#but bringing her to light... it feels impossible

[reiding-writing]

A small little thought for the second part of 404 if you plan to write one: enemy!reader slowly getting better, but she just freezes out Spencer completely. Doesn't look at him, doesn't acknowledge him, if he interrupts her when she talks she won't even reply and will just continue to expound on her point, if Hotch pairs them up to search a house she'll act like she's alone.

And Spencer is losing his mind trying to catch her attention.

GHOST PROTOCOL. /spencer reid/

you arrive back at the bau after a four month mental health leave and you’re so happy to regain a sense of normalcy. who are you kidding? what do you know about normal?

late s1 enemy!reader 2.4k angst series masterlist. main masterlist.

a/n | this kinda super sucks i’m so sorry

It’s almost too quiet when you walk in.

The bullpen hums with the low murmur of keyboards and rustling files, but the moment the elevator door shuts shut behind you, there's a pause.

Heads turn. First Morgan, then JJ, then Elle, and it only takes seconds for the rest of the team to clock your presence.

They weren’t expecting you this early.

You weren’t expecting to feel so... exposed.

You shift your satchel higher on your shoulder and cross the floor like you’ve done a hundred times before, but the air is different now. Denser. It clings to you like damp fog, and no matter how straight you hold yourself, it’s impossible to ignore the weight of their stares.

JJ’s the first to approach. She’s always been soft with you, always the peacemaker.

“Hey,” she says, smiling like she means it, though her voice is tentative. “You're back,”

You nod. “I’m back,”

Morgan is next, grinning with that signature confidence, but even he seems slightly hesitant. “Four months off and you didn’t bring us back a tan?” he teases, then adds, “Seriously. It’s good to see you,”

You smile, because that’s what you’re supposed to do. “Good to see you too,”

Elle comes over, a little more cautious, her arms folded across her chest, but there's warmth in her eyes. “Glad you're okay. We missed you,”

“Missed you too,” you say, and it’s mostly true.

Hotch lingers back, as always, but offers you a curt nod and something close to approval. Gideon gives you a slow, assessing look, like he’s trying to read your entire psychological profile just from the way you’re standing. You hold your gaze steady. He nods.

Then Spencer speaks.

“Didn’t think you’d come back this soon,”

He doesn’t say it cruelly—at least, you don’t think he does—but the words hit just the same. There’s a trace of disbelief in his tone, maybe even accusation, like you’ve made the wrong choice, like you’re not ready.

Your smile falters by half a degree.

You don't look at him.

JJ nudges you lightly. “Conference room? Hotch wants to go over a new case,”

You nod and move to follow her without a word.

—

You take your usual seat at the long table, fifth from the left. JJ beside you, Elle at the end. Hotch stands at the front, clicker in hand, while Morgan leans against the far wall. Gideon’s pacing slowly behind Hotch like a restless shadow. And Spencer—Reid—sits across from you.

You don’t look at him. You haven’t since you arrived. You can feel his eyes on you, though. Flicking up from his notes, down again. Like he’s trying to measure your silence.

Hotch clicks the projector on. A slideshow blinks to life, casting pale light across the room. The first photo is of a crime scene—suburban house, blood on the bannisters. The usual.

“This is Amanda Chilton,” Hotch begins, and the case unfolds in neat, clinical detail. You take notes. You listen. You nod at the right times. You ask intelligent questions.

And you ignore Spencer.

It starts small.

He interrupts once, cutting across you mid-sentence as you’re pointing out a pattern in the killer’s behaviour—something about escalation, proximity to schools.

“Actually,” he says, “the research shows it’s more likely they’re targeting public parks. There’s a spike in activity—”

You don’t even pause.

You keep speaking, as though he hasn’t said a word.

Elle shifts in her chair. JJ casts a glance between you both.

Spencer stops talking.

You finish your point. Hotch nods, scribbling something on the file.

You don’t look at him. You keep your gaze forward, focused on the evidence board.

—

It’s not deliberate—not at first.

That’s what you tell yourself.

It’s just easier this way. Cleaner. Safer. You’ve done the work—hours and hours of therapy, of breaking down the walls your mind built during those sleepless weeks in the hospital bed. You’ve trained yourself to breathe again, to walk again, to talk about it without shaking.

But you haven’t trained yourself to talk to him.

So you don’t.

“Don’t placate situations that don’t serve you.” Your therapist had said. And you planned to follow that advice to a T.

In the break room, when he reaches for the coffee pot the same time you do, you let him pour and walk away.

In the hallway, when he brushes past with a stack of books, you pivot on your heel like he’s invisible.

During case discussions, you listen to everyone—Gideon’s theories, Morgan’s gut instincts, JJ’s observations—but when Spencer speaks, your eyes glaze over, your attention shifts. You don’t laugh at his jokes. You don’t doubt his statistics. You don’t argue with him.

You just pretend he isn’t there.

The team notices. Of course they do.

Morgan starts watching your interactions—or lack thereof—with quiet curiosity. He doesn’t say anything, not at first, but you can feel his eyes on the space between you and Reid whenever you’re in the same room. Elle occasionally tries to pull you into group banter, looping Spencer into a joke or observation, as if by accident, as if you won’t notice the trap. You do. You never bite.

JJ is subtler. She doesn’t push, but the crease between her brows deepens every time you sidestep a question or excuse yourself from a group conversation the moment Spencer joins it. She’s protective, loyal. She wants to help. But she doesn’t know how.

Gideon says nothing. But you know that look—quietly measuring, mentally cataloguing, as if you’re another profile to study.

Hotch keeps his cards close, but he’s not oblivious. He sees more than he says. You suspect, if this goes on too long, he’ll force your hand. But for now, he lets the silence fester. Maybe he thinks you’ll break first.

You won’t.

Spencer doesn’t understand at first. Not really.

He notices, of course. How could he not? You don’t look at him. You don’t speak to him. You never sit within arm’s reach if you can help it, and when you do, you angle your body away like he’s radioactive.

The first few days, he thinks maybe you’re just overwhelmed. Raw. Like maybe the sight of him is tangled too tightly in the memories you’re trying to forget. And that makes sense, he tells himself. So he gives you space.

But the weeks go by.

And the space stays.

And then it expands.

He hears you laugh with Morgan in the corridor. Sees you and JJ huddled over a file, your head resting lightly against her shoulder. He walks into the break room once and finds you and Elle finishing each other’s sentences about something mundane, and your face is brighter than he’s seen it in months.

You’re fine—with everyone except him.

And that’s when the guilt sets in.

He replays everything from that day. That case. That argument. The exact moment he goaded you, and you goaded back, and everything spiralled. The confidence with which you’d stormed off, trying to prove you could handle it alone. The exact second he realised something was wrong.

The way his stomach dropped when he saw your picture.

The hours of searching.

The silence.

The hospital.

He apologised, of course he did. Not right away—he couldn’t get near you. And when he could, you barely spoke. The first time he tried, you blinked past him like he was a stranger. The second time, you just said, “Not now.”

He thought you needed time. And he gave it.

But the apology is still there, hanging in the air like unfinished static, and it never gets heard. Or maybe it did. Maybe you just didn’t care.

—

“You got a minute?” Spencer’s standing awkwardly against Morgan’s desk, bouncing slightly on his heels.

Morgan leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “Sure. What’s up?”

Spencer hesitates. Looks at the floor. Then back up. “Is she ever going to talk to me again?”

Morgan blinks. “You mean—”

“Yes. Her.”

Morgan sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Reid…”

“I get that she went through something horrible,” Spencer says quickly, defensively, “but she can’t just act like I don’t exist. I tried to say sorry.”

Morgan stares at him for a moment, then closes the file in front of him. “Look, man. I don’t think this is about forgiveness. I think it’s about control.”

Spencer frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She lost control, Reid. Of everything. Her job, her safety, her trust in us, probably even in herself. And now? The one thing she can control is who gets access to her. And you’re off the list.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not,” Morgan agrees. “But neither was what happened to her.”

—

You don’t expect to be paired with him again.

You’ve managed to avoid it for weeks. Hotch has rotated partners carefully—perhaps unconsciously, perhaps not—but you’ve never had to be alone with Reid. Not since you came back.

Until today.

Hotch is standing at the board, gesturing to a street map. “We’ve got two locations to clear. Elle and Morgan, you take the warehouse on Twelfth. You two”—he nods at you, then at Reid—“check the victim’s apartment. Uniforms have already cleared for threats.”

You stiffen.

Your jaw clenches, just once.

You wait, thinking maybe someone will offer to switch. Maybe Morgan will say something. Maybe Reid will protest.

No one does.

You nod once. “Understood.”

Reid’s quiet as you both walk out to the car.

—

The flat is a single-bedroom unit in a crumbling Victorian conversion. You sweep through the entryway quickly, methodically, gloves on, eyes sharp. There’s a faint smell of mildew and old coffee.

Reid walks behind you, hovering.

“You want the bedroom or the kitchen?” he asks.

You don’t answer.

You’re already walking towards the bedroom.

He exhales through his nose. “Right. Bedroom then.”

The silence grows louder with every passing minute.

You move like a shadow—quiet, efficient, detached. You examine photographs on the walls, note the postmark on the pile of unopened mail. You scribble observations in your notepad, noting anything relevant for the report.

Reid trails behind, trying not to fidget.

“So,” he says, awkwardly, “I read a study this morning. About trauma memory encoding. How the brain sometimes—”

“Don’t.”

You don’t even look up.

He blinks. “What?”

“Don’t do this,” you say, still facing the wall, still writing. “Just collect your data and be quiet.”

His brow furrows. “I’m just trying to make small talk. Be normal,”

“You don’t know how to be normal.”

The words slice through the room like a scalpel.

He steps back. “Okay. That’s not fair.”

You put your notepad down and finally turn to him. “You know what’s not fair? You getting to pretend we’re fine because you’re over it.”

His hands curl into fists. “I’m not over it.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I blamed myself for weeks. I thought you were dead.”

You shrug. “You should’ve thought of that before you egged me on. Before you treated me like a liability who needed to prove something.”

His voice rises. “You wanted to prove something!”

“I had to!” you snap.

Silence.

Your chest rises and falls sharply.

Spencer’s jaw tightens. “I get you blame me for what happened, but I apologised. What else do you want me to do?”

You stare at him.

And then, with no fanfare, no crescendo—just absolute, grounded loathing—you reply:

“How about you shut the fuck up and leave me alone?”

There’s no heat in your tone.

No trembling rage. No wounded tremor.

Just a calm, clean hatred. A scalpel—not a hammer.

Spencer flinches. He actually flinches.

The air is still.

The apartment feels too small, too quiet.

You turn back to the window, adjusting a photo frame.

“That clear enough for you? Or should I write it down?” you add.

Spencer doesn’t answer.

He leaves the room a moment later.

—

Neither of you speak the rest of the day.

You file your report. You finish the case. You act like a professional.

The team is quieter than usual that night in the hotel bar. JJ watches you like she wants to ask something but doesn’t. Elle starts a sentence, then aborts halfway through. Morgan gives Spencer a look that says What happened?—but gets no answer.

Gideon says nothing. But when you pass him in the hallway, he gives you a long, unreadable look. You don’t break stride.

Spencer doesn’t come down to dinner.

The next morning, he’s already seated at the conference table when you arrive. He doesn’t look at you.

You don’t look at him either.

The line has been drawn.

No more arguments. No more banter. No more sharp-edged flirtation disguised as rivalry.

No more anything.

You took everything that used to exist between you—every ounce of tension, every barbed word, every stolen glance—and you burned it to the ground.

And for the first time since the day you came back, he finally understands.

You don’t just ignore him.

You hate him.

Pure unadulterated loathing.

[paxaz535]

Unspoken Desires

paige bueckers x fem!oc

————

whereas : When Jake brings his girlfriend, Pumpkin, to the family cabin, Paige finds herself drawn to her in ways she never expected. As the weekend unfolds, the attraction between them becomes impossible to ignore, leading to a dangerous, secret connection.

this has two parts and one honorable mention, so enjoy.

————

When Jake texted the family group chat that he’d be bringing his girlfriend, Pumpkin, everyone was excited to finally meet her. He talked about her constantly—so much that the whole family felt like they already knew her.

Especially Paige.

She and Jake didn’t talk often, but when they did, Pumpkin was always the topic. He spoke about her like she was the best thing that ever happened to him. Naturally, Paige was curious. Curious enough that when the trip got closer, she caught herself wondering more than she probably should.

High expectations came with that kind of hype. Paige had them. And she wasn’t ready for what meeting Pumpkin would actually feel like.

-

Paige was leaning against the porch railing when Jake’s car pulled up. Sunlight caught in her curls as she squinted toward the driveway, one hand lazily holding a red cup, the other shoved in her hoodie pocket.

The second Pumpkin stepped out of the passenger side, Paige straightened up.

She wasn’t what Paige expected. She was more.

Jake ran around the car to grab their bags, rambling about how long the drive had been, but Paige barely heard a word. Her eyes were on Pumpkin—full lips, dark skin glowing in the late afternoon light, curves that made Paige’s throat tighten for half a second too long.

Then Pumpkin looked up. Their eyes met.

There was a flicker. Nothing loud. Just a beat that lingered a breath longer than it should’ve.

“Paige!” Jake called, slamming the trunk shut. “Come meet Pumpkin.”

Paige pushed off the railing and walked over, a small smirk forming like it had a mind of its own.

“So you’re the infamous Pumpkin,” she said, eyes scanning just enough to be noticed. “Jake’s been talking your ear off in the chat.”

Pumpkin smiled—friendly, polite. “Good things, I hope?”

“All things,” Paige said, pausing just a second too long. “Good… and loud.”

Jake laughed, throwing an arm around Pumpkin’s shoulders, completely missing the way Paige’s gaze lingered.

“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s get inside. You’ll love the place.”

As they headed in, Paige followed, eyes on Pumpkin’s back, thinking to herself: She’s gonna be trouble.

-

The cabin was bigger than she expected—rustic, but cozy. Warm-toned wood, big open windows, and the faint smell of pine and old firewood. Jake was buzzing around showing her everything like a kid on a sugar rush, but Pumpkin’s mind was stuck somewhere else.

Specifically on Paige.

She didn’t mean to stare. Didn’t want to.

But there was something about her—lowkey, confident, a little cocky in the way she stood like she didn’t owe anyone her energy. Her smile was sharp. Her eyes? Sharper.

Pumpkin caught herself looking again when they were in the kitchen, grabbing drinks. Paige was across from her, leaning against the counter, sipping from a cup like she had all the time in the world.

“So,” Paige said casually, “you like it out here?”

Pumpkin nodded, twisting the cap off her water. “Yeah, it’s nice. Peaceful.”

“You seem like someone who’s not used to peaceful.”

Pumpkin blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Paige tilted her head, her smirk almost playful. “Nothing bad. You just have that… energy. Like you’re always bracing for something.”

Pumpkin didn’t respond right away. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to roll her eyes or ask what kind of energy?

Before she could decide, Jake came back into the room and slung an arm around her waist, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Pumpkin smiled, out of habit more than anything.

But her eyes were still on Paige.

And Paige… hadn’t looked away.

“Pumpkin, sweetie! Jake has said so much about you. I’m Ami—Paige’s mom.”

Pumpkin spotted the woman from her peripheral vision. She smiled and opened her arms, letting Ami pull her into a warm hug. They swayed side to side, and Pumpkin couldn’t help but match her energy.

“Hi, Ms. Bueckers! It’s so nice to meet you.”

Ami laughed and waved her hand. “Please, call me Ami. You’re practically my niece.”

Pumpkin chuckled, nodding. She didn’t notice Jake grinning at the interaction, watching like he was proud of the connection forming. Across the room, Paige was quieter—just watching, sipping from her cup like always.

“Hey, Ami! Jake! Come here for a second!” someone called from another room.

Jake groaned playfully when Ami turned to go. “I’ll be right back,” he said to Pumpkin, then looked at Paige. “Try not to scare her off while I’m gone.”

He kissed Pumpkin on the cheek and disappeared down the hall.

Pumpkin smiled softly, her eyes lingering on him for a second—before shifting back to Paige.

She was still sipping from that same cup, unreadable.

Curious, Pumpkin asked, “What’s in that damn cup, anyway?”

Paige glanced at her over the rim, eyes flicking up like she was sizing her up. Then she took one last slow sip before answering.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she said, voice smooth, just brushing the edge of teasing.

Pumpkin raised a brow. “You gonna tell me, or are you just gonna be mysterious all weekend?”

Paige smirked and stepped a little closer—not too close, but enough for the air between them to shift. “It’s whiskey,” she said, swirling the liquid. “Just a splash.”

“This early?”

“It’s after five,” Paige shrugged. “And besides… this place gets boring fast.”

Pumpkin tilted her head, her voice lighter than she felt. “Is that why you’re staring at me like I’m a distraction?”

Paige’s smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened. “You are a distraction.”

Pumpkin’s breath hitched, just for a second. She let out a quiet laugh, trying to play it off, but her pulse had definitely quickened. The way Paige looked at her wasn’t casual—and it definitely wasn’t friendly.

Before she could respond, footsteps echoed down the hall. Jake’s voice floated toward them, laughing about something with Ami.

Paige leaned back against the counter and took another slow sip.

Pumpkin turned toward the sound of Jake’s voice, her face neutral again.

But even with her back turned, she could still feel Paige’s eyes on her.

-

Pumpkin’s suitcase landed on the floor with a soft thud. Jake had tossed it in there earlier, but now she was alone in the guest room—finally breathing in the stillness.

The room was cute. Wooden walls, soft lighting, one big bed with a quilt that looked handmade. There was a window cracked open just enough to let in the sound of trees shifting outside.

She pulled off her hoodie, folding it over the back of a chair, then kicked off her sneakers and sat on the edge of the bed. Her phone buzzed with a text from her best friend back home—“Let me know how the family trip goes. Don’t let them scare you off lol.”

Pumpkin smiled, thumbs hovering before she typed back, “They’re cool. Jake’s mom’s sweet. Cousin’s… interesting.”

She stared at the word for a second. Then hit send.

Interesting was the only way to describe Paige right now. She hadn’t said much, hadn’t done much—but somehow still took up space. The way she looked at Pumpkin earlier? It lingered, like static in the air that hadn’t cleared.

Pumpkin got up and wandered over to the mirror, fluffing out her hair and fixing the collar of her shirt. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone—but she wasn’t trying not to, either.

A knock tapped at the door.

“Hey,” Jake called. “We’re all heading outside for food and drinks in a bit. You good?”

Pumpkin turned toward the door. “Yeah, I’m good. I’ll be out in a minute.”

She waited until his footsteps faded before grabbing her lip gloss, giving herself one last look, then heading out into the hall.

She was here for Jake.

That’s what she kept telling herself.

So why did she hope Paige would be outside, too?

The backyard was lit by strings of warm fairy lights tangled between the trees, and a fire pit crackled softly at the center of it all. Everyone had plates in their laps or drinks in hand, lounging on outdoor chairs and old benches that had probably been there for years.

Pumpkin sat curled up next to Jake on a loveseat, a blanket draped over both their legs. He was laughing at something his uncle had said, his hand resting casually on her knee. She smiled when he looked at her, but her eyes flicked past him—

To Paige.

She was across the fire, legs crossed, hoodie half-zipped over a ribbed tank top, sipping that same damn drink. She wasn’t looking at Pumpkin. Not directly. But she hadn’t gone a full minute without stealing a glance since they all came outside.

Pumpkin felt it. Every time.

Ami was buzzing around making sure everyone had enough food. Jake’s cousins were arguing about a board game. Someone put on music low enough to vibe but not loud enough to drown out the stories being told.

It felt like family. Comforting. Safe.

So why did Pumpkin feel watched?

Not in a creepy way. Not even in a bad way.

Just… seen.

When the fire flared suddenly—someone tossing in more wood—Pumpkin blinked and caught Paige’s gaze. This time it held.

A second.

Two.

Then Paige looked away, lips twitching like she was amused at being caught.

Pumpkin shifted under the blanket, pulling it higher like it could hide the heat rising in her cheeks. Jake leaned in and kissed her temple, completely unaware.

She leaned into him on instinct, but her eyes found Paige again through the flicker of flames.

Still watching.

Still sipping.

Still there.

The cabin had finally gone quiet.

Pumpkin padded softly through the dark hallway in nothing but a big T-shirt and socks, tiptoeing toward the kitchen. The leftover warmth of the fire still clung to the walls, but the night air had crept in. Everything was still. Peaceful.

She reached the fridge and opened it slowly, the soft hum and light spilling out onto the wooden floor. Grabbing a bottle of water, she shut the door—only to find Paige standing there, leaning against the counter like she’d been waiting.

Pumpkin’s breath caught. “Jesus—”

Paige raised her hands lazily. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

She was in loose sweats and a cropped tank, her hair tied up. No makeup. No attitude.

Just… her.

Pumpkin gave a soft, nervous laugh. “You move like a damn ghost.”

Paige tilted her head. “You’re out here pretty late.”

“So are you.”

“Touché.”

They stood in silence for a beat, the only sound the slow clicking of the fridge settling back into place. Paige nodded at the bottle in Pumpkin’s hand. “That all you came for?”

Pumpkin shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Why not?”

She looked at Paige for a second, then looked away. “Just… long day. New place. You know.”

Paige hummed, stepping away from the counter to rinse out her cup at the sink. “It’s funny.”

“What is?”

“You’re here with my cousin,” Paige said slowly, “and somehow I’ve talked to you more than he has today.”

Pumpkin’s stomach flipped. She opened the water but didn’t drink it.

Paige turned off the faucet, shook her hands dry. “You gonna pretend you haven’t noticed it too?”

Pumpkin met her eyes.

Steady. Quiet. Almost daring.

“No,” she said softly. “I’m not.”

Paige’s lips twitched like she was about to say something else—but she didn’t.

Instead, she leaned in just slightly, grabbed a towel off the counter, and turned toward the hallway.

“Night, Pumpkin.”

And just like that, she was gone.

Leaving Pumpkin in the kitchen, heart racing, bottle untouched.

Pumpkin stared at herself in the mirror, toothbrush in one hand, her phone in the other. Her reflection didn’t look like someone who’d only come out to get water. She looked… unsettled. And it had everything to do with Paige Bueckers leaning against that damn kitchen counter like she owned the night.

She spat, rinsed, and gave herself one last once-over before heading back out into the hallway.

Voices floated up from the kitchen. Pancakes, music, someone already laughing way too loud. The usual morning-after-cabin-trip chaos. She took a breath, braced herself, and walked in like she hadn’t nearly combusted in the middle of the night.

Jake was flipping pancakes at the stove, dancing off-beat to whatever song was playing. Ami was pouring orange juice. Paige was—

At the table.

Of course.

Legs stretched out, hoodie back on, hair damp from a shower. She didn’t look up right away, just stabbed at the food on her plate like nothing was different.

“Morning, babe,” Jake grinned, holding a plate up like it was a prize. “You want chocolate chip or blueberry?”

“Uh… surprise me,” Pumpkin smiled, walking over to kiss his cheek.

She took her seat across from Paige, forcing her eyes anywhere but there. Her fork scraped softly against her plate, but her appetite was nowhere to be found.

And then Paige looked up. Not with a smile. Not with a smirk. Just… with that look. The same one from last night. Still steady. Still unreadable.

Pumpkin quickly looked away.

Jake sat next to her, chatting like normal. And she nodded like normal. But she could feel it.

That spark from last night?

It hadn’t gone out.

It was sitting across from her, drinking coffee like nothing happened.

The afternoon drifted by lazily, the kind of warm, easy feeling that always hung in the air when you were in a place like this—away from the chaos of real life. Everyone was gathered by the lake, but even with the music playing, the laughter, and the sounds of kids throwing around a football, Pumpkin’s mind kept wandering back to Paige.

They were all spread out, blankets and towels scattered across the grass. Jake had his arm around her, comfortable, like everything was fine. But Pumpkin couldn’t stop feeling like there was something in the air—something that hadn’t been there before.

Paige, of course, was across from them, looking perfectly at ease in her dark blue bikini top and worn-out shorts, sprawled out on a towel. The sun made her skin shimmer, and even from a distance, Pumpkin could see the way her eyes flicked over to her every now and then. But it wasn’t just a casual glance—it was the kind of look that made something twist in Pumpkin’s chest. It was too focused, too aware.

Jake was talking about something, but Pumpkin’s attention was divided. She could feel Paige’s eyes on her even though she wasn’t looking at her directly. It was like there was an invisible line pulling her attention back, again and again.

“Hey, you okay?” Jake’s voice broke through her scattered thoughts. He leaned in closer, touching her arm, but Pumpkin barely noticed the movement. She forced a smile, nodding.

“Yeah, just thinking.”

Jake gave her a half-smile, clearly unaware of the undercurrent buzzing between them. “We’re gonna go grab some more snacks. You want anything?”

Pumpkin nodded, not trusting her voice. “No, I’m good. I’ll just hang out here.”

Jake stood up and wandered off with a couple of his cousins. Pumpkin was left there, trying to keep her focus on the peacefulness of the lake, the ripples in the water, the kids running around. But Paige’s presence kept pulling her back.

She could feel her eyes again—like a weight on her skin, making her shift uncomfortably. And when she finally allowed herself to glance over, she saw it. Paige’s gaze was steady, unreadable, but there was something behind it. Something that said I know exactly what I’m doing.

Pumpkin quickly looked away, heat rising to her cheeks.

The tension wasn’t just in her head. It was in the way the space around them seemed to contract, in the way Pumpkin couldn’t get comfortable no matter how much she tried to shift on her towel. It was all too familiar now—the electric pull, the way Paige seemed to lean in without ever moving an inch.

She could hear her heartbeat in her ears, and she hated that she couldn’t shake the feeling that Paige was doing this on purpose. Watching. Waiting.

Just as she was about to sit up and move—make some excuse to get away—Paige shifted, too. She stretched her legs out, leaning back, but this time, she was facing Pumpkin more directly.

She said nothing. But there was a small, almost imperceptible smirk on her lips.

Pumpkin’s stomach dropped.

[theseerasures]

i guess it really is an Ozdust reprise bc once again i can't think of a way to talk about this sequence except to walk through bit by bit

but no really: i think the most easily coherent way to bring out the tragedy of this scene is to highlight how Gelphie took away fundamentally different lessons from the Ozdust, and it just never came to light until now

for Elphaba it truly is that she was changed for good, despite the Ozdust happening while we're only a third into the show. even the least jaded Elphabas come in pretty convinced that no one will ever accept her, but then Galinda just...makes it happen during a 45 second dance break. it's why she's willing to hear Galinda out during Popular--Galinda's way WORKS, even if it only works for Galinda. it's why the pronoun changes during the unlimited motif here; Elphaba really believes that she and Glinda can change the world together. to her perspective, they already have.

but--as Katie's overwhelmed/incredulous expression shows--that's not what happened for Glinda at ALL. what happened at the Ozdust, for Glinda, is that she had done a Bad Thing. this made another person feel awful; equally importantly, it had made GALINDA feel awful, so she had to fix it even though it was maybe the most terrifying thing she'd ever done. she's glad she did it because it made her a better person and she and Elphie are friends now, but she never wants to do that again. the reason it's so important to teach Elphaba about Popular is so they can avoid anything like it in the future. the idea that they could do a bigger, scarier version of the Ozdust here, then, is completely unfathomable. the only reason the Ozdust worked out the way it did is because everyone loved Galinda already at Shiz, but Glinda, here? the Wizard doesn't know Glinda. Madame Morrible certainly doesn't love Glinda. Fiyero might not even love Glinda, anymore. Glinda can't possibly help Elphaba change the world.

