#nothing can make me hate bell

[wildmayhemz]

Bell’s a living meme.

.

[playing-pauls-mel0dy]

y'know. at least a couple of times now, i've seen the theory that, potentially, Rainer was another victim of Marvin's (whether that be of rebirthing or just abuse in general). and my brain has decided to latch onto it for some reason.

so uh. There's That.

[strangerexee]

ꜱɪʀ, ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ꜰɪɴᴇ | ʙᴏ ᴄʜᴏᴡ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Set in 1932 Reader x Bo Chow (Smut | NSFW | 18+ | Kissing | Light Choking —barely | F!Receiving) ᴡᴄ : 4ᴋ Masterlist

The bell over the door gave a tired little jingle when you pushed it open, stepping in from the heat and dust of the street.

𝓑𝓸 𝓒𝓱𝓸𝔀 & 𝓒𝓸 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐓𝐀 ɢʀᴏᴄᴇʀʏ & ᴍᴀʀᴋᴇᴛ Your shoes were worn thin. Your dress was simple cotton, sticking to the back of your knees.

And you were tired, bone-tired, from chasing one dead-end job after another across this godforsaken town.

You needed work. Or a miracle. Or both.

The store smelled like tobacco and dry wood, with a hint of something sweeter, maybe the candy in the jar by the counter, or the bright bruised apples piled up in baskets.

Shelves lined the walls, packed with everything from flour sacks to pistol rounds. It was the kind of place where a man could buy a loaf of bread, a hammer, and a coffin without walking more than twenty feet.

You adjusted your bag on your shoulder, wiping sweat from your forehead, trying not to look as desperate as you felt. It was quiet inside, but not empty.

There, behind the counter, sleeves rolled up over strong forearms, stood a man.

And Lord Almighty. You almost forgot how to breathe.

He was fine. Broad through the shoulders, lean through the waist, and the worn suspenders crossing his chest did nothing to hide it. Dark hair, a little mussed like he'd run his fingers through it a hundred times that morning already.

Sharp jaw. Sleeves pushed up. And a cigarette dangling careless between his lips.

He watched you over the top of the ledger he was scribbling in, one eyebrow tilting up slow, like he wasn't quite sure if you were real or a heat mirage rolling in off the road.

"You lost, darlin'?" His voice was rough, low. Not unfriendly. But not soft, either.

You swallowed. Your cheeks burned hotter than the sun outside.

"No, sir," you managed, clearing your throat. "I'm lookin' for work.”

He tilted his head a little. The cigarette bobbed between his fingers as he tapped ash into a tin. There was a long, heavy pause, stretching thin between you like taffy pulled too far.

He leaned forward, arms braced on the counter, and you caught the faint scar along the side of his throat, a rough, pale line disappearing beneath his shirt.

He smelled like leather and, something familiar you couldn’t name.

"Ain't much work left 'round here," he said finally."Dust's got more jobs than we do."

Your heart sank. You started to thank him anyway, ready to turn, ready to leave with your pride shriveled up tight inside you. But then he said, almost too casual:

"You know how to tally numbers? Take stock? Keep folks from stealin' when I ain't lookin'?"

You blinked up at him. Nodded fast.

"Yes sir. I can read, write, count. And I can run a register." (You prayed you didn’t sound as breathless as you felt.)

Bo Chow smiled then, real slow, real lazy. Like maybe he hadn't smiled all day until now. Maybe longer.

And damn if it didn’t feel like that smile was just for you.

"Might have somethin' for you after all," he said, nodding toward the back room. "Mornings, couple hours. Pay ain't much, but it's clean work. And you get first pick if any more fruit comes in."

You tried to smile back, tried not to look like a fool.

"I'd be grateful," you said. "Truly."

"Name's Bo Chow," he said, holding out a calloused hand across the counter. "Most folks just call me Bo."

You put your hand in his, and he squeezed it firm, just enough to make your stomach flip once, twice. His skin was warm. Rough in the right way.

Your name felt small and clumsy on your tongue when you said it.

He repeated it once under his breath, tasting it, like he was putting it away somewhere safe.

