, images of Lucy Jean slumped against the wall with blood pouring from a jagged gash in her throat flashed through his mind. He blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to will away the thoughts.

“Do you want to spar with me?” she asked, breaking him from the invasive images that had begun to flood his mind. He looked at her, eyebrows pinching together, watching as she staggered to her feet. “You’ve been training with John, right?” She dusted imaginary dirt off her pants.

He doesn’t know why he doesn’t like how she calls Walker by his first name, but it makes his insides gnaw at each other, like coyotes to a carcass.

(He does know why, he just refuses to give the feeling a name.)

Bob must look like he’s about to say no because Lucy Jean adds, “No powers, promise!” He felt his resolve crumble the moment she batted her lashes at him in a way he knew she probably didn’t even realize what she was doing, nor the effect it had on him.

That’s how he found himself with Lucy Jean’s thighs pressed tightly around his head for a brief moment of pure joy before she’d launched herself back, bringing him down to the mat in a flourishing landing. The movement had dizzied him, and she took that opportunity to pin him in place, her left knee holding down his right arm while her right foot held his left, leaving her in a provocative position above him.

Bob swallowed hard as Lucy Jean breathed heavily above. She, of course, knew that had he wanted to, he could easily dislodge her from him, like it was nothing more than swatting a gnat. But, they’d said no powers, and she really needed a win today after getting her ass handed to her again and again by Bucky.

She was grinning as she asked, “Give up?”

Bob should have laughed and nodded; he should have tapped his fingers slightly on the mat to signify his concession. But he doesn’t do that. Rational thought seemed to have flown out the window the moment he felt the warmth of her body against his, and instead of conceding, he used his superhuman strength to lift Lucy Jean up and around, switching his body with hers on the mat.

A surprised noise escapes her when she realizes what happened. The grin had vanished from her face the second she felt Bob lift her into the air; instead, she stared up at him wide-eyed. She’s all too aware of his position between her legs, and of the fact that it makes her heart pound against her ribcage. He’s got both her wrists bound together with a single hand above her head, and there’s something about that fact that makes her head swim.

“I thought we agreed, no powers,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I—” His breath caught in his chest. The rational part of his brain screamed at him to let her go, to get up and leave as quickly as possible before he did something he couldn’t take back. But he couldn’t, not when she was looking up at him like that, with half-lidded eyes and pupils dilated. Not when her gaze kept flickering down to his mouth as if she wanted him to kiss her. He leaned down further and could feel her breath fanning against his face.

He felt as if his heart might beat a hole right through his sternum and fly out of his chest as he tilted his head. She closed her eyes as though she was bracing for impact.

The training room door suddenly whooshed open. Bob moved so swiftly that he seemed like a blur, quickly putting distance between himself and Lucy Jean, who was now lying on the floor with a puzzled expression on her face.

Bucky stood there with his hands on his hips and his lips pursed. “What did I say about getting comfortable?” As he approached Lucy Jean, Bob took the chance to quietly slip away, as if he had never been there at all. “All right, let’s run it back.”

Lucy Jean groaned.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Lucy Jean spent the remainder of the training so thoroughly distracted that Bucky ultimately took pity on her and decided to cut it short. In the shower, she lingered longer than necessary, only realizing halfway through that she had been staring blankly at the wall. Her mind was conjuring memories of Bob being on top of her, and she hadn't even picked up her loofah.

She wondered if he would have kissed her if Bucky hadn’t walked in. She hoped he would have, even though her heart ached at the thought of not having another chance. Perhaps it had been a one-time thing, a fleeting moment between them that passed by like a ship sailing through the night.

Throughout dinner, she became increasingly resigned to the thought that she had messed it up, whatever ‘it’ was between her and Bob. He sat in the chair farthest from her, and despite her efforts to catch his eye, he seemed to be deliberately avoiding her gaze.