...and Glinda doesn't want the world to change. she's good at this world, right now; that's why she could bring Elphie back into the fold at school. she might even be able to do it again, here, but if Elphaba doesn't want that--if the only thing Elphaba wants is this...

the crazy thing is she almost gives in anyway. the script says she has to, obviously, but what comes across for this particular performance is Glinda almost gets on the broom for no other reason except that Elphaba is the one asking. the moment when Glinda steels herself before grabbing the broom is the same moment earlier when Glinda steeled herself before saying "don't be afraid" is the same moment later when Glinda will steel herself before bidding Elphaba goodbye. it all comes down to this: Elphie needs her. in the face of something so simple, what can Glinda do, except everything she can?

so the duet portion of this sequence is just. Elphaba's all Glinda i believe in you more than anything else in the world, you might not think you can do this but you absolutely can you can do anything. and Glinda's like Elphie i cannot follow any of your cognitive leaps and when i do they seem like the scariest most horrible things in the world, but if this is what you want i will try to help you bc you deserve everything and i believe in you even when i think you are concussed somehow. then Elphaba's like i know this dream we both want seems impossible but we can achieve it if we work together while Glinda's going i cannot fathom why literally anyone would want what you want but you seem very convinced so and you'd think at this point they'd be like what? and realize they're having two completely different conversations but instead they're so stupid with the love beaming out of their bodies it seems it might actually work out

but of course it doesn't. the script says so, and this is Katie's Glinda, so of course the bitch has to start thinking.

and it's funny. "Glinda doesn't get on the broom because she's scared" is one of the most common readings of this moment for pretty obvious reasons. "Glinda doesn't get on the broom because she's scared of Elphaba" is much rarer and, when done well, stands out a lot more; the example that comes most to mind is Alison Luff and Gina Beck, where Alison's Elphaba is so outraged by what she reads as Gina!Glinda's betrayal that it feels pretty justifiable that Glinda fears for her own safety.

then you have Katie here, who is not doing either of those but some secret third thing. that she looks at Elphaba before flinching away from the broom (btw thank you Laurel Harris for putting your hands over Katie's; my wife and i now hiss "trap her. trap her u coward" during this scene because of you) implies that was what spooked her, but it's hard for me to buy she's scared Elphaba might hurt her, because a) Laurel's Elphaba is the most pathetic of meow meows and b) Katie's Glinda, despite being a massive coward, somehow also has no sense of self-preservation

instead it feels...almost metaphysical? back in One Short Day Glinda had been cognizant of something happening between them, which she couldn't identify but Elphie could. back then she'd asked for time to figure it out; now there's no time and she's cottoned onto just how overpowering her instinct to do literally anything with Elphaba, for Elphaba, has become. it's one thing to have misgivings about Elphaba's vision for the future because it's ridiculous (and because there might not be a place for Glinda there), but it's another thing to realize that none of those misgivings matter for Glinda herself, because some part of Glinda loves Elphaba so much she was about to atomize her own wants and identity without thinking twice.

which might be the scariest thing of all for Glinda--all Glindas, even if they don't think through it as much.

they'll never bring us down, promises Elphaba, but she's not even looking at Glinda anymore. where Elphaba sees a flight into the sublime, Glinda can only see a fall into nothingness.

[dude-ihavenoidea]

HELL IS EMPTY

ALL THE DEMONS ARE HERE

Wanda is the Scarlet Witch. After going through the heartbreak of losing her perfect fake life, she cannot settle down with just a real and empty one. Wishing for all that should be impossible to have – it’s just not the most safe choice to make, or the most healthy life to fantasize about, but for her, it’s not a choice at all. Her children. Her boys. They are the last and only source of happiness remaining in her life. And Wanda want… WILL… have them back. She will destroy whatever it takes. Kill whomever is in her way.

But there’s consequences. The living and breathing embodiment of a nightmare, created by the decisions of no one other than the Scarlet Witch herself. All that Wanda should have predict, and all that she will never forget.

They are equals – with a destructive mind and the power to end it all. Two sides of the same blood stained coin.

Warning ⚠️ ⚠️ This story will contain talks of depression, anxiety, grief, gruesome murder and other sensitive topics. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

A/N: DOCTOR STRANGE: MoM SPOILERS! I intend to make this a small series, after seeing the movie I just could not stop thinking about it.

English is not my native language, so there might be some mistakes. Sorry!

Part 02

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Red light pulses and flickers, dancing in the air like random drawings that float out of the tip of black fingers. Wanda stood proudly. Shadows dance in the walls around her, the darkness weakened by the glow of the candles. She found something. Ashes of the Darkhold scattered the floor around and beneath her feet, her eyes furious. The vision she just had, burning in her mind with whispers echoing all around her skull. Mocking her, and the plans she had made this far.

One possibility in millions. Destiny called for it’s rights, and now everything changed. It’s up for Wanda to figure out how the hell she will keep things in control, and angered her to no end knowing that she had just lost her vantage.

“Who is she…”, she growled through greeted teeth. Wong fisted a bunch of dust and tiny stones, trying to crawl away as much as possible. “Answer me!” the scream echoed.

The wind blew strong, bringing the scent of smoke and death that covered Kamar-Taj. Wong stopped when one of his fingers reached a hand, alone in the center of a big puddle of blood.

Magic got him by one of his legs, and pulled him all the way back to the steps that he so miserably rolled down. Laying flat in the burned stones, feeling the ground hurting his spine, air got knock out of his lungs when he landed against a wall straight after. Planks of wood falling atop of him, some parts of the sealing too.

“Who. Is. She”, Wanda growled again. Her voice deepened and distorted by raw power.

“I-I don’t… k-know”, Wong barely got out. Blood dripping from his mouth and cold sweat rolling down his forehead.

Wanda let out a grunt of frustration. She walked and walked, trying to get herself to think of something. Anything that could help, but she never had seen something like it. Not even in the Darkhold. That woman looked strangely familiar, and angry. A kind of anger that made her dangerous, ignoring it would be the dumbest idea she would ever had.

Wong let out a whimper, desperately trying to seat up, fighting the pain of broken bones and bruised muscles. Wanda watched, still thinking. When the sorcerous finally could get a breath of air without coughing, her eyes glowed bright red. Wong felt a stinging pain behind his eyes, his body tensed up like he just got electrocuted. In his mind, the image of the woman that Wanda seemed to worry about.

She was… terrifying. In a strange and confusing way. Her magic was strong, moving around like pure darkness, and her eyes were a door to the deepest void Wong has ever seen. In the vision, she looked directly at him, as if she knew Wanda would be watching. No dark color in the tip of her long slim fingers, nothing special in her clothes. Black jeans, combat boots, a heavy jacket full of pockets. The only thing that shined in her entire body was a ring. Secured in her chest by a small chain hanging around her neck. Delicate, and small. It looked out of place.

The woman didn’t said anything. She just stood and stared deep in to Wong’s eyes. Terrifying, and yet…

Wong blinked when the vision was gone from his mind and Wanda watched curiously while he stared at a random spot in the mass of rubble. Dried blood mixed with dust and ashes. The vision wasn’t for him.

Wong smiled. Bleeding and in pain – he still smiled. A big vein appeared in Wanda’s temple, and she closed her lips in a white line. A humorless nasal laugh sounding just as impatient as she felt.

Wong didn’t know who the stranger was, but now he knew that Wanda, had finally met someone strong enough to let her worried. This woman not only was waiting anxiously for the encounter, but she also was one-step forward. Sensing Wanda’s presence from other universe, and having the guts to look her dead in the eye.

Wanda had a reason for this mess, even if it was a mad one. The stranger had one too.

“I don’t know her, but… can’t wait to meet her personally”. Wong laughed this time.

Wanda slapped him with a ball of angry red magic, careful not to get him unconscious. He would be of no use then.

“Come”, she said like he had a choice, and Wong was dragged again.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

The stranger – this Y/N woman, she was… intriguing, at least. America watched as they walked through the streets of Sokovia, looking for a place to rest for a few hours. When they finally got to this small building, and the door to the last apartment was opened with a old looking spell, they were both brought inside and welcomed to get some new clothes or something to eat from the fridge.

“What is this place?”, Stephen asked.

“You’ve never been to an apartment before? Usually, this is how they look from the inside“-

“I know how a apartment looks like”, he huffed.

“Then don’t ask stupid questions”, she said back with a little smirk. Seems like she liked annoying Strange.

America watched, somewhat amused with the first look of emotion on the woman’s face and then shrugged when Strange looked at her, annoyed. “What?”.

“It’s my old apartment”, Y/n explained, watching outside the window. “Wanda and I used to live here, before we got married”.

The sadness in her voice came back quickly, America tried not to stare at the pictures all around. Strange didn’t care much, he looked, and looked some more until he decided to sit down.

“So, what’s your plan? Tag along until Wanda appears?”.

“Yes”, she turned around seeming almost bored. “Wanda already knows I’m helping you. She won’t be a problem for much longer”.

“What?”, Strange said quickly. Y/N kept looking at him, not surprised. “She knows you’re with us. Do you really think the best plan is to just… what, take a nap at your old apartment and wait for her to show up?”.

She stared again. In that strange consuming way that could make the most powerful people in the world very uncomfortable.

“You are… confident”, America said cautiously in the silence.

“You had the Darkhold”, Strange pointed. “You use magic without saying a single word or move. You said you are… a mistake in the fabric of reality. That your existence is real only in this universe”.

Y/N crossed her arms and rested her back up against the wall. Not even looking a tad bit worried. America wrecked her brain, trying to figure out what Strange was on about.

“And…”, she encouraged.

“Wife and kids… In this universe, Wanda had a wife and kids. That never… She’s always married with Vision”.

“Now, hold on a second… What?”, Y/N blinked with a disgusted look. “Wanda. My Wanda… With the stoplight?”.

“Stop…”, America snickered and coughed a bit after, trying to contain herself. “I-I mean, yeah. Wanda and Vision are totally a thing”.

“What?”, Y/N asked again and America nodded her head with a little uncomfortable smile. “That’s… I mean, he’s a robot… Kinda of a unique… relationship, that’s for sure. Uhm… were they… Was she happy?”.

America didn’t know the answer, she looked at Strange wanting to know for sure. Stephen sighed and softly nod. Y/N knew something had happened.

“They were happy for some time, I think. Until Thanos got to us and… Wanda had to destroy the stone”.

“Your Wanda killed the man she loved…”, Y/N said cautiously.

“And then watched when Thanos brought him back to get the stone, which-“.

“Killed him again”.

“Yes”, Strange nodded.

Y/N stayed quiet for a while and than sighted, running a hand through her hair in deep thought.

“I assume that’s when the Hex started. With the boys? She made everything up, because she lost the life she wanted”.

There was no need to answer, the room fell quiet. America looked at the pictures a bit more this time and Strange seem to find some entertainment in staring Y/N down for the next minutes.

“Is… Pietro alive?”.

“No”, he answered quietly. “Ultron”.

Y/N snapped her eyes at him by the name, something tense glittering in her eyes for a small second.

“Does she have anyone? Friends?”

“The Avengers were her family”.

“If they aren’t family anymore, they never deserved to be called that. Wanda has enough shit- had…enough to deal with already. Getting abandoned by her friends after losing everything she loved…”, Y/N let out a sour chuckle and walked out of the room with a sad smile. “Nothing I can’t relate…”.

“Do you have friends? Someone who can help us, I mean”, America said. Trying to cover up her curiosity and compassion with a plan.

Strange looked at her for a bit and then turned his head to the end of the living room, where Y/N had stopped to look back with a smile that didn’t seemed as sad as before.

“I do”, she said and America sighted. “But I fear that meeting them when you’re here would be… counterproductive. Some of them at least”.

“What’d you mean?”, she asked curiously.

Y/N chuckled. She would’ve found the amount of questions and nosing In her business annoying a few years back. When were still just her fiancé and her living in that apartment. Roaring twenties, with parties, hangovers and a lot of make out sessions.

The married life with twins changed her a bit. For the good. And she missed the constant curios questions, giggles and the sound of cartoons dancing through the living room of her home. Nothing felt like it again, this old apartment, the empty house. Anywhere around the city felt like nowhere at all.

Because they weren’t there. Wanda and the boys where now buried in the ground of the local cemetery. With they’re names carved into stone and still fresh dirt above their cascates.

Y/N closed her fist and dug her nails into the skin, swallowing the huge lump that burned in the back of her throat. The smile she gave out was fake, Strange hated how easily he knew the difference. It was easy when he had a similar one for the mirrors, fans and pretty much everyone else. Including the woman, that he not only loves, but is also happy with someone else.

“The Illuminati and I have not been seeing eye to eye since I got the Darkhold”.

“You’ve stolen the Darkhold…”.

“It’s mine”, Strange sensed something off about that, “it was requested of me to let it sealed and kept away for safety. They’d studied it from time to time, but I always knew where it was. I just now found a reason to take it”.

“Power”, Strange insinuated. “You got the book because you need it to kill Wanda. For revenge. This just gets better and better”.

“I don’t need an old, dusty, fucking book to destroy the woman who took everything from me”, she growled and walked forward. Stephen immediately lifted his hands, getting himself ready to fight and protect America.

Y/N stopped right at his face, looking in his eyes with a anger that burned and tensed up all the muscles in her body. Like paint dripping from the walls, the shadows around and below the furniture started to move. Whispers calling from every direction, colors fading like the darkness was feeding from the light. Crawling quickly to pool at Y/N ankles.

“Who are you…”, America whispered, astonished and terrified.

Just as quickly as everything became so heavy, it came to be… easy, and real. It turned back to normal again. Like a switch. A punch to the gut or a bullet to the brain.

Y/n closed her eyes and took a big step back, the shadows followed. The colors of the room slowly coming back. So that’s how the empty house got black and white?, America thought.

Something was very wrong with her.

Stephen had never seen that kind of magic, but still felt familiar. He was reconsidering their ‘partnership’ at this point. Having her around felt like going for a walk with a bomb tied to his body.

“Blow it up”, Y/n said and he cursed himself for letting her in. “As long as you want America safe, and Wanda away from you two, I’m not a threat”.

“We don’t want Wanda dead”, America said quickly.

“No one is perfect”, Y/n said back with a sigh. “Go, have something to eat, get yourselves ready. Ultron’s robots will be here pretty soon, I suppose”.

“Excuse me?” Stranger questioned, taken a back.

“Oh, shit” America cursed under her breath.

“Did you just set us up?!”

“No, Xavier has been spying on me for a while now. I never let him in, but you guys had no clue. And like I said, not all of the Illuminati. We can get help there, and a bit more of protection. Stand down, red thingy”, the cape flapped it’s sides a bit and Y/N smiled, amused.

“Thought you said you could take her…”, America said and quickly explained when Y/n looked her way. “Not doubting you, just… you know… curious… She’s the Scarlet Witch”.

“You’ll need help to get away while I’m dealing with her. There’s someone inside, that can help. She owns me”.

“Oh”, America sounded a little surprised by the plan. “Sounds much better than just… jumping between universes”.

Strange rolled his eyes and turned around to the kitchen. His cape making a show of flapping around a bit more then usual just to make him look better. Like suddenly this gush of heroic air had just past the living room. America frowned when her wrist was grabbed with a whoosh of fabric and she ended up being dragged away by the cape, just like a mother gets her kid away from trouble.

The next minutes were spent in silence, not something that bothered Y/n or Strange, but America was definitely uncomfortable. She bite down on the piece of toast in her plate and cleaned the few crumbs with a tied smile. Strange gulped down almost half of the water bottle. Y/n sighted, deciding to say something.

“How’s Cristine?”, America choked a bit and reached for her glass.

Stephen looked Y/n dead in the eye and answered dryly, “Married”.

Y/n frowned and chuckled on the other side of the kitchen, “Weird way of saying that but, uhm… congratulations”.

“She’s… Christine and him are not…”, America tried to ease up the tension.

Y/n open and closed her mouth like a fish for a couple of times, than she just scratched her forehead and turned to put the glass in the sink. A humorless smiled that burned in Stephen’s mind.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything buy it – I just… Your universe is fucking awful”, she explained and Stephen actually nodded.

Well, that’s progress… I guess, America thought and Y/n smiled a bit after blinking casually to her. The girl smiled big, and had another mouth full of the crunchy bread.

“Were we friends?”, Stephen questioned.

“Huh? Oh, here? No. We hated each other”, she answered and turned around to wash her hands.

“Well that explains the tension in the air”, America murmured.

“Yeah, definitely not friends. More like… someone I knew from work that pissed me off”, Y/n explained. “And the asshole who treated my friend badly”.

Stephen’s stomach grew heavy, he looked anywhere but Y/n’s face for a minute. “Until he redeemed himself, yeah. Then I started tolerating him more easily”.

Strange looked quickly, he could see America smiling by the corner of his eyes. Y/n had her arms crossed and a soft smile on her face. One that he felt lucky to witness. “What did he do?”, the teenager asked curiously.

“Saved Wanda’s life when I wasn’t around to help”, she answered looking down to the wedding ring that she wore with the delicate chain around her neck.

Strange took a sip of his water noticing the pain that lingered in her, like looking in the mirror. “Still an asshole though”, he said with a chuckle.

“Absolutely”, Y/n agreed. “Huge asshole”.

That was nice. Strangely nice. Like making a weird mix in the kitchen with the most random things you could get out of the fridge, and then realizing it tasted something close to your parents cooking then you could ever muster yourself too do. Or maybe, like realizing you have a few more minutes too sleep before the alarm clock goes off.

It was abnormally… comforting.

“I’m sorry”, Y/n says to him. And the truth in her eyes shined. It was like watching someone so pure reemerging front the darkness just to make someone’s day feel better.

Strange nodded, silent and a bit taken a back. But he smiled. For once in a long time, with no sarcasm or bittersweet longing – he just smiled a little. Feeling undertood.

A knock on the door made the duo freeze for a moment, Y/n only circled around the kitchen counter and walked to the front door. Opening it as if they weren’t running away from the worst psycho of the multiverse.

One thing that made them suspicious, was the anxious way she hid the wedding ring dangling in her chest under her shirt. Like it was supposed to be a secret.

“Yes? Oh, Hi-“, she got interrupted by a generous smack to the face.

Y/n didn’t make a sound, her head stayed there for a few seconds while the taste of blood surged around her tongue. Stephen got up immediately and America prepared to jump away if necessary, they couldn’t get a clear view of who was crazy enough to punch y/n’s face like that. Only the top of a redhead.

“Seriously?” Y/N questioned with a sigh and looked up.

“You deserved that”.

Stephen frowned. He didn’t knew that voice, in the five years he was away, the sorcerer never got to meet the woman who kept the avengers alive. Y/n still blocked the door. She was punched just now and didn’t even looked pissed at all.

“Guess I did”.

“Don’t you ever. And, I mean. EVER. Do that shit to me again”, the redhead ordered with a pointing finger. “When I call, you answer. That was the fucking deal!”

“Yeah, I know”.

“Do you?! Really?!”

“Yes, I-“

“Do you have any idea how much you had me worried?”, her voice wavered a bit.

A few seconds of silence got the air stuck with tension. Y/n stayed with her head hanged low, with her small voice of guilt.

“…I’m sorry. I really am, it’s just….” she gulped, “I’ve been busy“.

“Stealing the Darkhold. Yeah, I know, Y/n. And - God! Of all the dumb shit you could’ve done…”

Y/n just looked in silence. That was the stupidest idea she’d ever thought of, and one that could easily get her killed. But it was something that needed to be done. And Y/n were never one that ran away from trouble, no. Since a kid, she was the one, right in the middle of it all.

“Look, I… I won’t say I’m sorry for doing it, okay?”

“I wouldn’t believe you anyway…”

“I am sorry for worrying you though… if that even means something”.

The redhead sighed and finally came closer, hugging Y/n with a gentle kiss to her chin – just were she had punched with so much anger. “You’re a hand full, kid. Never change, okay?”

“Not a kid”.

“ Whatever”.

“I hate you”, Y/n sighted and closed the door behind them. Stephen frowned and America left her mouth hang open. “Guys, meet my friend… Natalia Romanova”.

“First of - I’m the best friend, thank you very much. And second, that is not my name. And you know it, Kid”.

“I’ve told you already, don’t call me kid. I’m not-“

“Yeah, you are“.

“No, America is a kid”. Natasha ignored her completely. “Not to be rude, but what are you doing here, exactly? Go annoy your dear Captain or something”.

“She can hear you, you know? She’s waiting down stairs, given us cover for the next five minutes. And let me tell you, she’s pissed”.

“Now, hang on a second”, Strange blinked in surprise.

“Why am I not surprised”, Y/n smirked.

“Stop that”, Romanoff pointed again with a small smile and turned around. Looking at the duo of outsiders in the other side of the room. “We’re kinda of a white flag at the moment, common ground. You know?”.

“They send you, because you can smack my face and scape alive”. Y/n explained with a sigh. She actually looked bored.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much it. Hi, there!”. Romanoff smiled.

America shuffled a bit, waving with a nervous smile. Strange looked at Y/n to try and figure out if Romanoff was worthy of trust. With all the bickering in the last minute, it was obvious that the two were close friends.

“What in the world have you got yourself into now, stupid…”, Romanoff sighed, already looking annoyed with herself for asking. Arms crossed, she turned to look at her best friend and frowned. Y/n was focused on some random spot in the covered window.

“Stupid, you there?”, Natasha asked.

Y/N stayed quiet. Fists clenching slowly up to the point where they could hear the knuckles crack in the silence. Natasha looked down, following the soft noise and her heart grew cold immediately.

“Y/n…”.

No response.

“Kid!”, Y/n blinked like she just got out of a bad dream. “You okay? What where you looking”-.

“Nothing”, Y/n casually hid her hands in to her pockets. But it was already too late, and she knew it. “Thought I heard something”.

“Why aren’t you wearing your ring?”, the tension in Natasha’s voice made Strange and America immediately worried. Y/n didn’t answer, instead she just turned around and went to the kitchen, shaking her head.

“Who says I’m not?”, a lame try but hey, her mind was still pretty confused.

“Y/n”, Natasha warned.

“It’s fine. I didn’t threw it away”.

“But it’s not where it should be… Get up here. Now”, Natasha said to the earpiece and walked fast behind her.

“Oh, come on. Seriously?”, Y/n chuckled.

“What ring?”, America asked.

“The one on her neck, probably.” Strange looked to Y/N cautiously, picking up on things pretty fast.

“Remember when I said I tolerated you? Well, you’re making It kind of hard for me, Strange”, Y/n growled. “Stay right where you are, Cap. I’m okay, thank you very much…” – the voice sounded loud and deep, echoing both on the walks and into everyone’s minds.

“Wait, what?”, America looked around trying to understand who the hell they were talking to.

“Y/n, I swear-“ Romanoff huffed, a hand moving up to the commons on her ear piece. Captain had responded.

“Yeah, no, thank you-“. Y/n denied again, her voice once again echoing in both places. America held the side of the counter, looking slightly nauseous.

“She’s coming to help! Why would you even do that?” Natasha said angrily and Y/n huffed. “We’ve been here before! We know what that kind of power does to you!”

“That kind of power… Is the only way to get what I want. What she deserves”, Y/n growled.

“She – is Wanda Maximoff. She is your wife!”, Natasha exclaimed.

“No, she’s not! You know that… Not in that universe. Or in any other than this one, Nat. I already lost my chance”, the woman opened her arms like she could hug her own miserable fate.

“Stop talking like you’re already dead!”, Natasha exclaimed. Worry clenching her chest and burning her throat. “Your still here, right in front of me! And I will do whatever the hell is necessary to keep it that way! Stop it! – Yeah! We are very fucking calm, Cap. Thank you!”, Nat snapped to her earpiece huffing.

“I’m so confused…”, America whispered.

“don’t puke”, Stephen says.

“She’s with Vision!”, Y/n argued with a humorless laugh.

“Wha- the toaster? Yeah, sure. And I dated Steve”, Natasha countered.

“Excuse me?”, Strange blinked.

“Not you, Stephen. I said Steve”, Romanoff said, looking a bit disgusted by the idea.

Strange looked at himself for a moment. He was having a bad day, somethings were more important. Is my hair messy? In the reflection in the small mirror at the corner, Stephen notice that, in fact, he could be much worse for someone on his position. His cape gave him a little tap on the shoulder, giving him some support.

“It’s true”, America said a bit after and Romanoff looked at her, not believing. “Married. With two kids…”.

“Wait…”, the redhead looked to her best friend and then America. The heavy glow in Y/n’s eyes and the uncomfortable smile of the teenager made her a bit worried. “Are you serious?”.

“Why are you so surprised? I already told you that I only exist in this reality”, Y/N shrugged.

“Bullshit. Your just annoying, and likes to hide from everyone. Like usual”, Natasha explained and Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Are you a Sorcerer?”, America asked suddenly. Trying to read the hidden story that they tried to keep a secret off. Both women looked at her confused. “A Ring, like this. You said she is not wearing it”. She pointed to Strange’s hand, showing the powerful and shiny artifact.

“What? No! Of course not!”, Y/n huffed like the question was completely insane.

“What, would that be so bad?”, Stephen asked defensively.

“Honestly? Yeah, it would be very bad considering all that you guys have done with me”, Y/n snapped back.

Natasha huffed too, already fed up with the arguing. A quick move and she got a hold of the chain at the side of her best friend’s neck. Y/n moved just as quickly – way quicker than expected –, and caught her hand firmly.

“Let go”, she ordered.

“No”.

“Natasha”, Y/n warned.

“I promised Wanda I would take care of you. That’s what I’m doing”, Romanoff didn’t back down and the lights in the kitchen flickered.

“Uh… guys?”, America called cautiously when a heavy deep sound started shaking the ground just a bit. Still under control.

It sounded like thunder. The steady and never ending hum of a storm, just starting to bloom in the horizon. But the felling under her feet was very real.

“I’m not joking around. Let… the fucking chain… go. Now”.

“I’m not afraid of you”, Natasha looked her dead in the eye, the silence between her words vibrating in her ears. Warm fingers squeezing her wrist. “You should know that by now. Let my hand go, Y/N. I’m not watching you kill yourself. I gave her my word”.

“And I gave her mine”, she said back, ominously.

Well, shit.

That’s what Natasha thought.