You heard boots scuffing behind you, a couple old-timers coming in, hats low over their faces, and Bo dropped your hand slow, like he hated letting go.

"Be here six sharp tomorrow," he said, voice dropping a little lower. "Don't make me come hunt you down."

And Lord, the way he said it, like it was a promise, like it was a threat, like maybe he wouldn't mind hunting you down at all.

You walked out of that store with your heart rattling around in your ribs, a stupid grin tugging at your mouth. The dust hit your boots. The sun hit your eyes. But you hardly felt it.

All you could think about was him. About the man named Bo chow, the cigarette smoke curling around his smile. About how maybe you’d found something, or someone, worth staying for.

The next morning, you showed up just before six, hair pinned back, boots polished best you could manage, apron folded under your arm.

The sun wasn’t even fully up yet, just a pale silver smear over the flat line of the fields.

The streets were empty except for a stray dog.

You hesitated at the door, heart hammering. What if he changed his mind? What if he realized you weren’t worth the trouble?

But the second you pushed inside, the warm smell of tobacco and cedar wrapped around you like an old blanket, and there he was.

Bo Chow.

Behind the counter, sleeves rolled again over those damn forearms, shirt tucked messy into dark trousers, suspenders hanging low on his hips like he hadn’t bothered to fix them yet. He was counting cash, cigarette stuck lazy between his teeth, the smoke curling up in slow silver ribbons.

He glanced up when he heard the door, and you swear, you swear, for a half second he smiled. A real one. That soft kind, just at the corner of his mouth. Just for you.

"You're early," he said, voice rough with sleep. "Good."

You nodded, setting your things down behind the counter.

Your hands shook a little, but you kept busy, dusting, sweeping, checking the register like he told you. He didn’t hover. Just gave quiet instructions here and there, moving around the store slow and easy, like he had all the time in the world.

And it was the little things. God, it was the little things, that drove you a little crazy.

You noticed it first when he leaned down to pull a crate from under the counter—how his shirt stretched tight over his back, fabric pull against muscle.

How a lock of dark hair fell over his brow and he huffed it out of the way without even noticing.

You caught yourself staring. Snapped your head down fast, pretending to reorganize the fruits and vegetables.

Then it was the way he stood, shoulders wide, hips cocked lazy, arms crossed over his chest as he watched you figure out how to load the till.

There was something about the way he moved, no wasted steps, no fidgeting,like he didn’t have to try to own the space around him. He just did.

And Lord, when he laughed. Low, and unexpected, a real rough chuckle that rumbled from his chest when you nearly dropped the glass candy jar and caught it at the last second. God, you felt it down to your toes.

"Careful, sunshine," he drawled. "Ain't but one of you, and glass is expensive."

You ducked your head, face burning. But you couldn’t help smiling.

Around mid-morning, after he nailed up a new shelf in the back, Bo wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

You offered him the water you packed, nervous, feeling silly. He took it with a little nod, mouth brushing the rim where yours had been without hesitation. Y’all just practically kissed right there.

And when he handed it back, his fingers brushed yours. Calloused. Warm.

You felt it like a jolt of lightning, sharp and sweet under your skin.

"You doin' alright?" he asked, voice low. "Ain't scarin' you off yet?"

You shook your head fast.

"No, sir."

That slow smile again, like he was proud of you, somehow. It made your chest ache.

The rest of the day passed in slow, golden hours.

He showed you how to track inventory, how to read the order forms, how to spot the difference between good grain sacks and ones chewed through by mice.

And every little thing, the way he squinted against the sun when he stepped outside, the way he twirled the pencil between his fingers when he thought, the way he touched the brim of his hat polite to the older ladies who passed by, every little thing made you fall harder.

You were a fool. You knew that. But God help you, you couldn’t stop.

Near closing time, when the shadows stretched long across the floorboards, Bo lit the oil lamps and turned the sign to CLOSED.

The town settled into quiet outside, the cicadas starting up their low hum.

You packed up your things, heart heavy. You didn’t want to leave.

He leaned back against the counter, cigarette smoke curling around his head like a halo, watching you with that unreadable look.