The rest of the team chatted while Lucy Jean pushed the food around her plate, trying her best not to cry. She liked Bob, and she had been wrestling with that realization for months. At first, she told herself it was just a simple crush that would fade with time and proximity. However, it didn't fade; instead, those feelings grew and festered in her chest until she could no longer bear it.

So she told Yelena.

“Solnyshko, you sly fox,” Yelena had whispered, a little waggle to her eyebrows. “I did not realize you were into the quiet type.” Lucy Jean could still remember the way her face burned as she buried it in her hands, desperately trying to hide the blush that had formed from the blonde who seemed all too amused by the situation at hand. “You must tell him.”

Lucy Jean sputtered. “No!”

Yelena coiled back, lips pouted, and eyebrows pinched. “But why not?”

“I-I… I don’t think he’s interested,” she said.

That’s when Yelena had laughed, loudly. She flicked away a stray tear that had gathered at the corner of her eye as she settled. “Oh, you are so funny, Lucy Jean.” Her face straightened in a way that made Lucy Jean sit more upright in her seat. “Bob is so in love with you, it is pathetic.”

Lucy Jean’s mouth hung open as she gaped like a fish out of water. “I, w-what?”

Yelena nodded, waving her hand as she sipped her tea. “He is like little puppy! He follows you around, waits for you to come home, carries your slipper when you are gone—it is all very cute!”

“He doesn’t do that.”

“Oh, but he does,” Yelena argued. “You are just too wrapped up in that pretty little head of yours,” – she leaned forward and poked a finger at Lucy Jean’s forehead – “... to notice.”

Lucy Jean wanted to shake her head and tell Yelena she was wrong, but she knew Yelena wouldn’t lie to her. Yelena never shared something unless she was sure it was true. So, Lucy Jean had to take Yelena’s words at face value: maybe Bob was interested in her, and perhaps he cherished the small moments that had occurred between them just as much as she did.

“You should tell him,” Yelena advised as she leaned back in her seat. “Men are very stupid when it comes to feelings.”

That had been a month ago, and Lucy Jean had very clearly not told him. Maybe she was also very stupid when it came to feelings. Or she was very stupid when it came to Bob.

After dinner, Lucy Jean stayed in the kitchen longer than usual after helping to clean up the dishes. She knew that soon everyone would start to leave, either going to bed or staring at their ceilings—whatever they did in the privacy of their own rooms.

Not Bob, though. He was curled up on the couch, illuminated by just enough overhead light to read his book. That's where she found him, bathed in a warm glow, with a fuzzy blanket spread across his lap—one that Yelena had bought him for "maximum coziness." She stood there for a moment, taking in the contours of his face and noticing how he chewed on his bottom lip while he read.

“Um, hi,” she said after clearing her throat.

He jumped at the sound of her voice, blanket already halfway off his lap as he made to stand. “O-oh, hey! Uh, I can leave if you want to–”

Lucy Jean interrupted, “Actually, I was wondering if I could talk to you.” His mouth hung open in surprise, and Lucy Jean fought to suppress the wave of embarrassment that surged up her spine. Nonetheless, she felt her legs move on their own, carrying her until she stood in front of him, nervously fidgeting with her fingers. “Earlier today in the training room—”

“It’s fine,” he said with a tight smile, his eyes not quite meeting Lucy Jean’s. “We can just forget it happened.” He gathered up his blanket, holding his book to his chest in a way that Lucy Jean felt he was trying to put something, anything, between them. He hesitated a moment, shuffling awkwardly around Lucy Jean, who stood still, eyes downcast, staring at the spot he had just been occupying as she heard him walk away.

There was a lump in her throat that she felt grow bigger as her bottom lip wobbled and her vision blurred with tears. It felt like there was a canyon between them now, expansive and growing, little by little.

“Oh… okay,” she whispered to no one.

#bob reynolds x oc #bob reynolds x original character #bob reynolds #bob reynolds fic #thunderbolts #mcu #marvel #bob reynolds fanfic #robert reynolds #robert reynolds x oc #new avengers #they're gonna kiss next time guys i promise

26 notes · View notes