They both stayed put. America looked at the shadows dancing around the room. Hands reaching from the furniture and wallpaper, trying to get a hold of something and break free. The color in y/n eyes darkening, and black swimming in the corners of white.

Natasha reached for the gun slowly, eyes still focused but alerted by the shadow growing around her feet. Strange put his hand up. Yellow strings of magic shining. America closed her fists. Y/n tensed and turned her head a bit, like someone, or something, just whispered in her ear.

Do it… It’s easy, you know it is. We have been here before… do it.

Natasha felt the jolt of adrenaline and fear. She pulled the gun out, already knowing what was going on. Getting into a fight with her best friend were not her plan, and now here they were. If Y/n lost control, they were dead.

A flash of blue, red and white past through the darkness reflecting the almost completely dark room. Metal vibrated in contact with something much harder than a brick wall, catching it perfectly. Resonating a high note in the silence.

It was Y/n’s right hand. Holding the shield like it was nothing. Flames of dark fire sneaking around her fingers and wrist. Natasha pulled as quickly as she could, the chain gave in and the ring stayed in the palm of her hand.

Captain Carter herself walked in the kitchen with a sad, worried smile. The somber atmosphere gave in immediately, felt more right and true. Almost honorable just to be at her presence.

The shadows wavered a bit and Natasha felt the floor finally let go of her combat boots. Peggy came closer, taking Romanoff’s side when she backed away, a heavy step at a time. Her eyes on Y/n, not judging, understanding in an disarming way.

When she stopped, Peggy smiled. And it all came back like a tidal way. The last incident, the last time they spoke… the dread of understanding that it could all became a pattern if they weren’t careful.

Y/n felt hazardous. Flawed… alone, even though Carter was just right there. Within arms reach.

“Peggy… It’s been a while”, Y/n said quietly. Shield in hand, it’s colors looking brighter in the black aura that surrounded.

“Y/n. Still getting yourself in trouble, I see”, Carter smile a bit more this time.

Y/n closed her eyes with a sigh, and her shoulders dropped. Cautiously, the Captain asked for her shield back. Y/n swallowed bitterly. The metal felt wrong in her hand. Unworthy. She realized what was happening just as fast as it began. In a deep breath of air, the room got back it’s colors. No shadows or hands clawing at the walls, her eyes slowly got back to their usual color, and the deafening deep sound was gone.

America realized she was holding her breath, and small white spots danced around her vision when she finally gasped for fresh oxygen. But, she realized, the room smelled like… nothing. Worse then death on a humans body, or self deprecating and numbing loneliness. Just a strong, constant, absolutely impossible to understand – absence of smell that clogged up her nostrils in a quick go and go her nauseating. She oppened her mouth, so she wouldn’t suffocate immediately.

It felt like oxygen had just disappeared. Unable to be in the same room as them. When really, it was just y/n who felt like running away from herself.

“I’m sorry”, Y/n said. And it seemed like someone else entirely, she put a hand up and a little blow of air came by.

There was a little harmony of soft gasps for breath. America understood that she wasn’t the only one.

Peggy smiled softly and squeezed y/n shoulder a bit, getting the heavy shield from her old friend’s hand. Strange and America watched, confused with it all. Y/n looked even more exhausted now, she pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling embarrassed.

“I’m so… so sorry. Nat, I-“.

“It’s okay”, Natasha reached for her hand and, gently, put the ring in her cold, sweaty palm. “We brought you back in time”.

Y/n squeezed the ring a bit. The echo of Wanda’s voice, the way she said ‘I do’ in that altar once, and how the whole world felt more happy and right. The infinity of memories. Y/n loved and hated the ring at the same time. It made everything so real. Every time she looked at it, she’d remember what she’s lost and couldn’t get back.

The four just watched, hypnotized by the raw emotion put on display. Y/n’s lips trembled, and using a small amount of her power, the ring slid to her finger. Red whips of powerful magic grew in the veins under the skin, little runes shined at the sides of the jewelry.

Strange and America stared. Y/n held the tears away, now she was the only one feeling like she couldn’t breath.

“You can’t take it off again, Kid…”, Nat says in the most softest of ways.

“I know…” Y/n answered sadly, “I won’t… I-I just…”, a breath of air seemed to do nothing more than to drown her even further. “I miss them so much”.

“We know”, Peggy leaned down and kissed the side of her head like she used to do.

It got quiet after that. Stephen wanted to ask. He’s eyes followed the woman around the kitchen counter and to the living room until the bedroom door closed in the end of the hall. Immediately, he spun around looking almost shocked. America had her mouth hung open, pointing to the two women behind the counter like she just saw something out of this – every – world.

“What just happened?”

“The ring”.

Stephen and America said at the same time. Romanoff turned around and got herself a glass of water. Peggy put the shield on her back and leaned in the counter. “She needs some time”, was the answer to America. “And, yes, the ring… It’s for safety. Wanda helped create it with our Strange, and a few other people”.

“A few other… Okay, what is happening here? Who is she?”, Strange said, a bit impatient.

“Who is she?”, Natasha turned around holding the glass half empty.

“Yes”, Strange huffed when they both looked at each other. “They needed Wanda, the Scarlet Witch, Me - the Sorcerer Supreme, and a bunch of other sorcerers to do one single spell to one single person”.

“Pretty much, yeah”, Natasha confirmed.

“Yep, your spot on”. Peggy nodded.

“Why?”, Strange pressed on. “The most powerful being in the universe should be enough to perform one single spell”.

“Woah, hang on a second. Back up, mate”, Peggy said quickly. “You think the Scarlet Witch is the most powerful being in the universe? …Wanda?”.

“Obviously”, he countered and looked at the two friends when all that he got was silence. “Well, not anymore apparently. I don’t”.

“She’s not?”, America questioned and Natasha responded by taking a big uncomfortable sip. “Then who is?”.

“Well…”, Peggy smiled nervously. “You see… we’ll have to take you to a stroll at our Strange's library”.

“Sanctum”, Natasha said and looked down a bit. Letting her know that they had a much quicker way of explaining things.

“Museum. Whatever. It’s the same thing”, Peggy rolled her eyes, her British accent showing a bit more.

There was a heavy silence in the air. America sighted and looked at Strange, waiting for an answer. Peggy didn’t exactly trusted both of them, but a feeling at the pit of her stomach said it was the right thing to do. She felt the same when meeting Y/N for the first time, it was enough to at least consider.

With a look to the duo once more, and another to Natasha, she decided it was for the best.

“Well, yeah. Now I need to know what the hell even is this universe!”, Stephen pressed on.

“Okay, yeah. Me too”, America crossed her arms. She’s been jumping around universes since always, how could she not know about this?

“We’ll answer your questions the best way we can for now, and we’ll give Y/n some time to… try to figure out a way to convince the Illuminati to not kill us all, as soon as we arrive at the base at least”, Natasha sighted and turned around again.

“Richards will be a pain in the ass”, Peggy huffed and stared at her watch, touching the scream a bunch of times. “Nat, can you do it? I’m awful at this thing”.

“Already on it”, the widow turned around with her phone in hand. A small rectangular device that looked entirely made of glass with metal edges.

She put the phone on top of the kitchen counter, and sighted. A hologram was project, showing up a big file with hundreds of pages. America and Stephen got extremely focused the moment they read de “TOP SECRET” words in screaming-red up above.

Natasha decided not to say a word in the beginning. Let themselves read and absorb the basics of the history. It took a while, a few minutes of silence mumbling. Peggy and Natasha stepped back, enjoying a cup of coffee and tea while they wait.

And the whole time they did, there was not a single noise from the bedroom. Peggy said to the Illuminati that they where negotiating a peaceful truce, and she was surprised they actually bought it.

Natasha got bored not much later, and came closer to the hologram. Peggy decided to not address the obvious frown in the Black Widow’s face. Natasha cared for Y/n, just as much as Peggy did, but the Russian had been around in the worse episodes to help. Something that Peggy herself couldn’t say the same…

She’d forever blame herself for it.

“Umbrakinesis. Hmm, a very particular ability”. Stephen said, eyes locked to the pages of the document. The picture in the front page showed a face that should be much more younger than the woman who owns the apartment today. But, instead, it was exactly the same.

“She’s a Level five?”, America questioned, head tilted to the side. Reading the mess of stamps in dark, old red. DANGEROUS and VIOLENT all over the page. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That her powers are… Strong. Very strong”, Stephen sighted.

“They are more then that. Tell me. Do you know some universe, where there’s no shadow? Even if it’s a small one?”, Natasha crossed her arm’s while asking.

“Wait, she can control shadows?”, America finally seemed to understand the situation.

“Not just control. It’s like… Like they grow inside her”.

“Darkness. Not just shadows. There’s no need to exist light, she’ll make the place more dense than peach dark. It’s concrete, dark matter. Sometimes it burns, sometimes it speaks or whispers… We don’t know for sure, it’s … It’s dark”, Peggy seemed nervous just thinking about it. “Professor tried studying it with Richards. Didn’t go as planned”.

“What happened?”, Stephen asked curiously.

“The lab got swallowed in it, denser mist I’ve ever seen. It was quick, a blink of an eye, and the three of them where gone. For two full days it stayed there. Just waiting…” Stephen absorbed all the information he could, the story, the fear in Peggy’s voice and tension in Natasha’s shoulders. “It was undulating, and moving like water in slow motion. It seemed like a blanket, or something like that. Like the thing itself was asleep, and when we tried to get in, it would shrink to the size of a lightbulb, floating in the corner of the room”.

“And the whole room had no vibrating colors”, Natasha completed. “All was black and white, with no life. Faded”.

“Yeah, we… We saw something like it”, America said and shifted nervously when Natasha stared her way, somewhat surprised.

“What?”.

“Oh, when we found her? Her house? The whole place was just like that. No colors. Faded black and white”, she explained cautious.

“Is that so…”, Peggy looked to Natasha. “That’s… Interesting. How long ago was that again?”

“Uh… Just now”, the teenager pointed back. “Like, three or four hours”.

“What? We’ve seen something that shouldn’t have happened?”, Stephen guessed.

“Not exactly, no. It’s just that when they came back, Richard and Xavier… We knew something was inside that thing”.

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” Peggy inhaled, trying to get rid of the tension in her body. “ They both came back shaking… Like, Richards, God, he cried like a baby. The fear in his eyes… When the whole thing disappeared, he just fell to the ground like a puppet without it’s strings, and didn’t move. Blank stare for hours and hours. It was disturbing”.

“Read is intelligent, and brave. His not the kind of guy that would crumble like that just for anything”, Natasha explained.

“Yeah! He’s kinda of an ass sometimes, but he never runs from a fight. When he seemed to wake up from his thoughts, he just… screamed”.

America looked behind her shoulder, fearing that Y/n was there. Just listening. Even the way Peggy was acting made it seemed like it was forbidden. Something that should not be said out loud.

“Some weeks later, Richards made the file”.

“Weeks?”, Stephen asked and she nodded. “And the other one? What about him?”.

“Xavier came back injured”, she sighed and Stephen regretted asking. “He had this biting mark in his back. Not as bad as it should be”.

“Huh?” America said, confused.

“They stayed there for two days. If something attacked him… The bite shouldn’t be as heald as it looked. It was far more advanced. Almost closing actually”.

“You think they didn’t stayed there for just two days?”, America questioned.

“Yeah”, Peggy agreed. “Yeah, that’s exactly what we think. He’s chair was nothing but scraps of metal. Huge scratches and burning marks. The little of the tires that came back, had some strange kind of burned dirt in the base, that smelled disgusting”.

“Dirt? There was no dirt where we went, was just some strange watery… Nothingness”, America tried to describe.

“They both came back pale and temporarily blind”, Natasha completed with a serious and controlled voice. “You guys didn’t go blind as well, did you?”

“Nope”, Stephen responded and America shook her head. “We got dragged somewhere else, I guess. No dirt, no blindness or… Creatures”.

“Lucky you”, Peggy sighted. “I don’t know what she showed them, but… She did warned both that they should not keep going. For their own sake”.

“You think she made it on purpose?”, Stephen questioned suspiciously.

“No. I just think”-

“She couldn’t control it just as much at the time. Now she has the ring, and some more years of training”. Romanoff was quick to defend her best friend, looking sad just by having too. Stephen noticed that he wasn’t the only one who assumed that.

“She came back last. A few weeks after them. Reeking of sulfur and burning the floor with her steps.”, Peggy continued and looked to Natasha and back to the duo. “But mostly... unharmed”.

“That’s interesting”, Stephen thought out loud and America shot him a glare. “What! It is!”.

“Yeah, of course it is”, Natasha huffed and Peggy rested a hand on her shoulder, helping her to focus on the story. Not the obvious judgement.

“That day, we knew what to call her. It was…”, Peggy hesitated a bit, “it was written in cuts in her back…”.

“Penumbra”, America read in the file.

Stephen let the name sink in, eyes scanning the file once more. The details of the experience were describing something out of every world he could imagine. Read Richards had left a page wrote by hand. Shaky letters depiction dark monstrous creatures and big landscapes adorned with dead trees, a rotten smell and a feeling of uneasiness. Death on all corners, under small burned rocks and rotting soil.

His heart sank to the stomach. Eyes wide looking up immediately.

“Hmm, seen something like that, haven’t you”, Peggy laughed bitterly. “Yeah, I knew you would recognize it”.

“Wanda’s farm”, America caught up. “…So, her powers… They’re the same as the Darkhold”.

“Did she took them from it? Absorbed?”.

“No, Stephen”, Natasha shook her head. “The Darkhold took it’s power’s from her… She’s the source”.

Stephen felt the tense jolt of energy in his body. Heart racing, mouth going dry and a intense shiver creeping up his back. Now he could understand the sensation, it was the power, pouring out of her.

“I’m sorry, what?”, America swallowed tickly.

“Yes, kid. You heard it right”, Peggy sighted.

“No! But that’s impossible. How the hell could that be? Like, isn’t the Darkhold extremely old or something?! She can’t be alive for that long!”.

“A deviant”, Stephen sighted and closed his eyes. “A mistake in the fabric of reality. That’s what she told us! That’s because she’s not from- Oh shit”.

“What? Why ‘oh shit’…”, America said quickly.

“She’s the Empress of the Damned”, Strange came to conclusion.

He looked around, waiting to someone to say he is wrong, maybe having a concussion. But Natasha and Peggy nodded, and he sighted. Already exhausted.

“Damned being the… Souls of people? Or, like, a more metaphorical kind of thing”, America laughed bitterly – panicky. But she only got silence. “Hello?”.

“We’re fucked”. Stephen summered up.

“Hey, not in front of the kid. Language!”, Peggy pointed.

“Oh, really?”, America huffed.

“Yeah, Peggy. I think the kid had it worse”. Natasha smirked.

“Yes, I’ve had. Like, just for example, obviously…”, she laughed again and then got very serious, “… the woman who’s been walking with us this entire time being something like the Devil! Like literally? I mean, I’m not religious or anything, but that doesn’t mean I want to be besties with the ‘hell dude’. Like, c’mon! What the hell are we supposed to do now?!”.

“What? Nothing”, Natasha responded and America stared quickly. “Look, kid. I know, not exactly what you were expecting. I’ve been there. But there’s nothing to be done, that’s just who she is. Not something to be fixed”.

America sighted.

“That’s not what I meant”, she sounded more apologetic but still very anxious. “It’s just… She’s… Very powerful”.

“Yes. So, let’s just remember that her target is Wanda, not us”, Natasha tried to appease. “Not saying that that’s good – stop with the judging eyes Peggy –, just something to keep in mind while we figure out a way to stop her".

“And we will do that”, Captain Carter was sure of it.

America didn’t know how to feel about it all. Having Y/n around was scary, for sure, but it had became something more now. They didn’t have a concrete plan, the strange woman only said to leave Wanda for her to deal and move on. But having the Scarlet Witch and the Empress of the Damned fight, seemed pretty much like a Apocalypse – end of world kind of battle.

“This isn’t right, is it?”, she murmured to Natasha and a flash of sympathy became visible. Just enough for her to understand that Natasha was trying to figure out things too. A way to no one would die at the end of the day.

“How do you know so much?”, Stephen asked, breaking the heavy silence. “You two are obviously close. Old friends?”.

Natasha uncrossed her arms, reaching for the hologram a bit closely. She looked through it, a distant look in her eyes and heavy sigh escaping naturally red lips.

“I was on a mission the day we met. It was my second month infiltrated in one of Hidra’s biggest facilities and… She’s been there for a while”, she stopped with a little sad smile. “… Decades kinda while”.

“Decades as a prisoner?”, America said. Eyes going wide. “ How Hidra managed that?”

“They’ve got help. Hidra have a bunch of very weird weapons at their disposal, but not a single one could hold her down alone. Hell, not all of them together, they needed some backup”, Peggy was the one to smirk now, seeming a bit proud.

“Don’t bother looking in the files, there’s no name or description”, Natasha said, somewhat disappointed. “I read the whole thing more than once, not even a name, Hydra just says whoever helped them was a common ally. So, yeah. The Backup didn’t like y/n either”.

“Any chance their still around?”, America peaked in the files a bit.

“We should be ready for them. I don’t want to let any blind spots”. Stephen ignored the way America almost messed up the whole file with just one single gesture. Trying to zoom in.

“If they hold her back from scapping, there’s no way she could fight them alone. And I don’t think we could help”, Stephen commented. “Let’s hope their dead”.

“Great”, America nodded again. “How old is y/n anyways? Maybe we can start discovering who is by that”.

“By her age?”, Stephen question with little hope.

“You have a better idea?”, she questioned back.

Stephen rolled his eyes and looked to the women, expecting a answer.

“Y/n is very old. Like, older them me and Thor kinda old. She’s very very old”, Peggy didn’t have a exact number, but she could try to help at least.

“Older then Thor. The God of Thunder”, America swallowed.

“Not much, considering all of the entities and powerful beings out there”, Stephen didn’t seemed to impressed about it. “She’s a deviant, source of the power that forged the Darkhold, so… Yeah, she needs to be very old. Why don’t we ask her?”.

“Page thirty three, second paragraph”.

Stephen and America came back to the file, turning pages quickly until the small number appeared at the base of the document.

For keeping of safeness in the laboratory and surroundings of the facility, it was decided by unanimous voting that the subject should be erased of it’s memory. With the help of Backup, there will be no need of surgery or sedation.

During the procedure, please follow the instructions below:

- All the responses to pain, must be monitored and filed as already informed in page 03.

- Keep the cage closed during the experiment.

- All the lights in the environment must stay on, and second team of action in place. For safe keeping of the facility in case of further emergencies.

Kept in register for further notice:

After voting, the proposition was taken to higher ranking officials and accepted immediately. Seemly, for justice of the death of four highly qualified soldiers and the whole first Science Division on latest experiment of subject (Page 10 to 26), the lost of vast knowledge of unknown value is not to be taken account.

Luckily, Backup has agreed to share all the information gathered on the subject, and offered further assistance, if necessary, to maintenance of the experiment.

Let it be known, that I, yes, voted In favor of the experiment. But not by choice, only for the safety of my family.

In total, there where a hundred and twenty seven pages that discussed safety protocols before the actual description of any experiment.

“She killed a whole team of scientists and four soldiers. They took a vote and this Backup person… erased her memories. So now”-

“We have no idea what were dealing with”. Peggy completely.

“Yeah, great”, America sighted.

“Just awesome”, Stephen huffed. “Well I could always search in her mind”.

“Yeah, but do you want to?”, Peggy pointed and he only huffed again. “Professor and Richards tried, and they only came back with a single vision. Both scared to death. I don’t think it’s a good idea”.

“So, we don’t have a plan. Or any idea of who is Backup person. We only know that they’re very powerful, and don’t like Y/n”.

“Yes”, Natasha answered the scared teenager.

“Just like Wanda, aka the Scarlet Witch, don’t like her too”.

“Right again”, Peggy agreed.

“So, actually, we have to worry about two incredible powerful beings coming after us”.

“Yeah, but maybe Wanda knows who is and don’t like them too. I mean, she can see the memories of our Wanda in this universe. And Y/n told her wife, for sure. There wasn’t one thing in this world that the two didn’t know about one another”, Peggy comments.

“But Wanda wants me dead”, America remembered.

“And we can’t trust a single word she says. Wanda lied right to my face about America”, Stephen scratched his head.

“Will have to hope that Backup is dead, retired – very far away – not a possibility – won’t come around again – dead”, Natasha crossed her arms. “And, if they really do try and get y/n, will have to live through it first, and then… think of getting our own backup”.

“The Scarlet Witch”, America said, still unsure.

“Yes. If it comes to it”.

“If we survive”, Stephen agreed.

Silence.

“I hate this plan”, Peggy huffed. “But it’ll have to do. But, there’s a thing, It stays only between us. I’ll tell y/n later if needed too”.

“Yes, if asked, we were talking a way to a diplomatic decision”, Natasha said and America laughed a bit. “See? The kid gets it”.

“Yeah, yeah, we can be dramatic. Whatever”, Peggy brushed it off. “We still get the job done”.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Morning. Too early. The sun, golden and warm, hitting the curtains, and the gentle breeze touching the skin of Y/n. Slowly waking up.

She blinked, looking to the green picture of the forest beyond the open window. The wild blowing leaves, the waving of branches and chirping of birds. She could still see the moon, pale and almost gone from the sky. It was so early in the morning, above only baby blue adorned with little white clouds.

It was peaceful, and very beautiful. But what really made y/n smile, was the sound of crackers. And the vigorous chewing. Y/n left out a sigh that easy turned into a chuckle when she moved around.

Wanda was half sitting, with a mess of pillows behind her back. Her red hair left loose in wild waves, a small jar of crackers open and resting atop of her huge pregnant belly. A few crumbs could be seen here and there.

Y/n didn’t mind, she knew Wanda would clean it up as soon as she’d be done eating. Too worried with keeping everything perfect, as if the babies would care about something more than getting fed or sleeping when they finally arrived.

And the doctor had said that a little snack right in the morning would help with the sickness that still would torment her from time to time.

“Morning, Love”, Y/n smiled adoringly.

Wanda stopped mid bite. She looked to the side, swallowed what she had in her mouth and smiled. Big and wide. That smile was the same one since always, and would always warm Y/n’s heart to know that it was just for her.

“Hey, baby. Good morning”, Wanda popped the cracker in her mouth and reached to put the jar in the bedside table. She cleaned up the crumbs quite quickly, already having some practice with it. And turned around again.

Y/n sit up a bit, and smiled right after the little kiss of good morning. Wanda was always a bit more needy in the early hours of the day, and that one wasn’t different. She came closer, getting herself sited at her wife’s side and enjoying the cozy warmth of her body and blankets. Y/n arm snaked around her, and with ease reached to touch the big belly.

Wanda watched, the small sliding of slim fingers atop her white shirt.

“Morning, little ones”, Y/n said.

And, like always, there was a kick to the side of her belly. Wanda smiled big and rested her hand above her wife’s.

“You love that, don’t you?, Wanda teased. “Every morning, the same silly smile appears on your face”.

“Oh, yeah. I love it, it’s amazing that they always react to it”, Y/n laughed and kissed her head.

Wanda sighted, satisfied with the peace that lingered in the air. The golden light of the day painting the whole room with so much life and the beauty outside, it captivated her for hours. She was excited for the day, like always, but that morning she wanted to stay in bed a bit more.

So she did. Moving around a bit to sit in between her wife’s legs and let herself sink in the warm embrace. Both of them just letting everything sink in.

It wouldn’t be long before the twins were born. Wanda was scared and excited at the same time, but she was sure that if she had Y/n by her side, everything would be just fine.

“Hey, Babe?”, the redhead murmured.

“Yeah?”, Y/n answer in a whisper to her ear.

“I love you”, she said in the most delicate and sweet way.

Y/n smiled softly and whispered right back to her a bit later, “I love you too”.

Wanda floated in the air, with legs crossed and open red eyes. In front of her, the whole thing passed by just like a movie. The emotion of the moment, even if it was simple, hit her like a knife to the heart. She slowly came down, blinking her eyes a bunch of times.

Wong watched from the corner he was being kept in. Wanda was terrible to him every single moment, seaming like she couldn’t feel emotion at all. But at that moment, the way she floated back down and staying at floor. Tears in her eyes that’s she obviously was trying to keep in.

Wong felt pity. Even if he shouldn’t have, that moment Wanda wasn’t at all that monster, or demon. She seemed… lonely.

The Scarlet Witch sniffed a bit and got up, quickly turning around to walk away and dry the tears that scaped her control. The room got dark again, Wong had no idea where he was, but it was cold.

She brought him to a cabin in the middle of nowhere. Mountains, plains of green grass and river nearby. The wind blew cold there, stinging uncovered skin and threatening a frostbite. Wong shivered every second since he arrived, the temperature of the backroom he was kept was unsettling. He would shift and shift, it was impossible to be comfortable.

He wasn’t even chained, but with no ring there was nowhere to be. Wanda was he’s only way back, and only chance of survival. So he’d huddle close to the small fire and hear the whistle of a tea pot.

It was awful, with broken bones and no treatment, but at least he wouldn’t die.

Outside, Wanda could swear she would.

Stomping feet in the grass, tears that kept falling down, a heavy violent beating heart that faded every other sound around and a tightening throat. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t talk – not that someone would listen to her. She had nothing, completely alone.

Her knees gave in, she ended up falling in a small patch of dirt by the riverside. The water kept passing by the stones, the winter blowing cold against her cheeks. She sobbed and sobbed. Wishing someone was there to help her through this. The panic attacks had been worse and worse every time now. Dark magic had a price to the mind, and a much more heavy burden in the solitary ones.

Suddenly, a figure kneeled by her feet. A hand reached out and waited for permission. It wasn’t Wong’s. Much slimmer and long fingers, with pale delicate skin. She knew that hand, Wanda was sure she even knew the pattern of lines drawn in the palm. But, at the same time, she had never gotten to meet them.

It was a lie. A trick made by her own, solitary mind, and aching heart. She knew that, but the moment was intense and the bitterness got a hold of her. She didn’t wanted to be alone again. Crying as loud as she could anywhere and having no one to listen to – to care. It was painful.

She reached her hand, slowly. Feeling the warmth of the skin, the way her fingers seemed to know the right way around the lines. Familiar with the curves in the way up, and making her remember things that weren’t hers to remember. Like just how much their hands would fit perfectly. Like she would always feel whole and cared for when touched like that.

Safe. She would feel safe.

That was all that Wanda always needed. She got lost in the feelings quickly. Even the dark magic marks in the tip of her fingers started to lose color, and became a bit less dark.

And the world got calmer. Her thoughts made sense.

Wanda looked up, and Y/n was there. Looking concerned, but ready to help. Like she knew exactly what she’d supposed to do, because it wasn’t the first time. Y/n didn’t even looked impatient or judgmental, Wanda could only see a feeling that she would’ve seen only a long time ago. When people didn’t hate her for trying to have the only thing that she could still recover.