Not smiling. Not frowning. Just watching.

And before you left, just as you reached the door, he said:

"You did good today."

You turned, surprised.

He flicked ash into a tin, voice casual, almost too casual:

"Could use someone steady around here. Someone like you." "If you want it, job’s yours."

You tried to speak, tried to say yes, of course, yes, thank you, yes, but all that came out was a breathless little whisper.

"I'd like that."

Bo nodded slow, eyes never leaving yours.

"Good," he said. "Real good."

You just huffed and left the store.

You showed up early again the next morning. Couldn’t help yourself.

You barely slept, just laid in your bed all night staring at the ceiling, heart banging around your ribs like a fist.

You kept seeing him, that rough smile, that lazy slouch against the counter, the way his hands moved, big and calloused and sure, like he could tear the whole damn world down if he wanted, but he didn’t. He was gentle with you.

You dressed careful, simple skirt, neat tucked-in blouse, hair tied back. Nothing fancy. But you caught yourself smoothing it down a dozen times on the walk to the store.

You weren’t scared of work. You weren’t scared of Bo, either. Not really.

What scared you, if you were honest, was how badly you wanted him to look at you again the way he had yesterday. Like he saw you.

The bell over the door jingled when you pushed inside, and there he was.

Bo Chow.

Good Lord.

You almost had to grab the doorframe to keep from sliding down it.

Today he had the vest on, rich brown canvas, snug over his shoulders and chest, shirt rolled at the sleeves again, forearms out, tan skin dusted with faint scars like old stories he never bothered to tell. Trousers fit firm around his slutty waist, boots scuffed from work.

He looked up from stocking the shelves, and when he saw you, a flash of something warm crossed his face. Almost hidden. Almost.

"Mornin’, sunshine," he said, voice low and gravelly. "Thought you might show."

You swallowed hard, managed a nod.

He stood up slow, dusting his hands off on a rag.

That damn vest hugged him in all the right places. Made your stomach flip and knot in ways that felt dangerous.

You got to work without being told, moving behind the counter, checking the inventory list. Trying to pretend like your heart wasn’t about to explode out your chest.

It didn’t help that Bo kept brushing close, not on purpose, not really, but every time you turned around he was there.

At one point, you bent to grab a crate from under the counter, and when you stood up, you bumped right into him.

Hard, solid chest, vest scratchy and warm against your back, his hand catching your waist automatically to steady you.

Big palm. Firm grip. Fingers splaying wide before he yanked them back like he touched a hot stove.

You both froze.

For one wild second, the whole store was silent, just the sound of the clock ticking on the wall, his breath brushing the back of your neck.

Then he cleared his throat, stepping back.

"Easy, now," he said rough, almost scolding. "Ain't tryna bust that pretty nose, are ya?”

You flushed so hot you thought you might catch fire. Mumbled something, you didn’t even know what, and ducked your head fast.

Later, you were coming out of the storage closet, arms full of ledgers, right as Bo was striding in.

Instead of waiting, instead of shrinking back, you moved right past him. Real smooth. Real bold.

Except, the space was too damn narrow.

Your hip brushed his thigh, your shoulder scraped his chest, and your ass, oh, Lord, your ass skimmed right up against his front when you slid by.

You felt him go still, felt his hand twitch at his side like he had to physically stop himself from grabbing you.

You didn’t dare look up. You just kept moving, pretending you didn’t notice, pretending your whole body wasn’t screaming at you.

Behind you, you swore you heard him swear low under his breath. Real soft. Real dangerous.

You bit your lip so hard it hurt just to keep from smiling.

By noon, the air inside the store was thick and heavy with heat.

Bo shed the vest finally, slinging it over a hook near the door. You caught a glimpse of the way his shirt clung to him, the long line of his back, the strong slope of his shoulders.

You caught yourself staring again, caught yourself wanting, and forced yourself to look away.

But Bo must’ve noticed, because a minute later he drifted close, reached past you for something on the shelf, his hand landing light on your waist to move you out the way.

He didn’t even think about it. Just did it. Like you were his already.

Your breath hitched so fast you nearly dropped the jar in your hands.