Love.

Y/n looked at her with so much love.

“Look at me, Wanda. Just breathe, okay? You can do it. Focus on my voice, and breathe with me”, the ghost guide her hand to her own chest. Wanda could swear she could feel it. The fabric of her clothes, and the steady heartbeat. “That’s it, Love. Just like that. Come on… In and out… In… And out”.

Wanda was too scared to make the illusion go away, she needed something to ground herself back to reality. And using the memory of another version of herself wasn’t the best idea, but, strangely enough, it was working. Wonderfully even. She could feel the fear go away, the wind blowing cold in her face, and hard floor hurting her knees. Stones, dirt, leaves and branches digging up her skin.

The sound of a steady breath with a running river and singing birds. Wanda got back to herself in record time, without the voices and whispers that would torment her for a few hours later. No crying of her boys, screaming in agony for help. No feeling of complete abandon.

And no one was there to witness, just her. But, this time… it wasn’t. Not completely.

“You’re safe”, Y/n said and when Wanda shook her head, she nodded. “Yes, you are. Your safe. I’m here, and I won’t let anything happen to you. I’m right here”.

Wanda squeezed her eyes tight. Now, that was too much. The bitterness of solitude and the self-pity of accepting the help of a ghost came back like a train wreck. That’s the wife of another Wanda, not herself. What the hell was she doing? She tried and regain control.

And that’s when she felt the hug. Warm arms, embracing her. The touch was light, and cautious. Wanda had the choice to leave, all she needed to do was say a word or stand, even pushing the ghost away was an option.

They why didn’t she?

Why she accepted it, the safeness…?

Why? ...Why can’t I push it away?

Somewhere else, Y/n came out of the room stumbling. Obviously confused and nervous. The door slammed against the wall, Natasha jumped right to action and took a hold of her shoulder. Grounding her best friend with her touch.

“What? What is it?”, she asked and frowned when Y/n got back inside. Paising.

Peggy was inside the bedroom just as fast, shield at hand and eyes scanning around. In search of danger. Strange peeked around and America too, both uneasy with the situation.

Y/n ran a hand through her hair, eyes watering. She pointed to the corner of the room and breathed heavy.

“She… she was right there”, the woman let out. Shaking from head to toe, she even had a couple of tears rolling down.

“What? Who?”.

“Wanda”, Peggy looked at her worriedly. “Not the sicko Scarlet Witch. Wanda, my Wanda… She… She was right there”, her voice trembled. Her whole body got heavier and the grief was so real that she felt like dying then and there.

Stephen and America looked at one another, deciding to not make any comments. They let the ‘it wasn’t real’ and ‘maybe just a memory’ to Romanoff and Carter. The three knew each other long enough for that.

But Y/n couldn’t believe it. She swears on her life that it was her Wanda that need help. That she had finally touched her wife and heard her voice, just right there. At the corner.

And Wanda, the one alive, came back to the cabin, swearing to herself that no one would know a single thing about what just happened. She wouldn’t let anyone know that she accidentally reached and found comfort on the woman that loved her alternative self. She just went straight to Wong, blasting the door open and grabbing him by the arm.

“I’m done waiting” she growled with a hurting ego. “It’s my turn to make a move”.

[there-will-be-a-way]

05. September - Bathtub Girl

A lot of different triggers that I need to process and document.

I had very graphic nightmares last night. It started with me having to get married to my sister - which was so wrong. Then I dreamed of him. Being kept in a small, dark room. Being abused and something about the bathtub girl too.

Then, later today, I accompanied my roommate to the hospital. On our way there, during the bus ride, we had a conversation that reminded me of the bathtub girl too. I felt like crying. I was so close to having a full blown PTSD panic attack in the bus but managed to keep my calm. It made it feel like what I remember is real. At least it affects me.

Then later in the evening I watched a movie with my other roommate. Something about it triggered me too. The way the wallpaper looked in this hotel room. The dead people that were shown in the bathtub. I felt like I got so close to remembering the missing puzzle pieces. I felt scared I would have one of these bad movie like flashbacks that make me scream and cry in fear. I had to repeat to myself, I am safe. It is 2024. I am with R. and he is a safe person to be around. I am in his room. It is 2024. I am safe.

Then I went outside to smoke my last cigarette of the day and when I looked at the stars in the darkness, I was suddenly on that street again. In front of his house and I saw her face again. For a second. I saw it so clearly. When I went to my room again, I had to chant I am safe. I am safe. It is 2024. I am safe.

I'm scared to go to bed tonight. Scared of sleeping, scared of the dark. Scared of having nightmares, of having flashbacks. Scared of the missing puzzle pieces and of seeing her again. Of all of my memories, I fear her the most. I fear what he did to her, what he was capable of. I fear what he forced me to watch. And that he is still out there, that she is still out there and no one knows what was done to her. That no one ever found her.

[reignpage]

❀ In which Nanami is put to the test by his insatiable, pregnant wife

Kento’s libido has always paled in comparison to his wife’s. That isn’t to say he can’t keep up or doesn’t, far from it. You may start the fun, but it’s he who ends it with you drooling, limp, and buzzing behind the eyes, barely able to even mumble a ‘thank you.’ 

It’s probably more apt to say that his libido only awakens when yours does, whether it’s from your light touches, the mischievous glint in your eyes, or low, sultry whispers in his ears — everything you do and say sparks his sexual spirit. You even joke that he’s wife-sexual and he doesn’t argue against that. 

But these days, he’s starting to question whether there are limits to his appetite and whether you have any at all. 

Now washing the dishes always ends up with your soft, protruding belly pressed against his back and your arms roving his front. You muse about how amazing his muscles look from the back, how broad his shoulders are, and how his hips seem to be getting narrower and narrower (it’s impossible, of course, but you're adamant). With his hands still sudsy, he knows he can’t sate your desire with his fingers alone, so he gets down on his knees, keeps his eyes on yours, and tastes you on his tongue until you tap out. 

Returning home from work comes with surprises too, usually involving his wife on her knees wearing nothing but the ring he kisses every morning and every night. Driving anywhere, for example, involves some heavy petting during traffic or, when you cannot possibly wait any longer, parking somewhere obscured and having a quick and steamy romp in the backseat. 

Or two. 

Up till now, he’s managed rather well; every needs you have are met and expeditiously, even before you were pregnant and especially so now that you are. But, when he wakes up, dazed, confused and with his cock being sucked and slobbered on, he’s met with your adorably round eyes and shiny, swollen lips wrapped around his equally swollen and plump cock, as he pulls the covers away. 

“Oh, s-sweetheart. It’s late. Did you get -hah- antsy again?”

You nod, cheeks hallowed to slurp on the bubbling pre-cum at his tip. He groans, head thrown back and blond hair spilling all over his pillows. His darling wife isn't the greatest in the kitchen or reading the room, but good God, are you amazing at bringing him to his knees? 

Inspirational, really. 

Cooing, he brushes your hair out of your face and sends a shaky smile your way. “F-feeling empty, my love? Lonely? Come up here, sweetheart. Let Ken take care of you.”

A pout graces those lips he loves so much when you nuzzle his palm.

“I’m sorry to wake you, Kenny. I really tried to hold back, I swear! It’s just like a craving, y’know?”

He’s got you straddling his lap soon, your huge shirt framing your larger-than-normal body, the neckline slipping off one shoulder, and nipples pebbled under the thin material — you look nothing short of the embodiment of temptation, the paragon of seduction.

“What did I say before? Hmm?” A thumb begins rubbing circles over your clit, concealed behind soaked cotton and it squelches under his touch. You’re both breathless, moving slowly, gently, lovingly in the dark like you have a million times before and will a million times after. “You can always come to me for your needs. I’d resent myself if I ever made you feel embarrassed or alone in this pregnancy. Every high and low, we face it together, remember?”

Growing more and more hungry, you find yourself no longer grinding down on his hand; instead, you’re gripping his length between your pussy lips, sharing in the wetness and seeking to hear more of his low groans as if it fuels you. “Ngh, Ken, I know. You’ve been so good t-to me; I just feel bad asking for more when you’ve —fuck, I’m gonna cum!— g-given me everything.”

These days you're more sensitive than usual and it's maddening trying to go easy on your poor cunt when his eyes are rolling back and his cock seems to have grown a mind of its own as it pounds your clamping, sloppy inside. Overstimulation is a common theme now and it's a bother to hide the twitch of his lips when you cry from your fifth orgasm in an hour with the end nowhere in sight. He never thought he'd like to see tears trail down your cheeks but this pregnancy's rewiring everything in your bodies.

“Have I not done a good enough job of making sure you know —that’s it, sweetheart, grind down on me, ah, s-such a good girl —e-everything that’s mine is yours?”

Gasping and whining, you admit, “Yes! Yes, you have.”

“And how m-many times—“ He groans, voice deepening into a growl, sounding almost angry that you need yet another reminder of your place in his life. “— have I told you that you don’t need to -hah- a-ask? That you can t-take from me whatever you like, whenever you like.”

Sweat is beading down your body, thicker thighs pushing through the ache from grinding down on his cock. His huge hands, safe and warm, are pulling you down. Kento’s perceptive eyes see the way they quiver with your feeble attempt to keep most of your weight off of him, but what you don’t know is that he can take it. That he doesn’t mind. That he craves your complete and utter reliance on him. 

“All the time!”

Needlessly worried about the growing heaviness of your body, he takes every opportunity to remind you that he doesn't work out for aesthetics. All that he does is intended to make you happy and he knows how much you love the burliness of his body, the strength in every limb, every muscle, and every flex. Sometimes, he puts on a show just to watch you press your thighs together.

“Then please act like it,” he hisses. “Please, just use me without hesitation. Fuck, d-don’t even bother with pretences. Just slide my —God, you’re so wet, s-sweetheart— s-slide my cock inside you and ride me till you cum. Until you’ve had enough.”

Your husband is close, too. His abs, sharp and well-defined, are tensing up, and the veins in his arms are popping with the effort to keep from cumming all over your sopping cunt before your cum drips down his balls. It’s crude, vulgar, downright shameful, he knows that. But you have a gift; you can drive him to insanity, to the very edge of reason, of self-control, dangling him right where you want him, sweating and babbling about another baby before you even had your first one, and then you pull him back to safety, and he returns as your husband and not your walking sex toy. 

"I wish you would just touch m-me without worry, my love. I hate to see you dig your nails into your own skin —your lovely, beautiful skin, so pretty and hnngh! all for me— b-because you're trying to hold back."

Mewling and clawing his clammy chest, you promise, "I will! I'll just take what I w-want. I'll k-kiss you and touch you and fuck you when I need to, 'kay, K-ken? Even when you're busy!"

"N-never too busy for you, darling."

Spasms wrack your body as he growls out, more to himself than to anyone else, "Never."

When you slump onto his body, shaking and mouthing adorations into the blond splattering of hair on his chest, he doesn’t even care that his orgasm was stifled. He can only rub your back reassuringly as he begins worrying about the pressure you’re applying on your belly. 

You laugh. “This pregnancy has changed you, Ken. You're just as bad as me, sometimes. Maybe your hormones are going crazy, too.”

He kisses your head, eyes crinkling at the corners and cock throbbing under your stomach from the sweet scent of you filling the air. “It’s only made me bolder, honey. More honest. Now, have you had enough, love? Should we get you back on your side of the bed? The doctors said you need as much sleep as possible and we have a big day tomorrow with our crib shopping, remember?”

Grinning ear to ear, you sit up again.

Kento recognises that glint in your eyes and he sighs. He's in for a long night.

“Are you insane? The night is still young, Kenny honey, and we need practice for baby number two, remember?”

Hooking your panties to the side for you, a chuckle leaves his lips, which he licks subconsciously, eyes drawn to the shiny lips slowly but expertly engulfing his cock, inch by inch. 

“I have a feeling we won’t be stopping at baby two tonight, darling.”

[xoxochb]

soft/girl dad! rafe I love you this will cure my baby fever

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

“give her your finger back!”

“what— no, she bit me!”

you throw a pointed look towards rafe and scoop your baby into your arms. she had begun to let out soft, barely audible cries after he had taken his finger out of her mouth. she did not like that very much.

“here, my love.”

you seat the baby on your tummy with her back against your thighs. from here, you let her gnaw on your finger now to soothe her cries. they turn into quiet hiccups gradually. you exhale when she is content.

“she’s dramatic.” rafe pokes her tiny head. you slap his hand lightly.

“she’s not dramatic, she has big feelings,” you correct. you place a kiss to the spot he had poked.

“she’s six months old how big could her feelings possibly be?”

“well—” you ponder. “well she’s only a baby and you have to be nice.”

rafe smirks and lays back against the bed, hands behind his head. “I am nice.”

“you upset her. say sorry to her.”

you remove your finger from the infant’s mouth and hold her out to her father. he takes her from your hold and lays her along his torso. his mouth finds her head in a feather-light kiss.

the baby’s tiny hands reach for his face as she babbles incoherently, a smile wide gracing her lips.

“look, she’s smiling, I am nice.”

your face is unamused. “okay.”

rafe brings the baby’s head back to his lips twice more. she begins to giggle at the affection.

“don’t get her too riled up, she has to take a nap soon.”

“she’ll be fine.” he ignores your words and continues playing with the child.

you sigh and slide downwards to rest on your side. you tuck your hands beneath the side of your head and admire the scene unfolding before you. a smile appears over your mouth. you bite down on your bottom lip.

you slide in closer to your husband and your child until deemed physically impossibly to go any farther. you allow your head to rest upon rafe’s shoulder. the baby squeals when you reach her line of sight, one of her tiny hands finding your face as well. you place a kiss to her little fist.

and not much to your surprise, with the stimulation of both her father and mother playing with her she was unable to nap that afternoon.

[vicorices]

˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚ lazy fucking violet.

18+ mdni, fingering, domestic!vi, dirty talk, afab reader, this is basically sleepy, lazy sex in the middle of the night, kinda sweet dunno, enjoy. // check out my masterlist!

nightime is vi’s favorite time of the day. the long summer nights that seem eternal under the barely noticiable stars in the sky, the lonely moon hanging high as her breathing collides with the back of your neck, holding you tightly against the planes of her body as silence finally fills the room.

two in the morning, three, the two of you have fallen in a comfortable routine where you keep on talking until you randomly look at the clock and shit: you have work tomorrow, vi has shit to do as well so the lights are out and she’s holding you beneath the sheets, cuddling as she tries to sleep, concentrated in your breathing, your soft skin and how relaxed everything feels laying right next to you, anything but your ass barely covered by the oversized shirt she can feel without seeing it.

“are you asleep already?” she cannot help to ask after some minutes, and you hum trying to make her shut up. “how do you fall asleep so quickly? it’s not fair.”

vi would love the talent on herself, but there’s always something: the bed’s too comfortable, too silent, too peaceful. her life has always been rough and fast, so she rolls in bed until her eyes close by themselves, hugging you tightly as a reminder you’re on her side, that her lone days are over — a reassurance that the thin duvets she’s sleeping in does not belong not even near stillwater.

“don’t sleep,” she moves you slightly at first, a couple of seconds until she’s downright shaking you. “baby, wake up. don’t leave me, i want some kisses.”

it’s been a long day. vi’s muscles are sore and you’re barely able to keep an eye open, but either way you’re putting an effort on stretching out to reach for a kiss, looking at her from over your shoulder as you purse your lips together for a quick peck vi wastes no time in taking.

and the thing is, it should be a quick kiss. should cause vi’s kissing you again and again until you seem to get the memo, parting your lips slightly to let her tongue push warm and wet against your bucal cavity, playfully touching yours as you are slow to return the kiss, allowing it anyhow. her kisses are so damn nice for a reason, when her hoop ring squishes against your own nose and she’s wishing to kiss you for as long as her breathing allows it to.

“vi,” you say, trying to catch on your breath for a moment as your cheek touches back the pillow again, resting — “i’d like more, but i’m just so tired.”

she’s smiling. even in the darkness of the room you can’t see much but you feel her, and vi does not have much choice here, not when she loves the sound of your voice betraying you cause you do want more, even when it’s impossible for you to move any muscle.

“it’s okay,” she whispers in your ear after a second or two “i know you do. there’s no need to move here, sweetheart.”

you’d call it lazy fucking cause it don’t take much to cum. a quickie even, a forty minute long session that don’t qualify as a quickie really, but it’s close enough for both of you, in your own terms. vi’s urging you to come closer, and as fast as you fall asleep you’re now on your back, laying comfortable as she demands more kisses.

her fingers don’t miss a second to spread your legs open, and suddenly it’s like she’s all over, making you move until she’s pressed on your side, hoovering right above you — and usually she’d have you back pressed against her chest on nights like this, kneading on your breasts, breathing in your skin, but she wants to see you. wants to notice your features, your pretty face distorting with the pleasure she brings in plain dark, kiss you as you fall apart engulfing your sinful sounds, whispering sweet words to drive you closer to the edge.

simple as that.

so she hates it when she gets tired too, cause fingerfuck you? it’s a huge fucking effort. stopping once in a while for a second or two from the sore feeling in her muscles after a long day, making you chuckle lowly between erratic moans as she touches you just right how you want to; she’s fucking burning at that point.

“i’m sorry,” vi whispers against your neck, but she don’t really mean it— “doin’ my best here.”

her digits force themselves at your entrace, coating them with clear arousal as she fills you up, curling as she happens to know your body, those points you enjoy almost too much, the places that make you giggle an irrevocably cum.

she’s doing it on purpose either way, teasing you. even when there’s this sound filling the room each time she sinks down and you’re awake as ever now, moving your hips against the palm of vi’s hand in search for more friction against your sensitive cunt, she’s taking her time cause sleep can wait, your needs? that’s different.

“fuck you’re so tight,” she whispers against your neck before you’re pulling on your shirt upwards, squirming against the wrinkled sheets to rise it above your tits, nipples already peebled and aching for her touch. even in the dark, violet notices the soft expanse of your bare skin colliding against her own, the smell of flowers in your skin as you recently switched to a new fragance. “greedy. greedy slut always asking for more.”

the words slur together as she speaks: but can you blame her? it’s impossible not to when her mouth catches up your hard nipple between her lips and her tongue, that sweet tongue of her’s, swirls around it, wide licks before her mouth closes around to suck, fucking you deeper with her digits buried in your pussy — and you moan, cause the motherfucker bites on your chest lightly, enough to send shivers down your spine.

she’s good at driving you crazy, every. single. time.

“there you go baby. always s’good for me” vi praises with a smile. “do you hear how wet you are from just a little kiss? gonna make my girl cum.”

there’s something about the dark, cause vi loves to see you, fucking you with all the lights on so she can see every part of you, your very own fiber — but like that? it has so many perks too, a lot when she focus on your moans, the roughness on your voice each time you pant her name, the feeling of your warm cunt evolving her fingers, squeezing them like your own consciousness is trying to draw them deeper, harder. it makes her rely on her senses.

“ngh-m’gonna cum vi,” your voice is so fucking soft, like you’re recovering from being dizzy seconds before saying it, weak as you move faster. you’re leaking on the damn mattress beneath you as your body seems to function on it’s own — and it’s all it takes to make the earth stop spinning on it’s axis, the rippling orgasm pouring like hot fire in your skin as a loud moan leaves your lips, making your brain melt away in your own system.

vi enjoys watching you come undone, the shaking in your legs as you reach out to kiss her, the messy and sloppy kiss you give her in plain ecstasy that’s nothing but teeth and tongue, roughly passing your tongue against her parted lips.

your breathing is heavy and god, vi wishes to turn the lights on just to see that fucked out expression in your face, the way your brows furrow as you’re sensitive when she’s withdrawing her fingers, licking them clean like they’re full of ambrosia and not your clear arousal.

your intentions are clear afterwards when you’re pushing your knee between her parted, invitating legs, leaving an invisible trail of kisses against the column of her exposed skin; that tattoo on her neck you’ve seen many times before now brushing against your lips — your girlfriend is a mess already when you touch her, needy as she grinds desesperate for her own release.

it doesn’t take much to make her cum either way, and when she finally falls asleep, you think that’s the fastest way to make her actually rest.

a win is a win after all.

[ellieputellas]

guilty as charged | a.putellas

— Alexia was the perfect roommate. Well, except for one fatal flaw: she always lost your chargers. Fed up, you searched her room, only to find something you definitely weren’t supposed to see.

Tags: 18+, mdni, roommate!Alexia, dom!Alexia (kinda), strap r!receiving, fingering r!receiving, biting, impliedfuckboy!Alexia, slightly long build up before the smut content, tldr: finding Alexia’s strap and not being able to get it out of your mind, not proofread | wc: 6k+

masterlist | do not repost or plagiarize!

"Alexia!" You shouted at your roommate who was taking too long in the bathroom. "Where's my charger? I thought I told you to buy your own already."

"Espera!" The Catalan called back out to your frustration, still taking her sweet time in the showers.

"Rich as fuck but can't afford to buy her own charger," you muttered under your breath.

Alexia had developed a habit of leaving her chargers in the locker room or lending them out to her teammates, forgetting to get them back. And, instead of buying her own replacement, she had been relying on your generosity and kindness.

At first, you were cool with it. After all, Alexia has always been a generous roommate — buying you new shampoo whenever you were running low, ordering dinner for your weekly movie nights, and always buying wine for you two to share. So, naturally, you had no problem sharing your charger once in a while. You even decided to buy Alexia her own charger — the fancy kind that charged ultra fast. It cost you a bit more than the average phone charger would but you figured it was just your way of saying thanks for her generosity.

She lost that too. Within just a few days.

So, she resorted back to borrowing yours. And while it was just mildly irritating at first, it only got fully annoying when she started walking into your room while you weren't there, taking your charger and even bringing it with her to training. Without even asking. She just assumed you’d be fine with her borrowing it.

It was always a different excuse every time she lost it. 

"Oh sorry, I left it at my locker."

"It's somewhere in the car… I think."

"I think I already returned it."

You tried not to let it get to you, thinking that getting pissed over something so shallow was too petty and childish.  But you needed your iPad to do your work, and for that iPad to function, it needed to be charged… which was impossible to do if Alexia kept treating your chargers like they were disposable. 

"God," you groaned as you stared at the wall clock, feeling antsy about a deadline. "Alexia! Can't you just tell me where it is?"

"Espera! I'm still washing my hair." She said with an annoyed tone which just annoyed you even more. How is she the one getting annoyed? She’s the one who lost it again.

"Fuck it, I'll get it myself." You groaned under your breath before rifling through her stuff with zero patience. “Where the fuck did she put it?”  

Annoyed, you yanked open the drawer built into the side of her bed frame. Unlike the other drawers with things haphazardly thrown in, this one had its contents neatly folded beneath a thin blanket. Without thinking about why the blanket was there in the first place, you pulled it back and froze.  

That’s when you saw it right in front of you: a massive, light pink dildo strapped to a harness Your brain short-circuited. You weren’t exactly prudish or conservative; you had your own vibrator tucked away in your panty drawer. But this? This was… a lot.  

Your eyes darted over the rest of the drawer. Bottles of flavored lube. Handcuffs. A ball gag. A various selection of dildos and vibrators. On top of it rested the huge pink strap-on you first saw, the cherry on top to this kinky mix. Who knew your polite, friendly roommate was this —

“What are you doing?”  

Your soul left your body as soon as you heard Alexia calmly inquire behind you. You spun around, heart hammering. Alexia stood in the doorway, fresh from the shower. She was clad in nothing but a sports bra and a towel slung low on her hips. Her hair was damp from the shower, hanging by the side of her face, dropping beads of water down her wide shoulders and further down her glistening abdomen.

“I—I was looking for my charger,” you stammered nervously, standing up from your crouched-over position. You straightened yourself, wiping the beads of sweat on your forehead and straightening your shirt. “I couldn’t find it and I’ve got a deadline today and... and you know how much I need it.”

You stumbled upon your words, causing Alexia to raise an eyebrow in amusement. You cleared your throat, trying to seem unbothered by what you just saw. “This is just like… the sixth or seventh charger that you haven’t returned.” You said, trying to steady your voice.

Alexia’s lips curled into a knowing smirk as her gaze flicked to the cabinet you’d so carelessly left open. She didn’t look embarrassed or pissed. Not even remotely phased. Just… amused. “Right,” she said, crossing her arms. “It’s literally right there.”  

She nodded toward the direction of the chair in front of her work desk placed at the corner of the room. Sitting on top of her iPad, plain as day, was your charger.  Heat rushed to your face. How had you missed something so obvious? You could have just swept the room first. Instead, you’d snooped immediately through her drawer and discovered she was some kind of sexual deviant. 

“Oh,” you squeaked.  Without another word, you lunged for the charger, swiftly grabbing it. You gave a tight-lipped smile to Alexia before holding it up just to show her you got it.  It took everything in you to only look at your roommate from the head up, not allowing your gaze to lower down to her bare torso. You were never flustered like this around Alexia. She was often sauntering around the house in just a sports bra and workout shorts; it never bothered you… until now. “I guess I just missed it.”

You spun on your heel and bolted for your room, shutting the door behind you. Pressing your back against it, you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.  “What the fuck did I just see?”  

Alexia found it cute how flustered you acted after the incident.

She had always been careful about her intimate life. When living with roommates, she never brought girls home, never let her personal indulgences spill beyond the walls of her bedroom. It was a part of her life she preferred to keep discreet and private. Though, at times, it wasn’t easy.

She briefly recalled the short period when she roomed with Marta during the pre-CGH days, when her co-captain was still single. Keeping that side of herself hidden had been a challenge, especially when they were sleeping just a few feet apart, separated by non-soundproof walls. Bringing girls home had become a strategic endeavor, timed around Marta’s schedule, because Alexia was very aware that her extracurricular activities weren’t exactly… quiet.

After years of having roommates, Alexia thought maybe it was time she stopped sharing her space. She was earning enough to live alone, and most of her teammates no longer needed to split rent either. It had seemed like a natural step forward.

Then you came along.

You were the team’s new graphic designer, originally working for the men’s team until the club restructured and brought in a new agency to replace your old role. That shift had introduced you to the women’s squad, and Alexia had taken an interest in your work almost immediately. At first, you chalked up her attentiveness to her captain’s duties; it was something you presumed was to be expected of Alexia. 

But then she did something you never saw coming.  

When the team heard you might have to quit — your apartment was full of black mold, and finding an affordable place nearby on short notice was impossible — Alexia made you an unexpected offer. She had a spacious place with two bedrooms and didn’t mind charging you below market value, making it the perfect solution.

You had understood what a big gesture that was for her. What you hadn’t known was just how much she had given up by letting you move in.

Her newfound freedom was gone. She could no longer bring girls home on a whim, given your unpredictable work modality schedule. Late-night hookups were practically impossible when you were always up until ungodly hours, hunched over your iPad in the living room, working on some random side gig. 

Alexia knew that you two were old enough to understand that sex was a part of life and that bringing home girls shouldn’t be a thing to be ashamed of. But she knew that her situation was different. It wasn’t that simple

Still, she didn’t mind. She liked having you around far more than she missed fucking around.

Though you having found her stash did have her thinking that probably she treated it far more taboo than what it was. So what if she liked loud, unrestrained sex that could last for hours? It wasn’t like it happened every night. And surely, you had a few toys of your own tucked away in your room.

Maybe this could be an opportunity — a way for you to start accepting that your roommate simply… enjoyed being active.

So, she tried opening up the subject. While you two were cooking your respective dinners, Alexia tried casually asking you if you remembered what you had seen in her cabinet. You were so startled you nearly cut your finger instead of a potato.

While you two were on the drive back from work, Alexia tried to engage you in a conversation about sex but you pretended to have a bad stomach, making fake groaning sounds to pretend you couldn’t hear what you were saying.

Honestly, Alexia should have been frustrated by your immaturity, by your outright refusal to discuss something so simple like an adult. But she couldn't fully get annoyed with you ever... and it was because of the massive crush she had on you.

Alexia always found you cute. She liked your quirky mannerisms and the way you made her laugh even if you didn’t intend to. She liked your work ethic; she always valued people who took their job seriously. It didn’t help that you were always walking around the house in very tiny shorts with silly cartoon designs that always caught her eye. 

Her attraction to you had only grown the closer you became. You were naturally affectionate with her, always touching her in small ways — a hand on her arm, leaning against her shoulder, sitting on her lap whenever the squad was around and there weren’t any seats. You never seemed to mind being touchy with her.

A part of her knew that maybe she didn’t mind not bringing girls home because… well, she had you. Your company and presence meant more to her than casual sex ever could. That didn’t mean, of course, that she wouldn’t have you if you let her.

There were nights when she had to physically stop herself from suggesting a friends-with-benefits arrangement. She valued your friendship too much to risk it over something so fleeting; she wasn’t about to fumble a great friendship just because she couldn’t keep her hands to herself. Besides, after seeing how you squirmed at the mere mention of sex, she knew you'd never go for something like that.

…Or would you?

You were hunched over your iPad, rushing to finalize a mock-up for new merch designs. The design head thought that since you managed social media, you might as well help out with merch design too. It made no sense to you but she had drilled into you that it was crucial you got it done by today. You wouldn't have been so annoyed by a task outside your job description, if only the assignment wasn't given a day before the deadline.

Hence, why you were stressed-out and aggressively illustrative design mock-ups on your iPad. It was already midnight and you were expected to report to work at 9 in the morning. It was just too little time.

And then, just as you were adding the final details, your iPad screen went black. The device shut off.  When you tried pressing the power button, hoping it was just an accidental press that put the device to sleep, it displayed the dreaded low battery logo. 

“Fuck!” you cursed, slamming your Apple Pencil onto the desk. You let a frustrated groan rip through your chest. You knew the battery had been low, but you had been so deep in the work that you ignored all the low battery notifications. 

Great, now the momentum is gone, you thought. 

Fine, whatever, you said to yourself. You just needed your charger. You pushed back from your desk and marched to your room, heading straight for the spot where you knew you had left it, which was right on top of your makeup bag.  

Except… it wasn’t there.  

Frowning, you checked your drawers. Nothing. Your bag? Not there. You even looked under your bed, as if it had somehow magically fallen and rolled into hiding.  And then it hit you. Alexia had borrowed it again earlier this morning with the promise that she'd return it instantly.

You grew frustrated. In the past days, you haven’t really been angry or emotional around Alexia and it was mostly because you felt awkward about the drawer incident. But now, all you could think of was how fucking annoying it was that this happened again. 

She knew how important your charger was, how often you needed it for work. And yet, she had forgotten to return it again on deadline night of all nights. Adrenaline pumping, you stormed toward her room, fists clenched. Without hesitation, you pushed the door open.  

“Alexia, where the hell—”  

Your words caught in your throat.  

Alexia stood in the middle of her room, dressed in nothing but a sports bra and a pair of loose shorts that showed off the top of her Calvin Klein underwear, mid-stretch, her toned stomach and arms on full display.  

You blinked, caught completely off guard.  

For a moment, you forgot why you were even there. Then, you shook your head, snapping yourself out of it. “Alexia, give me back my charger.”  

She didn’t even flinch at your tone. Instead, she raised an eyebrow, a smirk growing on her face. “Oh? Someone seems mad.”  

You groaned. "I'm not just mad, okay?" You corrected. "I'm fucking stressed. I have a deadline for a task that isn't even part of my job's jurisdiction and I've been working all night on Blender and Procreate and —"

You paused to take a breath. "I just had enough, okay?" You said more calmly. “I just need to finish this right now but I can't cause you took—"

Alexia tilted her head. “I took your charger?”  

“Yes?" You said incredulously. 

Her brow lifted slightly. “I returned it earlier today.”  She said. "Remember? At breakfast? I even fixed you a bowl of chocolate oatmeal as a thank you?"

You frowned, momentarily thrown off. “What?”  

“I borrowed it this morning, but I gave it back before you left to work at that café.”  

And just like that, it clicked.  

Fuck. 

You probably didn't notice Alexia returning it cause you were too busy working. Suddenly, you remember you had taken it with you. You had plugged it in at the café, worked there for hours, and then… left without it.  

Your anger deflated instantly, replaced by embarrassment. You opened your mouth, then closed it again, feeling your face heat up.  

“Oh.”  

Alexia let the silence stretch just long enough to watch you squirm, then let out a soft chuckle. “I’ll let that one slide.”  

You sighed, rubbing your face. “Sorry, Alexia. I’m just—”  

“Stressed,” she finished for you. Then, her voice softened. “Cariño, don’t be. I’ll talk to your boss tomorrow and make sure you get another day. I’ll just put the blame on me.”

She smiled, stepping forward. "They can't say no to me."

Before you could react, Alexia stepped forward and wrapped her arms around you, pulling you closer to her by the waist, offering a small hug to comfort you. You exhaled, tension still buzzing in your body.  

“Okay,” you mumbled, leaning into her. “I'm sorry for storming all mad and accusatory like that.”  

“I know,” she murmured. “Why don’t I give you a back rub?”  

You hesitated, but your muscles did ache from hours of work, hunched over a table and stressed beyond belief. Your shoulders were practically begging to be rubbed. “…Fine.”  

Alexia guided you toward the bed, settling herself against the headboard while she sat you in between her legs with your back resting against her. The second her hands found your shoulders, thumbs pressing firmly into the knots of tension, you exhaled a slow breath.  

“Oh,” you muttered, eyes fluttering shut. “Alexia, yeah, that feels good.”  

She hummed in response, continuing to knead the stiffness from your shoulders. Her hands were firm yet gentle, and before you knew it, your body melted into her touch.  She rubbed into your shoulders at the perfect firmness, finding where the knots were on your upper back and shoulders before massaging them away. 

“Mmm,” you murmured. "Fuck, that's so good."

Alexia’s hands moved lower, moving from your upper back and shoulders area to something more in the middle of your back. Alexia's hands kneaded the tension from your back, her fingers expertly working under the shoulder blades. You let out a slow exhale, sinking into the warmth of her body behind you.  

“Let’s take off your cardigan,” she murmured, her voice smooth, low. “It's getting in the way.”  

You nodded absentmindedly, already half-lost in the sensation of her touch. You were practically floating in the sensation, only to be snapped out by the sensation of her arms grazing your chest as she unbuttoned your cardigan. You bit your lip as her fingertips grazed against your nipples as she helped you shrug off the cardigan. The contact was fleeting— perhaps, accidental — but it was enough to send a sharp jolt through you. 

Your breath hitched, and you hummed, trying to brush off the growing heat in your core. 

Alexia continued the massage, but this time, as one hand stayed firm on your shoulder, the other drifted lower, her fingers ghosting over your left nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt. The touch was light, almost imperceptible, but your body reacted instantly. You jumped slightly at the sensation.

Alexia leaned in, her lips grazing your ear. “Relax,” she whispered in a low voice, her breath warm against your skin. "This is gonna help you release all tension. Trust me."

You hesitated, pulse quickening, but you didn’t stop her. You let yourself sink back against her, allowing it to happen. Her touch grew bolder. Soon, both hands were on your chest, the pads of her fingertips rubbing slow, teasing circles over your hardened nipples, the friction from the fabric of your shirt only heightening the sensation. A quiet moan slipped past your lips before you could stop it.  

Alexia smirked at your reaction. "Yeah, just relax and let go." She cooed in an innocent tone as if she was still massaging your back. Now, Alexia's fingers moved deliberately, alternating between rolling your nipples between her fingertips and slightly pinching at them, coaxing more breathy sounds from you. Your head soon rested back against her shoulder, and she took the opportunity to press a slow, lingering kiss to the side of your neck.  

A soft hum vibrated against your skin. “That feels good, doesn’t it?”  

You swallowed hard, your body answering for you as you let out another shaky moan. Alexia's mouth was on you again, gently kissing and nipping at the delicate skin of your neck as you felt her hands slowly move under your shirt. 

You whimpered her name as you felt her fingers against your bare skin, running against them. Alexia smirked at the way you were reacting and quickly agreed to letting her touch you like this.

Before you could even realize, Alexia was reaching under a nearby pillow. Under it, she had a toy she left from her own masturbation session last night. If your eyes were opened, you would have probably chickened out at the sight of the neon pink massage wand but you were too busy enjoying Alexia's playful, little massages. 

Soon, Alexia had slotted in the head of the toy in between your legs, pressed against your soaked pajama shorts. She clicked the on button and you practically moaned out instantly. Your eyes opened but before you could say anything in protest, Alexia shushed you. "It's just a massage wand. It'll help you loosen up."

You were a smart girl. You knew what Alexia was doing and normally, you would have called her out but tonight… Tonight, you were exhausted. You were tense. And with the way her hands had been working over your body, the way the vibrations of the wand had begun to hum softly against your core, the fact that you've spent the past few days fantasizing about what it would be like to experience the Alexia Putellas…

You found no reason to stop her.

“…Okay.”

Your voice was soft, almost breathy, and it sent a visible shiver through Alexia. She loved hearing you like this: so obedient and pliant, so willing, so cute when you agreed to let her touch you.

She pressed a slow, lingering kiss just below your ear before murmuring, “Now, be a good girl and take off your bottoms for me, okay?”

You didn't hesitate, swiftly lifting your hips to push your bottoms off of you, kicking them off with your legs. Alexia put a hand firmly under your left thigh, pulling you closer to her. With her right hand, she put the toy back against your core, sending a wave of vibrations that had your legs trembling.

Alexia's left hand was back in your left breast, pinching at them to elicit tiny and cute moans that she loved so much. You unconsciously rocked your hips against the toy, seeking to chase out the pleasure, praying Alexia would turn up the speed so you could arrive at your orgasm sooner.

As you whimpered, gripping the sheets beneath you, Alexia carefully removed the toy from between you. “W-what?” you stammered, your mind foggy from the pleasure coursing through your body.

Alexia’s hand on your waist tightened slightly. “Last night… when you fell asleep on the couch…" she paused, teasingly. "You were whimpering.”

Your eyes snapped open, embarrassment crashing over you like cold water.

Shit. You had dreamed about her again.

Before you could even attempt to defend yourself, Alexia chuckled, her breath warm against your skin. “That’s not even the best part.” She leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss just beneath your jaw. “You dropped your phone on the floor — probably right before you dozed off." She murmured. “So, naturally… I picked it up.”

Your stomach twisted in mortification, and you didn’t even have to ask to know where this was going. Alexia hummed, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Imagine my surprise when I saw what you were searching for.” Another soft kiss, this time against your shoulder. “How to ride a strap.”

A whimper escaped your throat as she increased the speed suddenly. At this point, your legs were shaking.

Alexia let out a quiet laugh. “I thought it was cute.” Her fingers were now teasing circles against your inner thigh, making you twitch. “And I know you’ve been stressed. High-strung. So instead of just teasing you…”

She suddenly pressed the vibrator against you again with more pressure, turning up the speed without warning. A loud, broken moan spilt from your lips as pleasure began to build inside you. Your head tilted back, resting your weight onto the Catalan, body arching into the sensation as Alexia guided the toy against you.

“There you go,” she murmured, watching in amusement as you squirmed, your thighs trembling against hers. She subconsciously licked her lips as she saw your wetness completely cover your core and inner thighs. “You’re making such a mess, cariño.”

You barely heard her, too lost in the overwhelming pleasure. It was too much, too good. It felt like at any moment, you were going to explode with pleasure. 

And then, just as you were about to orgasm, Alexia pulled the wand away again.

Your eyes flew open, a frustrated whine escaping your lips. “Alexia, what the fuck.”

“Shh,” she interrupted smoothly, putting aside the toy. “We’re just getting started.”

The next moments went by so quickly that you could not process how you managed to end up completely naked on top of Alexia who was now wearing the pink strap you saw from the other day around her waist, on top of her Calvin Klein underwear. You bit your lip as you straddled her upper thighs. It seemed like you were gaining consciousness now as you stared at the silicone member. It was long and girthy, shining slightly with the lube Alexia poured on it.

Alexia’s hands traced lazily on your legs and thighs. “Come on, show me what google told you to do,” she teased.

You bit your lip as you stared at the obscene size of the silicone, hesitating. “Alexia, I don’t think…”

Alexia sat up, grabbing your waist as she pressed a kiss on your mouth. “Shh, of course you can,” she reassured in between kisses. Her mouth felt so soft and warm against yours. The sensation of her mouth on yours was hypnotizing you again, making you feel soft and needy. It’s like her lips make me dumber, you thought to yourself.

Alexia shifted the position so you’d be laying on your back and she’d be slotted in between your spread legs, she continued to kiss you, knowing it was what you needed to not feel intimidated and hesitant. Soon, you could feel her hands stroke your inner thighs. “Why don’t I help you out,” she whispered. “Just so you wouldn’t be so shy, hmm?”

You nodded, obedient and docile under your roommate. Alexia locked eyes with you, breaking the kiss. A sigh escaped your lips as her warm hazel eyes met yours. It felt like you could melt into those beautiful, honey-colored pools.

You were so captivated by Alexia’s eyes that you didn’t notice that she had two fingers playing around your entrance, desperate to enter you.

You opened your mouth and let out a gasp as soon as two of her fingers thrust into you, deliberately with a careful firmness to them. Alexia smiled, eyes still fixed on yours, as she carefully curled them into you. The Catalan practically moaned at the feeling of you tightly clenched around her long and thick fingers.

“Fuck,” your voice came out softly as you felt yourself clench around her, soaking her fingers with your slick arousal. “I want more… please.”

That was all Alexia needed to hear. It was enough to send her over the edge. She started thrusting in and out of you with a faster, harder pace to it. You moaned out loud as you felt her fingers slam into you, curling every time into your sweet spot, causing you to arch your hips and grip onto her shoulders.

“Just like that,” Alexia muttered against your ear, her breath hot and uneven. “Let me hear you, cariño.”

Any sort of restraint you had left was gone. Your moans spilled freely as her fingers drove into you mercilessly, stretching you open, coaxing you toward the edge. You felt delirious, drowning in sensation, the heat between your legs unbearable.

Alexia couldn’t count the number of times she had touched herself to the thought of you like this — writhing, moaning, begging for her. But even her filthiest fantasies paled in comparison to the reality of you falling apart in her hands. You were so much more unbelievably stunning, intoxicating, and wrecked beneath her. No girl she's ever fucked before has gotten her this worked up. It was taking everything in her not to ruin you completely. She didn't want your first time to be too intense.

Her fingers worked you open with ease, curling inside you as her mouth traced a path of heat across your skin. She kissed and sucked at your neck, her tongue dragging along your collarbones before moving up to your jaw, nipping just enough to make you whimper.

But her favourite spot was the crook of your neck, right above your right collarbone, where she latched on and sucked hard, marking you. The second she did, you dug your nails into her back, moaning her name so loudly she knew the whole floor would hear but you were completely fucked out of your brains to even care.

You could feel Alexia’s smirk against your skin as she heard you moan out loud. She positioned her hand differently now so not only was she thrusting into you with two fingers, she was also rubbing your clit with her thumb. It was driving you insane.

Your thighs instinctively clenched around her hand, trying to slow her down as the pleasure was getting intense and you were growing sensitive. But Alexia wouldn’t let you control the pace or her movement. She pinned your hips down, forcing you to take everything exactly how she wanted.

“Take it,” she gritted, lips brushing against your ear. “If you try to press your legs together again. I swear to god I’ll stop right now.”

You acquiesced, trying to not fight the urge to clamp around her, desperate to get that orgasm. Alexia smiled as she pumped her fingers faster, readjusting her position and pressing her palm flush against your clit. Each thrust of her hand sent waves of pleasure crashing all throughout your body. The knot in your stomach coiled tighter, unbearable now, your entire body tensing.

Your roommate knew you were close, judging by your stuttered breathing and the way you were clenching tightly around her, but she knew she couldn’t let you cum yet. Not while she’s had the pleasure of letting you live out your fantasy.

Alexia pulled her fingers out of you, leaving you throbbing and empty and before you could even think to complain, she hooked her arms around your back and lifted you effortlessly. A small gasp escaped your lips as she shifted you back onto her lap, holding you steady against her hips, exactly where she wanted you.

“Ride me,” she said, her voice low and commanding. Her hands settled on your hips, thumbs pressing into your skin, grounding you. “Show me what you want to do to me.”

With your desperation to cum, there was no hesitation left in you. You nodded eagerly, obediently, as you squatted above the strap, your thighs trembling with anticipation. You hovered just above it, adjusting your position, but even as you took control of the movement, Alexia never relinquished her dominance. Her fingers tightened around you, her presence overpowering, making it clear that even though you were on top, she was still in charge.

You bit your lip, carefully making sure that you were lined up, but Alexia was growing impatient. With a strong grip, she held you steady and thrust upward, burying herself inside you with one smooth motion. The sudden intrusion knocked the breath from your lungs, your balance wavering as you instinctively grabbed onto the headboard for support. The head of the dildo pressed deep, almost kissing your cervix, causing you to curse and shut your eyes at the sensation.

You took a deep breath before lifting yourself slowly, feeling every inch of her slide against your walls, then sinking back down, your movements cautious at first.

Alexia watched you, her eyes dark and hooded, her grip possessive as she guided your pace. But it wasn’t long before her restraint wavered. As soon as she saw you settle into a rhythm, she met you halfway, thrusting up in perfect sync, pushing deeper, filling you more completely.

Your moans spilled freely from your lips as your body surrendered to her, the stretch overwhelming but intoxicating. “Fuck,” you gasped between gritted teeth, your nails digging into her skin as you kept balance. “You’re so big.”

Alexia smirked, dragging her hands up your sides before pulling you down harder onto her length. “Yeah?” she taunted, her voice thick with amusement and desire. “Too big for you?”

You could only nod, barely able to think, barely able to breathe, as she took back every ounce of control you thought you had. “Yeah, but it feels so good.” You said breathily. Even if you were already getting a bit winded, you knew you couldn’t stop now. Not while your orgasm was slowly building up inside you again.

Alexia moved one of her hands from your waist up to your breast, squeezing your plump breast firmly. She squeezed again at the sensitive bud of your nipple causing you to moan out again. She moved her hands back to settle behind you before she quickly sat up so that she could suck on your breasts while you continued to ride her.

The shift in her position caused the silicone member to curve into you, now pressing and grazing your sensitive spot with every bounce and thrust. Paired with the sensation of Alexia’s tongue skillfully playing and flicking against your nipples, it was surely sending you closer and closer over the edge.

You moved your hands to Alexia’s shoulders, giving you better mobility to ride her, breasts practically bouncing in front of Alexia’s face. She chuckled, sensing your desperation. She sat back up again, holding you upwards to keep your balance.

“Fuck, Ale,” you said, voice whimpery and erotic. You sounded almost obscene. “I’m so fucking close.”

Alexia moaned at the sound of your broken plea, her own arousal spiking as she felt the way you moved against her, grinding down harder, chasing your release with reckless abandon. “I know, baby,” she husked, her voice thick, hands tightening on your hips. “Just a bit more. Be good for me.”

You obeyed, but it was barely conscious — your body was on autopilot, instinct taking over as you rode her with increasing urgency. You felt yourself clench around her, your hips stuttering as the orgasm was slowly building up, causing you to clench. Thankfully, Alexia never loosened her grip. Even as your strength wavered, she held you firm, guiding you through it, her own body rising to meet yours. The shift in control was subtle but absolute; your arms wrapped around her tightly, your forehead pressing against her shoulder as you let her take the lead, her strong hands dictating your pace, her hips rolling upward, filling you over and over until you were unravelling completely in her hold.

Your moans grew louder, almost obscene and pornographic, echoing off the walls in a way that made Alexia smirk. If you kept this up, you’d both be getting a formal complaint from the condo association by morning. Alexia shushed you. “Cariño, I know it feels good but you need to quiet down.”

“Can’t–” you muster to say out, still moaning. Alexia groaned, torn between wanting to hear every filthy sound you made and knowing she had to shut you up before the neighbors got an earful. Thankfully, she got an idea.

“Baby,” she murmured between gritted teeth, punctuating her words with a sharp thrust that made you jolt. “Why don’t you bite my shoulder?”

You shivered at the suggestion, barely processing her words but nodding anyway, too far gone to argue.

“So no one gets mad at you for being such a good girl and riding me, yeah?”

That was all it took. You latched onto her shoulder, hesitant at first, lips parting against her sweat-slicked skin. But then she snapped her hips up harder, gripping your waist and bouncing you with ease, using her strength to fuck you onto her strap. The sudden onslaught made you lose control. Your teeth sank into her skin, muffling your moans into the muscle of her shoulder.

Alexia groaned out but the sting of your teeth pressing against her skin didn’t stop her or slowed down her pace. The pain felt like a motivation to get you where you needed to be. It didn’t take long. Alexia could feel by your shaking legs and the tightness of your grasp and the breathy moans you were exhaling into her skin.

“Come on, baby,” she rasped, voice strained as she pushed you closer and closer to the edge. “Give it to me.”

With only a couple more deliberate thrusts that pressed against your sensitive spot, you came undone, practically melting into Alexia’s arms.

It was a great idea for you to be biting against her or else your moan would have been heard throughout the whole building. Alexia held you through it, her hands steady, her grip firm, prolonging your pleasure as she slowed her thrusts, letting you ride it out. When your body finally sagged against her, she stopped the slow thrusting and wrapped her hands around you to form a hug, rubbing your back as she allowed you to breathe heavily against her skin.

You unlatched your mouth, a string of saliva forming from her shoulder to your mouth. You wiped at it sluggishly, still breathless, still full of her as she had not pulled out of you. Your forehead pressed against hers, the intimacy of the moment settling between you both.

“I forgive you,” you murmured, your voice hoarse, breath still uneven.

Alexia blinked, still coming down from the high. “Huh?”

“For stealing my charger.”

There was a beat of silence before Alexia burst into laughter, her breath mingling with yours as she shook her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

You hushed her, planting your lips on hers. "You still gotta make up for the seven or eight more you lost." You teased.

"I'll make it up a hundred times over if I have to." Alexia responded, a smirk toying on her face. "Just make sure you can take it."

It was gonna be a long night.

a/n: i feel like this is identical to all the other strap fics i've written but idgaf at least im writing again!!! anyway, still working on the longer fic and working on other ideas for shorter Alexia fics. i hope you guys still liked this AAAAAAA pls be nice

masterlist

[dearlenore]

BED CHEM • S.REID • PT2

SUMMARY: despite spencer’s better judgement, he takes you up on your offer to bring the team to a concert. In return they have to promise to stop teasing him, however you definitely made no promises.

PAIRING: singer!fem!reader x spencer

tags: fluff, reader is hyper feminine, reader wears revealing clothing reader wears makeup, sabrina carpenter inspired, mentions of pregnancy (Juno) dirty jokes, flustered spence for you, use of song lyrics, sexual implications

a/n: yall r THIRSTY so i had to deliver💋

w/c: 1.8k

TAGLIST: @cherryblossomfairyy @spct0r @3sriracha

Despite every logical instinct telling him otherwise, Spencer found himself leading the BAU team into the bustling concert venue, their seats front and center. The energy of the arena was electric, anticipation buzzing in the air as fans eagerly waited for you to take the stage after intermission. The show hadn’t even fully started yet, but the team was already acting like this was the biggest case of their careers.

“I can’t believe you actually caved,” Morgan teased, clapping Spencer on the back as they settled into their seats.

“I had to,” Spencer muttered, crossing his arms. “It was the only way to get you all to stop teasing me.”

Emily smirked, settling into her chair. “Correction: you got us to stop teasing you. I don’t recall your girlfriend making any such promises.”

Spencer sighed, rubbing his temples. He should’ve known better.

Penelope was practically vibrating as they walked in, already decked out in your tour merch, including a custom-made FBI jacket with your lyrics bedazzled on the back. “Oh, my God, we are so close to the stage! I can’t breathe! Reid, if I pass out, you are responsible!”

“I feel like you’d pass out even if we were in the nosebleeds,” Rossi commented, amused.

JJ leaned toward Spencer, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know, I always imagined you as a theater or classical music kind of guy, but here we are.”

“I am,” Spencer said pointedly. “But someone insisted I ‘let loose’ and ‘enjoy life’ for once.”

Morgan grinned. “America’s sweetheart got you wrapped around her finger, huh?”

Spencer rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

Suddenly, the overhead lights dimmed slightly, signaling the concert was about to start. The arena erupted into cheers, and Penelope let out a high-pitched squeal.

Emily elbowed Spencer. “So, what do you think? Is she gonna call you out again?”

“Hope not..” Spencer mumbled quietly, tucking his hands into his pockets.

The team all watched as you stood on stage, the instrumental faded from your song ‘decode’ to ‘Juno.’

The moment Spencer settled into the noise, the stage lights burst into golden brilliance. A hush of anticipation pulsed through the crowd before the opening notes of Juno rang through the arena. The energy shifted instantly—excited screams rippling across the venue, a beat so deep it reverberated in his chest.

And then, there you were.

The stage belonged to you. Every inch of it.

Spencer knew you like this—saw you like this—a thousand times over. But it never failed to knock the air from his lungs.

You moved effortlessly, confidence woven into every step, every roll of your shoulders, every teasing smirk as the first lyric spilled from your lips.

Your voice was smooth, sultry, slipping into the air like honey, thick with flirtation and playfulness. The bodysuit you wore glittered with every shift of your hips, catching the light, the curves of your body accentuated as if the universe conspired to make you impossibly radiant.

Spencer wasn’t sure how long he’d been holding his breath.

“Oh yeah, you just get it… Whole package, babe, I like the way you fit… God bless your dad’s genetics.”

He felt those words settle into his bones

The way you delivered them—cheeky, deliberate, filled with that signature teasing lilt—made his pulse quicken. But beyond the playful seduction was something deeper. Something real.

It was the way your eyes gleamed when you sang, like you meant every word. Like you weren’t just performing for an audience.

The chorus hit, and you twirled with a grace that made it look effortless, but Spencer knew better. He knew how much work went into every movement, every transition, how meticulously you crafted each moment to be perfect.

And, God, it was perfect.

“I know you want my touch for life… If you love me right, then who knows?

I might let you make me Juno…”

His stomach tightened.

He wasn’t blind to the implications. Not to the way you leaned into the lyric, not to the subtle smirk playing on your lips as you brushed a hand along your body, as if the idea of forever was something tangible—something you’d thought about.

Something in Spencer’s chest ached.

Because even though this was a show, even though it was part of your craft, he knew you. He knew the way your mind worked, the way you wrote songs like little secrets, tucked between the chords and melodies.

This wasn’t just about fantasy.

This was about him.

Then—your gaze flickered downward. Past the sea of screaming fans. Past the blinding lights.

And you found him.

For a second, Spencer forgot how to breathe.

You didn’t break eye contact, your voice dipping into something lower, more intimate, waving hello to his co workers.

“Oh, I hear you knockin’, baby…”

Then—you pointed at him.

“Come on up.”

The arena erupted, but Spencer barely registered it.

All he could see was you—your grin, the knowing glint in your eyes, the way you sang that line like a private joke between lovers.

Heat crawled up his neck, his heartbeat thrumming wildly in his ears.

And then, as if to completely destroy him—

“Have you ever tried this one?”

You sat on the stage, mimicking a cowboy position.

Spencer swallowed hard.

He’d seen you perform countless times before, watched you in awe from side stage, traced the setlist with his fingers while waiting for you to return to him after a show. But something about this—about seeing you, right here, surrounded by thousands, yet somehow making him feel like the only one in the room—was intoxicating.

He barely noticed the song transitioning, barely heard the crowd still screaming, still living for every move you made.

All he knew was that no matter how many times he watched you on stage, it would never be enough.

THE FIRST THING the BAU saw when they entered the dressing room wasn’t the glamorous, larger-than-life pop star they had just watched dominate an entire arena.

It was you, sitting up on a counter, barefoot, lipgloss slightly smudged, eating a box of macarons.

Not delicately. Not with the grace of America’s sweetheart.

No.

You were shoving an entire pistachio macaron into your mouth as if you hadn’t eaten in days.

The team froze.

“…Are you okay?” JJ asked cautiously.

You glanced up mid-chew, looking way too innocent for someone who had just given that performance. “Starving,” you mumbled through the cookie, eyes teary. “I haven’t eaten since noon.”

Penelope gasped, scandalized. “Noon? My poor baby.”

“I know.” You pouted dramatically before shoving another macaron in your mouth.

The room remained silent for a second, as if they were all still processing the contrast between the powerhouse performer they’d just watched and the girl devouring overpriced pastries in front of them.

Emily was the first to crack.

She snorted. “Wow. I gotta say, this is not how I expected our first meeting to go.”

You grinned, still chewing. “Better or worse?”

“Honestly? Better.”

Morgan shook his head, grinning. “Damn, I really thought you’d be all glamorous and intimidating backstage. But nah—you’re just a person.”

You swallowed and smirked. “Disappointed?”

“Oh, not at all,” he said, laughing. “I much prefer this version.”

Penelope was still staring, utterly enamored. “I cannot believe you’re real.”

You tilted your head. “What do you mean?”

Penelope gestured wildly. “I mean, I have worshiped you since forever, and I’ve imagined a million ways this moment could go, but never once did I think it would involve macarons and counter slouching.”

You gasped in mock offense. “I’ll have you know I am exceptionally glamorous when I slouch.”

JJ laughed. “You really are just a normal person, huh?”

You shrugged. “Shh. Don’t tell Twitter.”

Emily grinned. “Too late. You do know your entire fanbase is losing their minds over that performance, right?”

You smirked. “As they should.”

Spencer, who had been leaning against the doorway, watching you with quiet fondness, finally spoke. “They’re also analyzing every single lyric of Juno again.”

You groaned dramatically, slumping further into the couch. “I know. And I know they’re going to start another FBI boyfriend theory thread.”

Emily raised an eyebrow. “I mean… are they wrong?”

You smiled but didn’t answer, popping another macaron into your mouth.

Penelope gasped suddenly. “Wait! Before you pass out from exhaustion, can you sign this?” She practically shoved a vinyl record at you, eyes wide with hope. “I brought my favorite album just in case, and now that you’re here, I—”

“Of course.” You took the pen and grinned as you scrawled your signature across the cover. “Do you want me to write ‘To my best friend Penelope’?”

She gasped. “Oh my God, yes.”

Morgan rolled his eyes, smirking. “Girl, you just met her.”

“She’s America’s sweetheart. We are spiritually connected.”

You handed her the signed record, smiling. “Happy to make it official.”

Penelope squealed, clutching it to her chest like it was the most precious thing in the world.

JJ, watching the interaction, shook her head in amusement. “Okay, yeah. I get it now. You’re dangerously likable.”

You smirked. “It’s part of the brand.”

Emily grinned. “I respect the hustle.”

They watched as you put the box aside and flipped your hair, immediately reverting back to who you were on stage.

Morgan nudged Spencer with an exaggerated look. “Alright, genius, I take it back. Now I understand why you’ve been keeping her all to yourself.”

Spencer just sighed. “I knew this was going to happen.”

You giggled but then suddenly let out a long, exhausted sigh, your body sinking deeper as you sat on the counter. Your limbs felt heavy, the adrenaline finally wearing off. You rubbed your eyes sleepily before looking up at Spencer with a tired expression.

“My love, can you take me home now?”

Spencer’s expression softened instantly.

He walked over without hesitation, offering his hand. You took it, letting him pull you to your feet—only to immediately stumble forward.

Spencer caught you with ease, arms wrapping around your waist as you practically melted into him, pressing your cheek against his chest.

“Whoa,” he murmured, steadying you. “You okay?”

You hummed sleepily. “Mhm. Just so tired.”

Spencer smiled softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I know. Let’s get you home.”

The team watched, and oh, they were definitely going to have a field day with this.

Morgan grinned. “So, what what spell did you cast on her?”

Spencer groaned. “Can one of you be normal about this?”

“Not a chance,” JJ said, laughing.

You giggled against Spencer’s chest, as he picked you up with ease.

“You guys are worse than my fans.”

Penelope gasped. “That is the highest compliment you could ever give me.”

You laughed softly before closing your eyes again, completely content in Spencer’s arms.

“Alright,” Spencer said, adjusting his grip. “We’re leaving before you all make this worse.”

Morgan smirked. “Don’t act like you’re not enjoying this, lover boy.”

Spencer shot him a glare before guiding you toward the door.

You barely registered anything else, too warm, too tired, too safe in Spencer’s arms.

The last thing you heard before the door closed behind you was Emily’s amused voice.

“God, they’re disgustingly cute.”

[vunblr]

Toy Soldier (part 1)

Bit by bit, torn apart. We never win, but the battle wages on for toy soldiers.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings:Warnings: 18+ only. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Eventual Smut. Dark Content: Depictions of Physical Wounds. Psychological Trauma. Canon-Typical Violence. Mentions and depictions of Non-Con (both characters as victims).

Summary: She had been the tool Hydra used to keep him operational; he, the weapon manipulated by their tendrils to execute their ambitions. Years after breaking free, fate Sam Wilson brings them together once more. Now, they must navigate the challenges of forging a connection beyond the twisted dynamic that once bound them in the past.

Word Count: 5.6.k.

notes: Even though this fic will include the tone I usually maintain in my stories, there will be flashbacks to unpleasant events that might be triggering. Please read the warnings carefully, and if I’ve missed any, feel free to let me know. More tags will be added in the future.

The cell reeked of bleach and iron, a suffocating blend of sterility and blood. She sat huddled in a corner with her knees drawn to her chest, shaking from the lingering aftershocks of what they had made her do mere hours ago. A steel table in the center of the room bore the evidence: blood-soaked rags, reinforced restraints, and instruments that glinted menacingly under the harsh light.

The door creaked open, and she flinched instinctively. Her pulse quickened as they rolled him in on a gurney, his body was impossibly broken again, but somehow, still alive. The Winter Soldier. His mask was cracked, exposing a bruised cheekbone, his metallic arm hung at an unnatural angle, wires sparking like dying fireflies. His tactic suit was shredded, revealing deep gashes that glistened with dark blood.

"Fix him," the handler barked, void of empathy. He tossed a clipboard onto the table, detailing every injury, every broken bone, every expectation to her work. "We need him ready by morning."

She didn’t move at first. She never did. But the familiar press of a gun muzzle against her temple jolted her into action. They didn’t tolerate hesitation.

Her bare feet slapped against the cold tiles as she approached the table. Soldat’s chest rose and fell unevenly, his blue eyes were half-lidded and glassy, staring past her into the abyss. She wondered, briefly, if he even felt the pain anymore, or if the agony had simply become a part of him, stitched into his body like the scars of the wounds she was forced to erase.

She laid her trembling hands over his chest, cutting the remnants of the suit and rushing her power forward like a tide, knitting sinew, mending fractures, restoring what should have been allowed to rest. His body convulsed as the healing process awakened raw nerve endings. He groaned low in his throat, a sound of both relief and torment and her eyes burned with unshed tears.

"Good pet," the handler sneered, patting her head, "Keep going."

As the minutes dragged into hours, her hands moved mechanically, weaving muscle and bone back into place. Every touch drew more from her, siphoning her strength to pour life into a body that shouldn’t be able to withstand such brutality. The process left her light-headed, and her vision started blurring at the edges, but she didn’t dare falter. They would notice. They always noticed.

As her hands pressed over a jagged wound on his side, a faint tremor ran through his body. His breath hitched, shallow and uneven, and his eyes fluttered open. Glassy and unfocused at first, they slowly, impossibly, found her. A vacant gaze, yet somehow piercing, locked onto her face as if trying to understand who she was and what she was doing.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words spilling out before she could stop them. She kept her voice low, trembling, her fingers brushing the edge of the wound as she worked. “I don’t want to do this. I’m sorry.”

His gaze didn’t falter, even as she murmured the apology again, with a cracking voice. He didn’t speak -he probably couldn’t- but the weight of his stare felt like an answer. He knew. Somehow, he knew.

More time passed, and the room emptied. The guards left her alone with him, trusting her to finish her work under the ever-present cameras. The sterile silence closed in around them. She wiped the sweat from her brow and whispered again, “I’m sorry,” her voice breaking completely now. “I’m sorry for all of it.”

Soldat blinked slowly, almost as if acknowledging her words, but his body remained still. Her fingers lingered over his shoulder where fresh skin covered what had been a deep gash, and couldn’t stop herself from caressing his bloodied temple before going back to mend him.

By the time she finished, her legs felt like water, barely holding her upright. The Soldat’s breathing had evened, the jagged cuts on his skin replaced by fresh, pale scars. His metal arm still hung limp, but it wasn’t her area of expertise. He looked human again, or as close to human as Hydra would ever allow him to be. She allowed herself to caress him again as if that gentle touch could make up for what her actions on his body entailed, his endless torment.

When the door creaked open, the spell was broken. The handler barked a question she didn’t hear over the roaring in her ears. Then he stepped forward, inspecting her work with a critical eye. He tugged at Soldat’s extremities and poked his body, then he turned to her with a smile that chilled her blood.

“Well done,” he said, sickeningly sweet. “See? You’re still useful. You’ve earned yourself another day.”

The words felt like a slap, a grim reminder of her reality. She wasn’t a person to them. She was a tool, an extension of their will, just as much a prisoner as the man she had just saved. Her power was her curse, chaining her to a life of servitude. And for what? To keep the Winter Soldier standing. To ensure he could carry out their dirty work, kill their enemies, and endure whatever horrors they deemed necessary for him to endure.

The handler gestured to the guards. “Take her back. She’ll need her strength for tomorrow.”

They grabbed her arms, dragging her toward the door. Soldat's eyes shifted for a moment, trailing her as they walked her out, his gaze still glazing but faintly flickering with awareness. Then the door slammed behind her, sealing them both back into their respective hells.

----

The cryopreservation always left her disoriented, the passage of time reduced to a murky void of nothingness. Days, months, years, they blurred together into a haze she couldn’t untangle. Based on the count of the meager breakfasts slid through the cell door, it had been two days since they’d pulled her from the tube. Her body still ached from the cold, and the numbness clung stubbornly to her limbs.

When the metallic clank of the cell door jolted her from her thoughts, she instinctively tensed. Two guards stood there, gesturing sharply for her to follow. 

The halls they guided her through were unfamiliar. These weren’t the sterile corridors leading to the medical bay. These walls were darker and the air was heavier, and the faint hum of machinery was replaced by an unsettling silence. Confused, she knit her brows but swallowed the urge to ask.

When they descended a narrow staircase, her stomach sank. The flickering lights cast long shadows against concrete walls. They passed rows of heavy metal doors, each marked with faint rust and grime. No cells with bars, no windows, just solid slabs of steel.

Her breath hitched when they stopped in front of a door near the end of the corridor. One guard yanked it open with a screech that set her teeth on edge. The other shoved her forward, barking a single command: “Fix it.”

The door slammed shut behind her, and the sound echoed in the cramped room. She stood frozen, since the stench hit her like a physical blow: blood, sweat, semen, and something else she couldn’t place.

Her gaze darted around the sparse room. A cot pushed against one wall. A table cluttered with ominous instruments. And in the corner, barely illuminated by the flickering overhead bulb, the Soldat.

Her breath left her in a shaky exhale as she took him in. He was curled into himself, naked, trembling despite the heat radiating from his abused flesh. Blood and cum stained his thighs, while bruises painted his skin in grotesque patterns. His wrists and ankles bore the raw marks of restraints, and burns and welts layered over old scars, turning his body into a tapestry of pain.

But it was his face that shattered her. A blank mask with hollow and distant wet eyes, haunted by whatever horrors had left him in this state.

She forced herself to move. When her shadow fell over him, his head snapped up and his vacant blue eyes locked onto hers. The movement was sharp and instinctive, but he didn’t lash out, didn’t flinch. He simply stared, as though he were looking through her rather than at her.

She paused for a moment, crouching to his level, resting her hands lightly on her knees. “It’s okay,” she murmured, her voice steady. “I’m here to help you.”

He didn’t respond. The haunted emptiness in his expression pierced her chest. He didn’t deserve this. “I know,” she said softly, inching closer. “I know it hurts. I’ll do what I can.”

She reached for him carefully, brushing his arm. His muscles tensed under her touch, but he didn’t pull away. Gently, she guided his arm away from where he’d been clutching his side, revealing the bruises and burns scattered across his flesh. Her stomach churned, but her hands remained steady. She had no room for hesitation, no time to falter.

As she worked, she whispered to him, not apologies this time, but reassurances. “I’m with you now, I’ll make this right, even if it’s only for now.”

As expected, he didn’t speak, didn’t move beyond the involuntary twitches of his battered body. But his eyes stayed on her, betraying a silent acknowledgment, a fragile thread of trust.

She tried to focus on the burns on his chest, the raw welts along his ribs, anything but the bruises and blood marking his inner thighs. But eventually, she had no choice. The damage there couldn’t be ignored. Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, she shifted closer, and her hands trembled for the first time that day.

She couldn’t comprehend it. Couldn’t understand how anyone could twist a man into this, into something pliable, stripped of will, used like a puppet for their every vile whim. The red book and the chair had shattered his mind, and then they’d wielded that power not only to carry out their heinous crimes but also to satiate their carnal perversions. 

“Soldat,” she said softly as she crouched closer. “I need to see the rest.”

His chest started to rise and fall in shallow breaths. His lip was caught between his teeth, bitten hard enough to draw blood. The distant, vacant expression he’d worn before had given way to something else now, resignation, or shame.

“I know,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “I know it's private -should it be-, and it hurts a lot… but I promise I’ll make it better, yes?”

Her tone was as soft as she could make it, the kind someone might use with a frightened child. For a moment, there was nothing. Then he exhaled and shifted ever so slightly, granting her access. The movement wasn’t much, but it spoke volumes. He didn’t fight her. He didn’t resist. Even now, after everything, he complied.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Her hands moved carefully, brushing his battered flesh with as much gentleness as she could muster. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her focus on the healing, not on the tears threatening to spill over. Every touch she had to make felt like another betrayal of his dignity, but she couldn’t leave him like this, they wouldn’t leave him like this.

“It’s not fair,” she said under her breath “Fuck, it’s not fair.”

Every so often, her gaze flicked to his face, but he didn’t look at her this time. His eyes were closed, and his body was eerily still except for the faint shudder of his breathing.

—-

Some days, she wondered if he resented her. If he was even capable of that. She wasn’t the one inflicting the pain, wasn’t the one abusing him, but she was the one who ensured he survived it. She pieced him together, over and over, a cruel kind of mercy that prolonged his torment. Without her, they wouldn’t have been able to keep breaking him the way they did.

It haunted her.

Sometimes, it seemed like he remembered her. On the rare occasions when his body was whole and he wasn’t immediately dragged back out for another mission or another “session,” his vacant gaze would linger on her. Just a flicker of recognition in those haunted blue eyes, something that made her wonder if, somewhere beneath the chaos they’d inflicted on his mind, a part of him knew who she was.

Other times, he didn’t seem to know her at all. He would stare past her like she wasn’t even there. She didn’t know which was worse: the possibility that he hated her or the possibility that he didn’t think of her at all.

-----

Nine years had passed since her escape from their clutches. Nine years since Captain America and his team put down Pierce and dismantled Hydra’s plans,  the Soldat went missing and she got away in the chaos of the fight.

In the early days, survival had been a constant struggle. She’d wandered aimlessly at first, her coarse, prison-like clothes drawing stares from strangers who gave her a wide berth. The world was unrecognizable: a kaleidoscope of flashing screens, roaring cars, and people glued to strange, glowing devices. Everything felt faster, louder, and infinitely more confusing than the world she remembered.

For a couple of days, she kept to the shadows, but the hunger and desperation eventually pushed her to the edge. One night, trembling and exhausted, she walked into a police station. The officer at the front desk glanced at her with a mixture of suspicion and concern, likely wondering if she had escaped from a mental institution. And maybe, in a way, she had. She tried to explain, spilling out her words in a garbled mess of decades-old trauma. She told them about being taken, about Hydra, about the years spent in cryo. The officer raised a skeptical eyebrow and asked her to sit while he "sorted things out."

She knew they didn’t believe her. Not until one of the younger officers, fresh off patrol, walked in with a nasty road burn on his arm. She didn’t think, just acted. In seconds, the wound knitted itself back together under her glowing hands. The room fell silent, every set of eyes fixed on her in a mix of fear and awe.

From there, things moved quickly. The police dug into her story, and to everyone’s shock, her name and photo flagged a cold case from October 1962, a missing person report filed by her family. A woman who had disappeared without a trace, and presumed dead after two years of fruitless searching.

But what the police uncovered was too big for them to handle alone. They passed her case to federal authorities, and soon, she found herself in the hands of people who promised her a fresh start, though she quickly learned that nothing came without strings attached.

The feds helped her establish a new identity, gave her a place to live, and taught her how to navigate the modern world. In exchange, she worked for them using her mutant powers to heal injuries, aid covert operations, and clean up the messes no one else could. 

Still, the past lingered in her mind, haunting her in the quiet moments. She often wondered what had become of the Winter Soldier, since freedom, she realized, was not the same as peace.

In the years that followed, she began piecing the fragments of her past into the puzzle of the present. The world had changed in ways she struggled to comprehend, yet she adapted, carving out a relatively ‘normal’ existence.

Then, one day, she heard his name.

James Buchanan Barnes.

She learned about him in bits and pieces from news reports and whispered conversations among the people she worked with. Steve Rogers' best friend. The Winter Soldier.

The details unfolded like a tragic epic: framed in a terrorist attack, slipping under the radar, fighting in Wakanda, only to vanish in the Blip. And then, five years later, he returned. His face, no longer the blank mask of the Soldat, appeared on screens everywhere as the government pardoned him under strict conditions: mandatory therapy and restricted accommodations, a leash that kept him just shy of true freedom.

She watched every news segment, every interview. He wasn’t the weapon she remembered. There was something different in his eyes. Half-masked pain, certainly, but also humanity. He was trying, struggling to reclaim himself, to exist in a world that only knew him as a ghost or a monster.

It wasn’t an obsession. At least, that’s what she told herself. It was curiosity, concern, a connection she couldn’t sever no matter how hard she tried. Because no one else could understand what they’d been through. No one else had seen the depths of his torment, or felt the same chains biting into their skin.

She hadn’t planned to ever contact him. The idea terrified her. For all she knew, his fractured mind might not even remember her. Worse, maybe he did and resented her for the role she’d played, for the way she’d prolonged his torment under Hydra’s commands. Those thoughts were enough to keep her at a distance, safely watching from the shadows of her new life.

But life and destiny had their ways of unraveling carefully laid plans.

-----

Her work with Sam Wilson had started as another government assignment, one of many designed to keep her powers useful and her secrets buried. Yet, somewhere along the way, it had turned into something more. A friendship. He didn’t know about her past -no one did, actually-. He only knew the version of her life the government had scripted, a fabricated identity polished to perfection.

Leaving that aside, she liked him. He had a way of making her feel less like a displaced ghost and more like a person. Sometimes, they hung out after missions, sharing laughs over beers or stories about the ridiculous situations they found themselves in. And when he came back from a mission bruised or limping, she always tried to help.

That friendship had led her here, to a bustling backyard party, with warm laughter and music filling the air. Sam’s birthday celebration. She had accepted his invitation without thinking much of it, expecting a relaxed evening with a few familiar faces. What she hadn’t expected was to see him.

Standing at the drinks table, not the Winter Soldier, not the cold, empty Soldat she remembered, but James. His shoulders were relaxed, his hair shorter, and his blue eyes clearer than she’d ever seen them. He looked... alive in a way that left her breathless. For a moment, she froze, and her stomach twisted into knots. But there was no turning back now.

Not when he lifted his face after grabbing a glass of soda, only to find her mere inches away, rooted in place and staring at him like a rabbit in the middle of the road.

Her breath caught, and the world around them seemed to fade into a blur of laughter and music as his piercing blue eyes locked onto hers. 

He didn’t move, didn’t speak. The faintest flicker of something -recognition? confusion?- crossed his face. The glass in her hand suddenly felt heavy, and she tightened her grip around it as her heart raced.

“H-hi,” she managed to mutter, almost lost beneath the hum of the party.

He tilted his head slightly, deliberately, as if weighing her. For a long, agonizing moment, he simply looked at her with an unreadable expression. Then his lips parted, and a single word escaped from them, low and hoarse.

“You.”

Her stomach dropped while her mind scrambled for a response. Did he remember her? Or was it just the way her face stirred a distant and fractured memory?

“I-” she started, but the words tangled in her throat.

His gaze darted over her, taking her in: the way she clutched the glass like a lifeline, the way her shoulders tensed, the way she made one step back as though retreating was an option.

Sam’s voice cut through the moment, cheerful and oblivious. “Hey, Buck! Flirting already with one of my girls?”

Bucky flinched, the spell breaking as he snapped his gaze toward Sam, stiffening his posture. “I’m not f-”

“Don’t be a dick with her,” Sam interrupted, grinning as if he were the greatest matchmaker alive. “She’s good people. Y/n, this is Bucky, a pain in the ass but a good friend. Bucky, this is Y/n.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, his expression still unreadable as his eyes flicked back to her. He didn’t speak, didn’t offer a hand or a smile, just narrowed his eyes slightly, like he was trying to solve a riddle only he could see.

Her pulse thundered in her ears, and her instincts screamed at her to move, to flee, to escape his scrutiny before his fractured memories pieced her together.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she squared her shoulders and forced her lips into what she hoped was a polite and not-too-awkward smile. “Nice to meet you,” she said, her voice much steadier than she felt.

Bucky studied her for a moment longer. Finally, he gave a slight nod, stepping back as though he’d decided she wasn’t worth the effort of figuring out. “Yeah. Same,” he muttered before turning to leave.

As he moved away, she exhaled, a shaky breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her grip on the glass trembled, the adrenaline coursing through her leaving her both relieved and strangely disappointed.

“Don’t take it personally,” Sam intervened, leaning in with a knowing smirk. “He specializes in a heterogeneous game of staring, brooding, and groaning. Dry comments here and there, too.”

She let out a soft, nervous laugh, grateful for the break in tension. “Good to know,” she murmured, still gripping the glass tightly.

Sam patted her shoulder with the easy camaraderie of someone who had no idea the weight of the moment that had just passed. “He’s not so bad once you get past all the walls. Might take a while to crack that nut, but hey, who knows?”

-----

Two months later, Sam called her for a job.

“It’s a simple mission,” he’d explained. “Poland. The higher-ups want you to stay at the safehouse most of the time in case something goes wrong, but if we need someone to move unnoticed -play tourist, fetch intel- they figured you’re our best bet.”

She hesitated for a beat, her instincts screaming at her to say no this time. But she had never ditched a mission before and Sam will be there, so she agreed.

When she climbed aboard the military plane early the next morning, with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder, she almost turned around and fled.

Bucky was already sitting there, strapped into his seat, with his arms crossed over his chest. His expression was as closed off as ever, and his gaze was fixed somewhere on the cabin wall. Her stomach dropped, and before her brain could process what she was doing, she turned sharply on her heel and headed straight for the cockpit.

The pilots greeted her with raised brows, clearly surprised to see her there before takeoff. She forced a nervous smile, chatting with them about flight logistics, weather conditions, anything to stretch the time and delay the inevitable.

“Shouldn’t you be back in the cabin?” one of them asked eventually, glancing at her curiously.

“Just thought I’d keep you company,” she replied, slightly strained.

The hum of the plane’s engines growing louder reminded her she couldn’t hide forever. She exhaled deeply, gripping the doorframe. Maybe, she could slip into some corner, unnoticed once the plane was in the air.

But life wasn’t so kind.

“Sam’s voice came loud and clear, calling her. “C’mon, you’re holding us up!”

Bucky’s head turned, locking his sharp gaze onto her the moment she entered. His expression didn’t shift -no frown, no surprise- but what she saw in those blue eyes made her knees threaten to buckle.

She forced herself to take a steadying breath. “Hi,” she greeted the two men quickly, her voice barely above a murmur, before moving to the furthest seat she could find.

Her hands fumbled as she pulled a book from her bag, flipping it open without even checking the page. She pretended to read, scanning the same line over and over as if the words might somehow shield her from the weight of Bucky’s stare.

Sam furrowed his brows, glancing between them with a mix of confusion and curiosity. He’d been prepared for the usual brooding and disagreements from Bucky -his default settings on most missions- but he’d expected her to be more engaged. She’d always been sharp and chatty, quick to offer solutions or crack a joke, but now she seemed... distant.

He leaned toward Bucky, “Did you scare her off already before I got here?”

Bucky shot him an unimpressed sidelong glance. “I didn’t say a word.”

Sam, determined to break the awkward silence, leaned back in his seat and raised his voice. “Alright, we’re stuck in this tin can for the next few hours. Someone better start talking, or I’m gonna make us all play twenty questions.”

She forced a small smile, though her eyes remained glued to the book. “You win. I’m reading.”

He huffed dramatically, shaking his head. “Tough crowd.” Then he turned back to Bucky. “Guess it’s just you and me, Buck.”

Bucky didn’t respond, his gaze flicking toward her briefly before settling on the wall ahead. His expression remained impassive, but his metal fingers tapped against his thigh, the only sign of some internal debate.

-----

After a while, Sam, ever persistent, leaned forward, and turned to her “So,” he started, casually but probing, “you ever been to Poland in other mission before? Got any recommendations for pierogi spots or are we flying blind here?”

She hesitated, tightening slightly her fingers on the edge of her book. Avoiding interaction had been her plan, but the pointed look Sam sent her way made it clear he wasn’t going to let her off the hook.

Finally, she closed the book with a soft sigh, forcing herself to meet his expectant gaze. “No, never been,” she replied, cautious. “Though I think I read somewhere Kraków’s old town is nice.”

Sam grinned, seizing the opportunity. “Kraków, huh? I’ll take that as a vote to play tourist if we get the chance. “Maybe you can even guide us, seeing as you’re good at blending in.”

“I doubt we’ll have time, Sammy,” she said quickly, trying to deflect.

“Oh, come on,” Sam teased, leaning back in his seat with an exaggerated grin. “You’re one of the friendliest people I know. You’ll probably charm us into some exclusive spots. Earn your keep!”

She let out a soft, nervous laugh, shaking her head. “I think you’ve mistaken ‘friendly’ for ‘quiet enough not to get in trouble.’”

Sam smirked, undeterred. “Nah, you’ve got that vibe. People trust you, and open up to you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how often you walk away with more intel than anyone else.”

Her fingers tensed slightly on the edge of her book, but she forced herself to smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment... I think.”

“It is,” Sam replied, his tone warm and easy. “And I’m just saying, if we do get downtime, we’re counting on you to find the good spots.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she managed to say, though her stomach churned under Bucky’s relentless stare.

He hadn’t said a word, but the weight of his gaze made every exchange feel heavier like he was dissecting her responses, searching for cracks in her calm facade. She refused to look at him, focusing instead on Sam’s cheerful grin.

Sam clapped his hands together. “That’s the spirit. See, Buck? She’s already proving more useful than you.”

Bucky huffed, the barest flicker of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth before disappearing. “Yeah, well, let’s see if she’s still useful when things go south.”

Her stomach tightened at his words, though she kept her face carefully neutral. It wasn’t outright hostility, but the skepticism in his tone felt like a challenge, a warning wrapped in a dry comment.

Sam rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Man, you’ve gotta work on your people skills. Not everyone you meet is gonna double-cross you, you know.”

Bucky didn’t respond and bit his lower lip as he looked away, clearly done with the conversation.

She forced a small smile, trying to defuse the tension. “I think he’s just saying I should prove myself first.”

Sam shot her an encouraging look. “You don’t need to prove anything to him. Trust me, you’re good-”

“Sam,” Bucky intervened almost dryly. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. This isn’t sightseeing. It’s a mission. If she’s not-”

“I can handle myself,” she interrupted, managing to keep her voice steady despite the sudden rush of heat to her face.

The fact that she addressed directly to him got Bucky’s attention. He turned, locking his gaze onto hers, and for a moment, the silence between them felt heavier than the thrum of the plane’s engines.

“Guess we’ll find out,” he murmured, leaning back slightly in his seat. He kept staring at her sharply and unyielding. After a beat of silence, he added, “And, actually, what exactly do you do?”

Fuck.

The question wasn’t casual, she could see it in the way his eyes stayed fixed on her, a glint of something just beneath the surface. He knew. He was waiting for her to say it, to confirm what he already remembered but was pretending not to.

Sam raised an eyebrow, looking between them. “Bucky, come on. She’s solid, alright? I wouldn’t bring her along if she wasn’t.”

Bucky didn’t even glance at him. His attention stayed locked on her. “I didn’t say she wasn’t solid. Just curious what her... specialty is.”

She forced herself to take a steadying breath. If he wanted to play coy, fine. Two could play that game.

“I’m good at staying unnoticed,” she said, feigning a casual tone “Recon, blending in, getting intel…” She shrugged lightly, as though explaining her skill set was just a routine part of the job.

Bucky tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing in faint amusement. “That it?”

She gave him a polite smile, curling her fingers around the edge of the book on her lap. “Well, I’ve been told I’m handy in a pinch. Let’s just say I’ve got a knack for fixing things.”

His lips quirked, but the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Fixing things, huh?”

“Yeah,” she replied smoothly, ignoring the way her heart raced under his scrutiny. “Little cuts, scrapes, that kind of thing. Nothing too fancy.”

Sam, oblivious to the subtle tension between them, chuckled. “Don’t let her undersell it. She devours. Saved my ass more than once, you wouldn’t believe the absolute carnage I've seen her mend.”

“Good to know,” Bucky commented, with his gaze still locked on her. There was something in his eyes -something sharp-, almost daring her to break first, but she didn’t flinch.

“Just doing my job.” She added, her eyes still glued to the unreadable baby blues.

Bucky leaned back, the corner of his mouth twitched as if he wanted to say more but decided against it.

Sam glanced between them. “It's pretty early for a staring contest.”

She didn’t answer; she just smiled at him and returned her focus to the book. He remembered, she was sure of it.

Still, if he wanted her to confirm it outright, he’d have to try harder. For now, she’d play his game, and she was determined to win.

-----

The safehouse was a two-bedroom apartment in an old building that groaned with every step. It was cramped but functional, the kind of place that wouldn’t draw attention. As they settled in, Sam tossed his bag onto one of the worn couches and stretched like a cat.

“Alright,” he said, grinning at her. “Do us all a favor and work your magic in the kitchen. I haven’t had a proper meal in weeks, and I can’t survive on takeout and those protein bars Bucky packs.”

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. Cooking would give her something to focus on, and it was the perfect excuse to isolate for a couple of hours.

“Fine, let’s see what I can do,” she muttered, scurrying inside the kitchen.

“You’re the best!” Sam called, grabbing his jacket. “I’ll be back soon, gotta meet a contact nearby. You two... play nice.”

The sound of the door closing made her grimace. She exhaled slowly, tying an old apron on her waist as she dug through the sparse pantry and fridge. Within minutes, she was chopping some potatoes, humming Animals while she was at it, because fuck it all.

She felt the weight of his gaze pressed against her back like a physical thing before she heard him. He stood in the kitchen doorway, quiet and unmoving, a presence impossible to ignore.

Her grip on the knife tightened, but she didn’t turn around. “Need something?”

“No.” The simple word carried so much weight that it made her pause mid-cut.

She exhaled slowly and resumed her task. “Then why are you standing there?”

He didn’t answer immediately, and the silence stretched until it became almost unbearable.

“You’re good at it.”

Her hand froze. “At what?”

“Pretending.”

She forced herself to keep chopping, while her pulse hammered in her ears. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” His tone didn’t carry malice, but the words felt heavier than any accusation. He leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms. “I remember you.”

Her chest tightened, and the room suddenly felt smaller. “You’re mistaken,” she said flatly.

“I’m not.” He took another step forward. His tone was soft, but the words were unrelenting. “You were there. Hydra.”

Next Chapter ->

[glamourscat]

attractive things they do while dating

TIM, JASON, DICK, STEPH

TIM

takes notice of the little things you like. You mention an obscure author that only has published three books and are impossible to find? He will find them for you.

tim doesn’t just pay attention, he catalogs the little details about you as naturally as breathing.

he notices when you always take your coffee with an extra splash of cream or when your knee bounces whenever you’re nervous. Without saying a word, he adjusts.

one day, as you work late, you find a steaming cup of your favorite drink on your desk with a note: thought you’d need this.

JASON

reads to you. It starts small, Jason offhandedly mentions some book he loves, and you express interest. Or maybe you are also a fan.

one day, he comes over, pulls out a battered copy and starts reading aloud. His voice is deep, smooth, and surprisingly gentle as he brings the story to life.

eventually, it becomes a ritual. Curling up together with him flipping pages, his voice filling the silence. You end up falling in love with the stories because they remind you of him.

annotates passage in his books that remind him of you. He has sticky notes, tabs and pen smudges all around the book as he marks down his favourite line that remind him of you.

line that he might, or might not, use it on you while shamelessly flirting.

DICK

Playfully spins you around. Dick’s touch is light and effortless, as if he never truly left behind the circus. Whenever he sees you, his smile lights up the room, and without fail, he grabs your hand and spins you like you’re the star of his act

And when he’s feeling extra playful, he’ll dip you dramatically like in some cheesy romance movie, his grin wide and teasing as he leans in to kiss you.

STEPH

leaves little doodles and notes for you everywhere. Stephanie is pure sunshine in human form and her love language is written in colourful markers, sparkling stickers and sticky notes. You’ll find them everywhere, tucked in your jacket pocket, stuck to your laptop screen or even hidden behind cupboards doors. 

some notes are silly. Others are sweet, like: You’re the best thing about my day, my sun to my moon. My air for my lungs.

sometimes, she even draws little cartoons of the two of you. Sometimes as two vigilantes. Others as characters from your guys favourite show. 

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[verdantchan]

Always You

Pairing: Best friend! Bangchan x Afab! Reader

Summary: It’s hard to enjoy a party when your best friend who you’ve been in love with for years turns up with his girlfriend…

Warnings: MDNI, dom!chan, sub!reader, possessive!chan, unprotected sex (don’t be like them) dirty talk, cum eating, multiple orgasms (f!rec) fingering (f!rec) mentions of mastubation, spitting (chan spits on it yk..) tummy bulge, creampie

Wc: 2.7k

a/n: did I write and edit it this in one sitting? yes I did,,, is this also my return to writing fics after 5 years bc I’m so attracted to chan idk what to do?? Also yes 🤪

‘‘Lixieee watch my drink, I nearly dropped it’’ You roll your eyes and smile at Felix as he practically jumps on you. His parties were always rowdy, especially when Jisung wormed his way into the planning. Colourful lights strewn around every pillar and doorway, countless bottles and cheesy red cups littering the granite countertops in the dorm kitchen, the air thick with smoke and the sickly sweet scent of liquor.

Part of you loved how committed the boys were to throwing the most stereotypical frat parties, the perfect way to unwind from the stress of uni life. You scan the room for that all too familiar face but find no sign of him, your shoulders dropping slightly, the disappointment in your chest too strong to ignore.

You and Chan had been best friends since you were 12, your parents pushing you together as an unlikely duo. You'd immediately become inseparable,spending every second with each other. People had always questioned your relationship, everyone thought you must be dating if you were so close, but you and Chan were just friends, at least that's what you convinced yourself it had to be.

You first started having feelings for Chan at 18, you were university freshmen starting the next big chapter of your lives together and you couldn't get him out of your head. His deep brown eyes that sparkled when he spoke about the things he loved, his soft curly black hair that you loved ruffling to annoy him and his dimples that became impossibly deep when he smiled. Being around him was both torture and comfort. Three years later and you were still completely in love with someone who views you as his best friend, nothing more. In other words, you're utterly fucked.

‘’Lix, have you seen Chan tonight? I thought he was coming’’  Felix still clinging to you in his tipsy state. His messy blonde hair slightly covering his eyes and freckle-dotted cheeks, a pink blush dusting his skin thanks to the many drinks he’d already knocked back.

‘’Nah not yet, he said he's coming later after his date’’ he slurs his words a little, all giggly and happy, not knowing the ache his words cause you. You hum in response, suddenly feeling less sociable than a few minutes ago.

‘’Ahhhhh speak of the devil’’ Felix laughs and nods toward the doorway, Chan's broad shoulders making it look tiny. His hand interlocked with hers, observing the room and briefly locking eyes with you before looking away.

Chan had been dating Euna for a few months, but it never got easier seeing them together. 

They'd met in one of your classes, Euna was sweet, pretty  and very popular with both the students and teachers. It hadn’t taken Chan too long to fall for her and spend less and less time with you. He swore nothing had changed between you two but you knew better. It wasn't long after they started dating that Chan began cancelling your plans because ‘Euna planned something’ or he ‘just couldn't make it that day’ You wanted to believe that it would all go back to the way it was soon enough but that day never came, Chan drifting further as time passed. 

You missed his smile, the way he would make you laugh, the way he would bring you your favourite food when you were tired or upset. You thought that maybe one day you would be together, that Chan would see you as more than just his best friend. Sometimes it felt like more between you two. 

He and Euna weave their way through the crowd, her trailing slightly behind, Chan looking back at her every so often with a smile, the sight of them making you nauseous though you wish it didn't. Chan lets go of her to pull Felix into a hug, Euna eyeing you awkwardly as the two of them catch up. Euna had never been rude to you, never made a snarky comment about you being friends with Chan, but she never really said much around you if you were honest. 

‘’Your dress is super pretty’’ you squeak out attempting to break the silence between you two, She offers up a small thank you and a tight smile and turns to Chan as he pulls her into his side, his attention now on the two of you instead of the tipsy blonde Aussie

 ‘’Hey y/n’’ Chan smiles as he lets go of Euna and pulls you into a quick side hug, letting go as quickly as he’d pulled you in, his soft musky scent filling your senses. The four of you make small talk, Chan's eyes catching your own as Felix rambles to Euna about his current pc build. The air starts to feel suffocating, his glances making you feel trapped. You quickly make an excuse to leave, Chan's smile faltering as you excuse yourself from their conversation and disappear into the crowd of bodies. 

It was impossible to think while Chan was standing there, his arms wrapped around Euna unapologetically. The jealousy burning more than the straight tequila sloshing around in your cup, you start to sway to the music begging yourself to forget about him and enjoy your night. You feel a pair of eyes follow your silhouette but you continue to drink and dance, the alcohol making its way through your system and drowning out every thought.

 You feel a figure behind you grabbing your hips and swaying with you, turning your head to see the blurred outline of Hyunjin, his hair in his eyes, a pair of red sunglasses perched on his nose. You let yourself melt into him, you'd always found him attractive anyway. You and Hyunjin move together perfectly, his smooth movements guiding your own as he whispers the lyrics to the song in your ear, his plump lips catching your skin slightly. You finally move your eyes to Chan still feeling someone watching you, secretly wishing it was him. You’re met with a sharp glare, his eyes never leaving you and Hyunjin, his jaw locked in annoyance, you roll your eyes at him and turn around to face Hyunjin winding your arms around his slender neck. 

You turn back to glance at Chan to find him charging your way, ripping you from your dance partner's embrace and towards the stairwell. 

‘’Chan what the fuck are you doing?’’ you yell, trying to wriggle your wrist from his strong grip as he pulls you upstairs and into one of the empty bedrooms.

‘’What the fuck am I doing? What the fuck are YOU doing y/n? Grinding all over Hyunjin like that’’

‘’We are not doing this right now, why does it have anything to do with you, Chan? Why do you even care?’’ venom coating your words, attempting to open the door and leave but being stopped short when he stands in the way, eyes burning into yours. Chan had never been like this with you, what had gotten into him?

‘’What? Are you suddenly into Hyunjin?? We both know he's not right for you y/n’’  his eyebrows knitted in annoyance.

‘’And how would you know what's best for me Chan? We hardly talk anymore!’’ you run your fingers through your hair, easing the tension building up behind your eyes. 

‘’Of course we still talk, you know i've been busy’’ he fires back, disregarding how much space really had built up between the two of you. 

’Give it up Chan and go back to Euna, what I do with Hyunjin has fuck all to do with you’’ you can't deal with the confusion, why is he acting like he's jealous of you and Hyunjin? Why does it matter to him? 

‘’’I’m your best friend y/n of course it has something to do with me, he's not right for you’’ 

‘’Oh my god get your head out of your ass chan, just like you said, you're my best friend not my boyfriend. You can date but I can't? I'm not gonna wait on you to notice me for the rest of my life’’ You turn your face away from him, your confidence and fire slipping as Chan studies you intensely, the room silent apart from your breathing. 

‘’My god you’re an idiot’’ Chan mumbles before grabbing your chin and smashing his lips onto yours, you melt into the kiss at first before snapping out of it and pushing him away

Chan what are you doing?’’ You feel dizzy as you maintain your balance, your hands still pressed against his toned chest. your lungs heaving in time with the thud of the music coming from below. 

‘’You really have no idea, do you? I’m fucking in love with you y/n, why do you think I even started dating Euna in the first place, I wanted to get over you, why else would I jump into a relationship with a girl I hardly knew??’’ The annoyance in his voice evident as he goes on, he runs his hand through his hair repeatedly,  messy waves falling in his face. 

You stare up at him stunned, your lips parted in surprise, he pulls you back in, his lips covering yours as he presses you into him with fervour. He deepens the kiss and walks you backwards, his hands pressing into your hips, his hold nothing like hyunjins. He pulls away his eyes searching yours for something, anything. 

“Tell me to stop, if you don't want this I’ll walk away” his voice is breathy and pained, evident that the last thing he wanted was for you to say now.

You've waited too long for this, for him to need you, touch you. You know it's wrong, his girlfriend just a floor below but you’ve wanted and waited too much to stop and walk away, you can deal with your moral shortcomings tomorrow. 

‘’Please, Chan’’ you whisper, desperate for him to touch you again, clenching your thighs together as heat pools in your lower stomach, your insides on fire for him. He watches how desperate you are for him, your answer clear.

‘’Fuck you’re perfect’’ you look at him pleadingly and he can't hold back anymore, he’d thought about you like this too many times to count, in dreams and when awake. When he can't sleep and he fucks his fist wishing it was you, how pretty your moans would sound as he rocked into you, how tight you'd be around him, how his cum would leak out of your fluttering hole. He was too far gone, a man possessed. 

You gasp as he pushes you back on the bed, his weight pressing you into the mattress perfectly, he licks and nips at your jaw, his hand finding your soaked underwear under your skirt, circling your puffy clit through the slick fabric. 

“You’re so wet for me baby, bet Hyunjin could never have this effect on you. Gonna fuck you so good you'll forget he exists’’ his words making you tingle, his fingers exactly where you need them.

‘’Only want you’’ Your voice comes out breathy and fucked out even though he’s barely touched you and it sends a rush of blood to Chan's already rock-solid cock, straining against the tight fabric of his black jeans.

He sinks two fingers into your tight pussy and you scream in pleasure and pain at the intrusion, his fingers so much thicker and longer than yours, the stretch taking your breath away 

‘’Yeah be a good girl and take my fingers in that tight little cunt, I know you can’’ The way he whispers as your pussy stretches around his fingers and wet squelches echo through the room has you throwing your head back, Chans other hand finding your tits as he stretches you out for him. You shake as he moves his fingers in and out of you, the stretch now dissolved into intense pleasure. He can tell you're close, your eyes closed in pleasure as you sigh out his name.

‘’cum for me pretty, cum around my fingers’’ You moan his name over and over as he rubs your soaking clit and plunges his fingers into your sopping hole,  your back arching in pleasure as he works you through your high. Shouting his name as you cum on his fingers. He pulls his fingers out, bringing them to his mouth and licking them clean. The sight alone already making you needy for more 

‘’Need you so bad baby, need to feel you milk my cock’’ he breathes out as he undoes his belt, desperate to be inside of you. You spread your sticky thighs, your glistening pussy on full display for him. His cock springs free from its confines, his pink tip leaking down onto the rest of his thick veiny length. It was no surprise he had the prettiest cock you'd ever seen. He gives it a few pumps, slapping your clit with his bulbous tip, and you moan in pleasure at the sting. 

‘’Take it, baby. Gonna stretch you out so good, gonna make you mine’’ his voice shaky as he presses into you, your pussy spasming around his hard length splitting you open, he slowly bottoms out with a moan stilling inside you. His cock making your stomach bulge with his size 

‘’Fuckfuckfuckkkk you're still so tight, such a perfect pussy’’ his words coming out more like a mantra, the feeling of you around him making him pussydrunk. He fucks in and out of you grabbing your thighs, spreading you wider for him, watching where you’re joined as he takes you. 

 ‘’talk to me baby girl, tell me how I make you feel’’ 

‘’Love it when you fuck me Channie, love your cock so much’’ your voice strained and whiny, writhing against the sheets as he sets a rough pace. He spits on your pussy, the liquid dripping down to where you meet, the sight only aiding his pleasure. 

‘’Bet you thought about this huh? Thought about how good it would feel when I ruin you, hmm baby? Bet you’d touch this little clit thinking about how good I would fuck you?’’ His thrusts become sloppy as he nears his orgasm, his fingers coming to circle your clit. Your moans getting louder as you get close for the second time.

‘’Cum with me baby, wanna cum in this pussy, fill you up with my cum’’ his thrusts getting more erratic and desperate as you orgasm together. You scream his name, your nails digging into his toned back muscles. Chan stills as he spurts his hot release into you, his cum painting your insides a milky white. He collapses onto you, his muscled chest pressed against your fucked out form, both of you breathing heavily. 

‘’Fuck you're mine, just mine’’ he whispers, his cock still inside you, both your release leaking out around his still hard dick.. 

‘’Yeah just yours, Channie’’ you breathe out dreamily, still coming down from your high  

You both lay like that for a while, Chan's face tucked into your neck, leaving gentle kisses, his cock stiffening again inside of you, the party coming to an end downstairs. Things had happened so fast you hadn't realised Chan brought you to his own room, the purple lights giving his skin a lilac hue. 

‘’Chan. What happens now?” You hesitate not wanting to ruin the moment, praying you didn't just fuck everything up with him with a simple question.

He sighs into your skin snuggling closer ‘’I meant it when I said you're mine y/n, Euna knows she and I are done, she knew I was in love with you. I want this, I want you’’ his voice soft and sleepy. 

Your heart nearly explodes, ‘’I love you too Chan, I want you too’’ you kiss him passionately, his tongue fighting yours for dominance, smiling into the kiss as he begins moving inside you again. It feels like a dream and you can't believe he's in love with you too, that he wants you like you want him. Now you have him you'll never let him go, you have always been his, even if he didn't know it. 

‘’It's always been you y/n’’

-ty for reading!! Alr working on more hehe

[captain-huggy-bear]

Eyes on Me

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Luke being a whiny possessive baby, but actually this is all silly fluff and he's just a silly boy who wants all your attention.

Summary: Your relationship with Luke is as serious as it gets and your relationship with his family is as close as they come. Luke can't help but love it, even as he jealously wants all your attention especially whenever his brothers seem to hog it

Notes: Request for @toasttt11, I hope you enjoy it, I went a slightly different route with it but I hope its okay! 🥰

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

You never had a particularly close family. Your family was small, and while you loved them, your family was one of those more aloof types, not so emotional or as close as typical families. The type of family you worried about telling things to in case they made fun of you or told you off or simply didn't listen. A family where they gave presents that were relatively generic because they didn't really know each other. A family where cousins didn't regularly see each other. Luke's family was the complete opposite. Warm, welcoming and large, even his extended family of cousins and aunts and uncles were close. It was a whole different world, but it showed you what family could really look like and what it could feel like.

At first it had been intimidating. To come into this family unit where everyone was so close, where everyone talked and shared their thoughts and feelings without fear of judgement. Where gifts were thoughtful and meaningful and everyone knew what everyone had been up to lately and no one forgot a birthday. At first you'd been scared you simply wouldn't fit in, that you'd make mistakes, forget to do something, offend someone.

Luke had been insistent that you'd fit in perfectly and he'd been absolutely right. His parents loved you, Jim and Ellen immediately treating you like a daughter. Ellen was more excited to see you than her own sons at holidays, always rushing to be the first person to wrap you in a warm hug and bring you inside. Ellen regularly talked to you over the phone and sent you whatsapps to see how you were doing. Jim always had a word of wisdom or a reassuring wink on hand if the boys were getting rowdy and out of pocket. Then there was Jack and Quinn, Jack and Quinn who were the epitome of what brothers should be. They were the first to step in and help you if Luke wasn't around, the first to make fun of you light heartedly for something silly you'd done and the first to add you to your very own group chat with the brothers, Luke not invited, because often you used it to discuss what to buy the impossible to buy for boy. They made you feel settled in the family unit, they felt like real brothers to you, as much a part of your life as Luke was.

Luke was happy about it, of course he was. You were it for him, he was 99.9% certain he was going to marry you, the 0.1% being the off chance that you decided you didn't want to marry him. So naturally seeing you fall in so perfectly with his family, seeing you grow more and more comfortable, the closeness of your relationship with all of them it made him ache with warmth and affection. But, he hated sharing you. He couldn't help it. He'd always shared things with his brothers, clothes, jerseys, toys. Not because he had to, but because that's just what they did. But, you were the first thing in his life that he didn't want to share.

Even now, watching from the doorway of the lake house kitchen as you laugh with Jack and Quinn, there's a sense of jealousy that your attention isn't on him. It's stupid. He doesn't have any worries about you not loving him or preferring his brothers, but he can't help but want your attention on him, can't help but want you to smile and laugh at him, for his brothers to be background noise. It's cave-manish and stupid and he'd never admit to it because Jack and Quinn would make fun of him for the rest of his entire existence...but it's there.

"You're ridiculous, Jack. If you were a worm, Luke would not keep you in a terrarium. He'd throw you out a window, while screaming!" You laugh at Jack, shoving his shoulder as he glares you. He's been adamant for the past 3 minutes that his brother would care for him in sickness and in worm and while sweet, you both know that Luke hates insects, he absolutely hates anything wriggly and crawly, a worm is no exception. Even if that worm was his brother.

"No, no, see my brother loves me and he would keep me in a little terrarium until the day I or he dies and you would have to watch as he gave me all his attention!"

"I'd throw you out the window. Let some bird eat you." You smile as you say it, the bite not there. You both know you wouldn't but the offended gasp Jack lets out is enough to make it appealing to say.

"You wouldn't." Jack's blue eyes narrow on you and you stifle your laugh, arms crossing as you glance at Quinn who's shaking his head at the both of you refusing to get involved.

"You're right, I'd hand feed you to a bird."

"Quinn?!" Jack looks to his older brother, eyes wide like he expects him to intervene and put you on the naughty step or something equally as comical. Instead Quinn simply holds his hands up in surrender.

"I'm not getting involved. This is a ridiculous argument because we all know I'd be the one who'd end up taking care of you."

"Quinn has a point-" You stop yourself short as you feel strong arms wrap around your waist and pull you back against a warm chest. Luke's chin coming to rest on top of your head as he crushes you against him, his fingers slipping under your hoodie to rest on your waist.

"What you talking about?" It's mumbled into your hair, a quick kiss pressed there. He knows he's glowering at Jack and Quinn, mostly Jack. Jack who's gotten that teasing glint in his eyes at the realisation that Luke's scowl is because his girlfriend is focused on his brother, his stupid, pretty boy brother that all the girls seem to want. You are oblivious to this, leaning back into Luke like its second nature.

"How you would throw Jack to the birds if he turned into a worm."

"Mmm, true." His voice is short, shorter than normal and it makes your ears perk up as does the way he pulls you even tighter against him and a little bit further from his brothers like he's trying to pull you away. You wonder if maybe something had happened that's put him in a grumpy mood even as you look between Quinn and Jack who both seem to smirk at their brother standing behind you.

"Lukey, I'm your brother!" Even as Jack pretends to be offended he's grinning. His little brother is practically glaring at him, eyes just visible above your hair where he's burrowed his face.

"And?"

"Luke!" You turn in his arms, forcing him to look at you and for the first time you see the glower on his face, the sort of look you've seen only a handful of times. The same look you've seen him direct at men in bars who bother you, except this look is very much directed at Jack.

"What? I hate worms!"

"Mm, okay, what if I turned into a worm?" You pout up at him, wide eyes focused on him and he can't help but lose a bit of the glower because your attention is on him now and not on Jack.

Luke's hands find their way to your back pockets, pulling you close against him even as his brothers groan at the unnecessary PDA between their baby brother and his girlfriend.

"I'd keep you in my pocket wherever I went until I could find some scientist to turn you back." He smiles down at you sweetly, all traces of the former scowl removed now that his attention is on you and you brush some of his curls from his face as he does so. His smile only grows warmer at your attention, a sense of puffed up pride that he's got all your attention now, and his brothers have none of it.

From behind you you hear Jack whine, "Why am I thrown to the birds but sunshine over here is kept in your pocket?"

"She's my future wife?" You can't help the bashful sort of smile that overtakes your face and forces it to scrunch up and grow warm at his words. You hide your face in his chest, giddy at him calling you his future wife even when you're not even engaged and unlikely to be engaged any time soon given where you both are in life.

"Oh and I'm just chopped liver?" Jack doesn't even get a response, Luke's too busy staring at you, smiling down at you with lovesick little grin he gets. His hands are still in your back pockets and yours have migrated to hold him around the waist as you look up at him, chin leaning against his sternum.

"Talk to your boyfriend." You look over your shoulder at Jack, who's scowling at his brother like he's been betrayed. You suppose in a sense he has, seeing as Luke has decided you're more worthy of pocket worm privileges than his older brother is.

"Lukey, baby, you can't throw your brother to the birds."

"Why not?"

"Because he's your brother." He's pouting at you like a five year old and it really shouldn't be cute, it should be so annoying that he's acting like this but its not. It's cute, it's playful and you can't help but find everything Luke does endearing.

"But, he's taking all your attention away from me..." His voice is whiny, drawn out and annoyed as he frowns down at you, his hands pulling you even tighter to him like Jack might physically pull you away.

"Is that what this all about? Are you jealous of your brother?" You can hear Quinn and Jack sniggering at the background, you know they'll never let him live this down not until the day he dies.

"No..." Luke looks away from you, a bright red flush crawling up his neck, to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. He can hear his brothers making fun of him, but he can't help it. He wants your attention all the time and he hates that Jack had it, even as much as he loves that Jack and you get along.

"Baby, Oh, baby...you know I only want you, right?" You cup his cheeks in your hands, tilting your head right back to look at him. He flushes further, cheeks so warm under your palms that you're a little worried he might grow lightheaded. Made only worse by your sweet voice and softness with him, "Jack's nowhere near as pretty as you."

You giggle at the offended, "Hey!" behind you. But, you know Luke needs to hear it, know he compares himself to his brothers even if he tries not too. He knows Jack has a reputation as the fan favourite with women, the pretty boy, but, God, Luke is so pretty to you.

"Really?" His grin that begins is the one you love most, where his teeth peek out and his cheeks dimple deeply. It crinkles his eyes and for anyone looking from the outside in it is so obvious he is absolutely in love with you, smitten, whipped, completely taken with you. If you were in an episode of Tom and Jerry his eyes would be hearts popping from his head.

"Mmm, no one is prettier than my future husband, honey." You're pandering to him and he knows that, he doesn't care though. Revels in it when you lean up on tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek, grins at Jack over your head like Jack even cares because Jack most certainly does not care that his brother's girlfriend doesn't find him that pretty. In fact, he's glad. How awkward with family dinners be if you did think Jack was prettier?

But, Jack draws the line at the PDA you're starting to display. He draws the line when Luke crashes his lips down on yours in what can only be described as an 'eating faces' sort of kiss, the sort where you're a little worried for each participants health and ability to breathe.

"Eww, c'mon Quinn, lets get out here. Ew." Jack grabs Quinn by the arm and pull him outside, but you're not really focusing on that, not when Luke is ushering you to a kitchen counter and up so that you can wrap your legs around his hips and kiss him easier.

Yeah, he's jealous sometimes that his brothers get along so well with you, but he knows that you're it for him and he's it for you. He doesn't mind feeling a little jealous, not when you remind him so thoroughly that you could care less about Jack or Quinn in anyway that isn't entirely brotherly.

[ticifics]

𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

── james potter x f!reader

summary: "You two have a intertwined future," the teacher says, her enigmatic smile deepening. "I see a boy... He'll wear glasses, like his father."

tags n warnings: just fluff - a lovestruck and embarrassed James. realization . c.ai

The scent of incense hangs heavy in the stifling Divination classroom, where the heat wraps around you like an invisible cloak. The dim light of scattered candles in ancient holders gives the room a mysterious air, and thick velvet curtains block out any sign of the outside world. You’re seated beside James Potter, and between the two of you, at the center of the round table, a crystal ball rests silently, surrounded by a tattered book of Divination with yellowed pages.

It’s been at least half an hour since you both started staring at the crystal ball, unable to see anything at all. Frustrated, James was the first to give up, throwing himself into the far more entertaining task of making up ridiculous stories about the future he “saw” in the cloudy surface of the object.

“There! It’s as clear as day,” he says, dramatically pointing at the crystal ball with a mischievous grin. “You’re going to be the first professional Quidditch player to bring a hippogriff onto the field. And I’ll, uh… obviously become the greatest dragon tamer the world has ever seen.”

You burst into laughter, trying to keep a straight face as he gestures like he’s actually wrangling an invisible dragon. “Didn’t know your vision included being mauled by your own dragon,” you tease, and he chuckles, pushing his glasses up as he attempts to look offended.

You’re still laughing when you notice the professor’s presence beside your table. She seems to materialize out of the shadows, her intense gaze flicking between you and James. Your laughter dies in your throat, and James straightens in his chair, still with a trace of a grin on his lips.

“Enjoying yourselves, I see,” the professor says, her low voice reverberating in the quiet space. She leans slightly forward, observing the crystal ball for a few seconds before turning her gaze back to you. The pause is long, almost uncomfortable, and when she finally speaks, the room seems to hold its breath along with you.

“You two have an intertwined future,” she says, her enigmatic smile deepening. Her fingers brush lightly against your shoulder, a gesture almost maternal. “I see a boy… He’ll wear glasses, like his father.”

The silence that follows is deafening. It feels as though the entire world has frozen in that instant, the weight of her words hitting you like a gust of icy wind. When you finally summon the courage to glance at James, he’s already looking at you, his eyes wide, his expression a mix of surprise, embarrassment, and something else you can’t quite place.

“Well… that was… interesting,” he says at last, breaking the silence with a voice deeper than usual. He attempts to laugh, but it comes out nervous, and his hand automatically moves to his neck, ruffling his already messy hair.

“Interesting is one word for it,” you murmur, trying to keep your voice steady. But your heart is pounding so fast it feels impossible he can’t hear it.

For a moment that feels like an eternity, you hold each other’s gaze. James’s look is intense, almost unsettling, as though he’s trying to decipher something, like the future the professor mentioned is now written on your face.

“Our son, huh?” he finally says, his voice barely a whisper. He tries to smile, but it’s a hesitant one, laden with something that might be fear or anticipation. “Hope he gets your good sense. Two of me would be a disaster.”

You laugh, despite the tension, and the sound seems to ease the air between you. “And I hope he doesn’t inherit your knack for getting into trouble.”

He laughs too, and for a brief moment, everything feels normal again. But then the silence returns. James averts his gaze, staring at the crystal ball as if, suddenly, it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. You do the same, fixing your eyes on the open Divination book in front of you, though you can’t read a single word.

And then, at the same time:

“I was thinking that—” “Do you think she—”

The words overlap, making both of you stop instantly. You look at each other, startled, before James starts to laugh nervously. You can’t help but laugh too, covering your mouth with your hand as you feel heat rising to your cheeks.

“Sorry,” he says, still chuckling, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses. “You go first.”

“No, you go,” you reply, the smile still playing on your lips.

“Alright, then.” He takes a deep breath, as if preparing for something big, but when he speaks, his voice comes out softer than you expected. “Do you think… she was serious?”

You hesitate, biting your lip as you consider the question. “I don’t know. She seems so certain about everything, but… maybe it’s just one of those things she says to make an impression, you know?”

James nods, but his smile is small, almost uncertain. “Yeah, probably. I mean, she did say Peter would marry a Merpeople, didn’t she?”

You laugh again, the memory easing some of the tension. “And that Sirius would become Minister for Magic. He nearly cried from laughing so hard.”

“Yeah, that does put things in perspective.” He laughs too, but the silence that follows feels different this time. It’s not uncomfortable, but full of unspoken thoughts that seem to hang in the air between you.

“But what if…?” you begin, your voice so quiet you can’t believe you said it out loud.

James looks at you, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if he’s trying to figure out what you mean. “What if…?” he repeats, leaving the question hanging, and you feel your heart race.

“Oh, forget it,” you say quickly, laughing nervously. “It’s just the professor and her absurd prophecies. No reason to take it seriously.”

“Yeah, of course,” he agrees, but something in his voice makes you think he’s not entirely convinced.

The silence returns, and you can’t help but let your mind wander. A little boy with James’s messy hair and a pair of glasses slipping down his nose comes to mind, and without meaning to, you smile. The image is so sweet it almost makes your heart ache.

“What are you smiling at?” James asks, and you realize he’s looking at you again, his head tilted slightly.

“Nothing,” you respond far too quickly, feeling heat rise to your face.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he presses, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“It’s just…” You hesitate, but James’s smile is encouraging, even if he doesn’t realize it. “I was thinking about what she said. About… a boy. And I was imagining… he’d look just like you, with messy hair and those glasses.”

James blinks, as though your words caught him completely off guard, and you feel the urgent need to fill the silence before it gets awkward. “Not that I think that’s going to happen! It’s just… well, the idea is funny, isn’t it?”

“It’s…” he starts, but then stops, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks away. When he speaks again, his voice is almost a murmur: “I think I’d… maybe I’d prefer a girl. Who looked like you.”

Time seems to stop. You’re sure your heart skips a beat, and the silence that follows is so thick you could cut it with a knife.

James’s eyes widen as if he’s just realized what he said. “I mean—” he begins, his voice an octave higher. “Not that… that’s not what I meant! I just… ah, never mind.”

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips, and it’s impossible to hold it back. “A girl who looks like me, huh?” you tease, and his embarrassment is so endearing you almost forget your own.

“Alright, you win,” he says, throwing his hands up in surrender, but the smile he tries to hide says more than any words could. “I think the professor got to us. We’re officially losing it.”

“Yeah,” you agree, laughing, but inside, you know something has changed. Because, as absurd as it might seem, the idea of a shared future with James doesn’t feel so impossible anymore.

[mercvry-glow]

staying is harder than leaving

parings. jack abbot x reader

summary. you'll never understand what brings you back to jack abbot, all you know is that you want to stay.

warnings. age gap (jake late 40s reader early 30s), bitter sweet, reader and jack are really bad at feelings, mention/illusions of sex, mentions of smoking and cigarettes, overall just a bit angsty with a soft fulfilling ending, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. I'm so sorry this was all I could get out, but I'm pretty happy with it. I'm like the danny mcbride of angst, everything has closure in one way or another and it's always a good feeling at the end. as always any and all feedback is appreciated!

wc. 3200+

You didn’t know how you got here.

Lying in the bed of a man you had no business being with. Not really. Not ever.

Jack Abbot wasn’t the kind of man people fell into by accident—he was deliberate, sharp-edged, the type you saw coming and still couldn’t avoid. Older. Hardened by the Army and the ER and everything they took from him. Gruff in the way only someone who’s cared too much and been burned for it could be.

And your boss.

He was supposed to be off-limits. But lines blurred late at night—between empty hospital corridors and frantic hands, between the quiet moments when he looked at you like you were the only thing holding him together.

Maybe it was the sex. Maybe it was the way he let his guard down in fragments only you got to see. Maybe it was the ache in your chest that whispered this was more than just bodies colliding.

But whatever it was, it was getting harder to breathe in his space without losing a part of yourself.

The room was dark, swallowed whole by the blackout curtains. Still, you could feel the hour—it was too early for anything but regret.

Jack was asleep, sprawled on his side, one arm tucked under the pillow, the blanket barely covering his hips. His back was turned to you, freckled and scarred, every mark a map of a life lived hard.

You’d spent too many nights like this. Drawing constellations across his skin with your fingers, trying to make sense of something that never really did. Pretending he was yours. Pretending you weren’t drowning in the quiet.

But now, with your heart thudding too loud in your ears and the stillness pressing in, reality came creeping.

Your skin prickled with the kind of unease that settled deep—shame curling tight in your throat, dread rising like smoke.

You didn’t belong here. Not in his bed. Not in his life.

And deep down, you knew—he was never going to stop you from leaving. Not because he didn’t care.

But because he didn’t know how to ask you to stay.

It was overwhelming how much you felt for him. How much more you wanted to feel. And the worst part was having nowhere productive to put it.

You were just as much a workaholic as he was—another lifer in the ER, made of pure grit and sleepless nights, proud of the scars you earned under fluorescent lights.

The golden R4 of night shift. Jack’s prodigy, the way Frank had been Robby’s. People used to joke that you were cut from the same cloth as Jack—sarcastic, unflinching, impossible to impress. You’d hated how right they were.

Because somewhere along the way, he stopped being just your mentor.

 And you stopped pretending you didn’t want more.

What you had wasn’t exactly a secret, but it sure as hell wasn’t something, either. At least, not in the daylight.

You weren’t his girlfriend. You weren’t his anything, besides a damn good doctor. Just someone who knew what to say when he couldn’t talk. Someone who understood the blood-soaked language of trauma. Someone who stayed long after her shift ended because she didn’t want to go home alone.

And it was killing you.

Piece by piece.

Because in the quiet moments like this—before the rest of the world stirred, before the next shift started—you wanted to reach for him. Say something stupid like Don’t let me leave again… Or I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t love you.

But you couldn’t. Because you already knew how Jack operated.

He let you in just far enough and then he shut the door, quiet and clean. Like it had never opened in the first place.

Your eyes burned, your chest heavy with unsaid things.

The same weight it always carried. 

You shifted under the covers, moving slowly, carefully—like if you breathed too loudly, this entire illusion might crack open. Jack didn’t stir. His breathing was steady, slow.

You watched him for a moment longer, memorizing the way his jaw slackened in sleep, the faint scar above his left shoulder blade you never had the nerve to ask about.

He looked peaceful like this. Human.

And that only made it harder.

You slipped out of bed as quietly as you could, bare feet hitting the cold floor, limbs stiff and aching. Every inch of your body protested—tired, sore, reluctant to leave him. 

But your heart was louder.

You bent to collect your clothes off the floor, holding your breath, hoping he wouldn’t wake up. Because if he did—if he so much as whispered your name—

You didn’t trust yourself not to stay.

All you slipped on was a loose t-shirt—his, you realized halfway through pulling it over your head. It hung off one shoulder, collar stretched from too many late nights and maybe a few desperate hands.

You didn’t have it in you to put on the rest.

Just the pair of panties you’d had on hours ago, still faintly wrinkled from where they’d been discarded in the dark.

You needed a cigarette. God, you needed a cigarette.

You weren’t even a regular smoker, not really. But nights like this—mornings like this—you craved one. Not for the nicotine. For the ritual. For something slow and quiet and burning between your fingers to focus on instead of the way your chest felt like it was caving in.

You padded out of the room silently, careful not to step on the floorboard near the dresser that always creaked. The hallway was cold. Sparse. A stark contrast to the warmth of the bed you just left.

Jack’s apartment was neat, lived-in but impersonal. A few books shoved onto the built-in shelf. Stacks of old med journals. A photo of him and Michael on some fishing trip ages ago, both of them sunburnt and squinting and younger than you’d ever seen Jack look.

You bypassed the kitchen, went straight for the balcony. Slid the door open just enough to squeeze through.

The city was still asleep. Pittsburgh before sunrise had a strange, almost sacred hush to it—still full of steel and ghosts.

You leaned your elbows on the railing, the hem of Jack’s shirt fluttering around your thighs in the early morning breeze.

You didn’t even have a cigarette. Just the craving.

The silence. The ache.

You let your eyes slip shut for a second, trying to slow your breathing.

Tried not to think about how badly you wanted this to be something it wasn’t. How stupidly, hopelessly in love you might be with him. And how deeply you hated yourself for it.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, bare legs prickling against the morning chill, teeth gently worrying your bottom lip. The city stretched out below—silent, gray, and endless.

It was terrifying how much you wanted him.

Not just his hands, not just the way he whispered your name when he was too tired to keep up the act. You wanted all the messy, sharp-edged parts of him. The things he buried beneath sarcasm and coffee and barking orders in trauma bay one.

You wanted the man who rolled his eyes at residents but stayed a few hours after his harder shifts ended to check on critical but recovering patients. The man who never flinched in chaos but looked like he might unravel every time you brushed your fingers through his curly hair.

And you hated that he had no idea. Or worse—he did, and chose to ignore it.

Because you weren’t asking for everything. You would’ve settled for something.

Something real. Something honest.

Even just a reason to stay.

You let out a shaky breath and rubbed at your arms, suddenly aware of just how little you were wearing—and how much that shirt still smelled like him. Soap and antiseptic. Jack Abbot in every thread.

You were so lost in your head you didn’t hear the door slide open.

“Thought you were gone.”

His voice was low. Rough with sleep. And somehow still managed to scrape down your spine like he meant it to.

You didn’t turn around right away. Just stared out at the skyline, eyes burning. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

Silence stretched for a beat. Two. You could feel him behind you, the weight of his presence like gravity.

“You didn’t.” He sounded closer now. “You cold?”

You shrugged, not trusting your voice.

Jack stepped beside you, his hand brushing your elbow, the warmth of his skin startling after the chill. He didn’t say anything. Just stood there.

Looking at you like he wasn’t sure what you were doing out here. Like maybe he was afraid to ask.

Like maybe he already knew.

And it would’ve been so easy to say nothing. To go back inside. To pretend.

But pretending was starting to feel like slow suffocation.

The silence stretched, long and taut, like the few inches between your bodies were holding back something massive—unspoken, unbearable.

Your arms stayed crossed over your chest, but your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt like it might anchor you. The wind picked up slightly, brushing your hair across your face, but you didn’t move to fix it.

You blinked hard. Once. Twice. But it didn’t stop the way your throat tightened or how your eyes blurred at the edges.

You weren’t even sure why you were crying.

Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was standing next to someone who could make you feel so much and give you so little in return.

Maybe it was the way he was looking at you now—concern buried beneath the usual guarded expression, like he knew something was wrong and didn’t know how to fix it.

Your chin wobbled, just barely, and you tried to suck in a breath. Swallow it down. Pretend it wasn’t happening. But then your shoulders hitched, and the first quiet sob slipped out before you could stop it.

“Shit,” you muttered, brushing at your face, willing yourself to hold it together. “God, I’m sorry—just—ignore me. It’s fine.”

But Jack didn’t move. Didn’t walk away.

He was still as stone beside you, until he suddenly wasn’t.

You felt it before you saw it—the weight of his arm slipping around your shoulders, pulling you into the warmth of his chest like he didn’t even think about it. Like it was instinct.

You froze at first, breath caught mid-sob, body stiff. But he didn’t let go.

His other hand came up slowly to the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, cradling you gently—like you might shatter if he held you any other way.

“You’re not fine,” he murmured against your temple. “Don’t do that. Don’t lie to me, not here.”

You let yourself fold into him then, tears soaking into his shirt—his damn shirt—your hands fisting into the fabric like it might hold you together.

And for a minute, he just held you.

No tension. No boundaries. No pretending.

Just Jack. Warm and quiet and there.

You didn’t know how long he held you.

Long enough for the sobs to taper off into something softer—just a tremble in your chest, the occasional sniff as your face pressed against his collarbone.

Jack hadn’t said anything else. He didn’t need to. His hands had found their way to your back, slow and steady, like he was grounding you the way you’d done for him more times than you could count.

You were the one who finally pulled back. Not far—just enough to see his face.

The early morning light caught the edge of his jaw, the tired lines under his eyes, the hint of wariness there. Always. You could practically hear his thoughts spinning—calculating, retreating.

You could see him closing the door already.

So you asked quietly, breaking the hush between you both: “Do you ever think about what we’re doing?”

It wasn’t accusing. It wasn’t dramatic.

Just honest.

His brow furrowed slightly. His hands didn’t move from your back. “You mean... right now?”

You gave a small, tired laugh. “No. I mean this. Us. What this is.”

Jack was quiet again. But his jaw tightened. That always came first with him—before the words, before the honesty. His body braced like he was expecting a blow.

“I try not to,” he said finally, voice low. Raw. “Because if I do, it scares the hell out of me.”

Your heart stuttered at that.

He looked away, gaze fixed on some point out across the balcony railing. “I’m not good at this,” he added. “I’ve never been. And with you…” His throat bobbed, the muscles in his neck tensing. “It’s not casual. Not for me.”

You stared at him, not sure if you’d heard him right.

“It hasn’t been for a long time,” he said, softer now. “I just didn’t know how to tell you without ruining it.”

You felt like you couldn’t breathe. Like something in your chest had split open, but not in the way that hurt.

“Jack…” you whispered.

He looked at you then. Really looked at you. And for the first time, he wasn’t guarded.

Wasn’t hiding.

Just a man, standing barefoot on a balcony at five in the morning, holding the only person who had ever made him want to try again.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said. “But I don’t know how to keep you either.”

You didn’t say anything at first. You just watched him.

Jack Abbot—brilliant, maddening, insufferably closed-off Jack—was finally cracking open, right in front of you. And not because you pried him apart. Not because you caught him in a weak moment.

Because he chose to.

And God, that scared you. Maybe even more than the silence had.

You swallowed, voice still hoarse from crying. “I wasn’t going to come back after last time.”

Jack blinked. “What?”

You gave a small, sad smile. “After that shift where I got pulled to peds… You didn’t say a word to me for almost 48 hours. Didn’t even look at me unless someone else was around. I told myself I was done.”

Jack ran a hand over his face, guilt flashing across it like a burn. “I remember.”

“I thought maybe I imagined all of it,” you whispered. “Everything between us. That maybe I made it into something it wasn’t just because I wanted it to be.”

His hazel eyes met yours, sharp and searching. “You didn’t imagine it.”

Your chest pulled tight.

“Every time I shut down, every time I pulled away—” He shook his head, jaw clenching. “It wasn’t because I didn’t feel it. It was because I did. Too much.”

That silence came again, but this time it wasn’t as heavy.

You leaned your hip against the railing, arms still folded loosely, the edge of his shirt catching in the breeze. “Then why push me away?”

“Because if I let myself want this…” He exhaled like the words tasted bitter. “If I let myself want you—then it’s real. And if it’s real, it’s not just sex or more shared shifts… Or a warm body in my bed when the world’s too loud. It’s something I could fuck up.”

You stared at him, something raw blooming beneath your ribs.

“You’re not fucking it up,” you said quietly. “But you will if you keep treating me like I’m  something to be afraid of.”

Jack didn’t answer at first. Just looked at you with something unspoken in his eyes—hope or regret or maybe both.

“I don’t know how to be what you deserve,” he said finally. “But I want to try.”

You let the words hang there. Let yourself feel them.

Then, slowly, you reached out—your hand finding his, fingers curling around the calloused warmth of it. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

He looked down at your joined hands like it was the first time he’d been touched. Then back at you.

“Then stay,” he said, voice rough. Barely a whisper. “Just… stay.”

He didn’t say another word.

Just looked at you—eyes tired, earnest, open in a way you’d almost forgotten he could be. And then he laced his fingers fully with yours, squeezing gently like a silent promise.

Then, without fanfare, he turned and led you back inside.

The balcony door slid shut behind you, sealing out the cool morning air and the hum of the waking city. Everything inside was still—soft shadows spilling across the floor, quiet warmth clinging to the apartment walls like it had soaked into the bones of the place.

Jack didn’t let go of your hand. Not even when you passed through the living room. Not when your bare feet padded across the hardwood. Not when the bedroom door came into view.

He didn’t rush. Didn’t speak.

He just brought you to the bed—unmade, sheets rumpled, still heavy with the weight of what had happened between you hours before.

But this time, he didn’t pull you down onto it like he usually would.

This time, he turned to face you fully, and with the same careful touch he used when someone flatlined under his hands, he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’m not good at a lot of things,” he murmured, voice so low it barely carried in the stillness. “But I’ll be better. If you let me.”

You nodded, throat thick, and he bent to press a kiss to your forehead—tender, reverent. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask for anything. That just was.

Then he gently guided you down with him, one arm curled around your waist as he pulled the covers over both of you.

There was no urgency. No edge. Just the press of his body behind yours, solid and warm and present.

His hand rested at your hip, not possessive, just there. His breathing evened out slowly, and after a while, so did yours.

You didn’t say anything else.

You didn’t have to.

Jack’s breath was warm against the back of your neck, steady now, like the storm had passed through him and left something quieter in its wake.

You shifted just enough to turn toward him, your nose brushing his chest. He looked down at you through half-lidded eyes, sleep tugging at the edges of both of you, but neither quite ready to let go.

You watched each other in that stillness. No shields. No walls. Just two people, bruised in all the same places, finally giving in.

His hand came up to your cheek, thumb brushing gently beneath your eye, as if to wipe away what your tears had left behind. You leaned into the touch without thinking, heart slow and aching.

Then, slowly—like he was asking permission with every breath—he kissed you.

Soft at first. Barely there. A whisper of a promise pressed to your lips.

Then deeper. Warmer. Like he was pouring every word he hadn’t said into the shape of your mouth. It wasn’t hungry or hurried. It didn’t ask for anything more.

It just was.

When he finally pulled back, you were still close enough to feel the words rumble against his chest.

“Sleep,” he whispered. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, and you aren’t either.”

The last thing you saw before your eyes fluttered closed was the faintest trace of sunrise creeping through the edge of the blackout curtains—soft, golden light spilling into the room like forgiveness.

And with his arms around you, breath synced with yours, you let it pull you under.

For once, you didn’t fight it.

You just stayed.

mercvry-glow 2025