"‘Scuse me, sunshine’," he said, real soft in your ear. "You’re in the way."

You stood there dumb, blinking, as he brushed past, close enough to smell the salt and sun and cigarette smoke on him.

It wasn’t until later, after closing, when you were wiping down the counters and Bo was locking the door, that he spoke again.

"You work good," he said, voice low and thick. "Real good. Smarter than most the men that come through here."

You turned, heart hammering.

Bo was leaning back against the door, arms crossed, watching you. Face unreadable. Eyes dark.

You opened your mouth, to thank him, maybe, but he cut you off.

"How old are you, anyway?"

You stiffened. You knew what he was asking. Knew why he was asking it. You met his eyes steady, chin tilting up just a little.

"Turned eighteen last month," you said. "I'm grown, sir."

For a second, just a breath, something flickered across his face. Something hungry and dangerous and real.

Then it was gone, shuttered behind that calm mask he wore like a second skin.

He nodded once. Slow. Like he was making peace with something ugly inside himself.

"Alright, sunshine," he said rough. "Long as you know what you’re doin’."

You smiled, small and sweet and secret, because you did. You really, really did.

And Lord help you, you weren't planning on stopping.

The day dragged in slow, hot and heavy, same as always, but you didn’t mind.

Not when you got to watch him. Bo moved like he wasn’t even trying. Stacking crates, counting stock, slouching against counters, and all you could do was sneak glances every chance you got.

The way his sleeves were pushed up to his elbows as always, showing off strong forearms, tan and scarred, veins running beneath the skin like little rivers. The way the muscles flexed under the fabric when he lifted something heavy.

His hands, god, his hands. Big and rough, palms calloused from years of work. Knuckles scarred like he’d been in more fights than he’d ever admit.

You imagined what they’d feel like, skimming your skin, wrapping around your throat, curling in your hair. It got harder and harder to focus on anything else.

You were wiping down the counter again, pretending to clean when you were really just looking at him, when you realized:

No customers. None. Just you and Bo. Alone. Heat swirling between you like smoke.

Your heartbeat picked up a bit.

And before you could talk yourself out of it, before you could remember to be scared or shy or good, You moved.

Not too fast, a normal shaky pace.

You crossed the space between you in a few quick steps, grabbed his hand, and tugged him toward the back.

He let you. No questions. No hesitation. Just a soft grunt, a half-smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he followed.

"What’s this, sunshine?" His voice was rough, curious, amused. "You stealin' me?"

You didn’t answer. You just pulled him through the narrow back door, into the storeroom, dim and warm and empty, and shoved him back against the wall.

You stood there, breathing hard. Heart hammering so loud you swore he could hear it.

Bo looked down at you, those dark eyes burning, and for a second you thought maybe he’d laugh, maybe he’d brush you off, maybe he’d tell you to run along like the little girl you weren’t anymore.

But he didn’t.

He tipped his chin down, lips brushing yours, and said low:

"You sure, sunshine?"

You nodded. Didn’t trust your voice.

That was all he needed.

He kissed you like he’d been waiting for it. Hard. Hungry. Hands grabbing your hips, dragging you against him.

Your head spun. The world tilted.

His mouth was hot and rough, teeth scraping your lower lip just enough to make you whimper, and God, the sound you made must’ve lit him on fire because he growled low in his chest, cupped your face with both hands, and kissed you harder.

You clutched at him, hands fisting in his shirt, dragging him closer, and he let you, let you crawl all over him, like he was starving for it.

Like he’d die if you stopped.

At one point, you stumbled, tried to pull back to catch your breath, but he chased you, mouth claiming yours again, hands framing your face so careful, so tender even with how rough the kiss was.

You were dizzy with it, with him, with the feel of his body pressed against yours, all hard heat and steady muscle.

And then, You did it.

Hands shaking, you grabbed his wrist, guided it up, placed his big, rough hand around your throat. Gently. Like a question.

Like a please.

Bo froze. For one hot, crackling second, everything in the room stopped moving.

His thumb brushed the side of your throat, slow, thoughtful. Not squeezing, just holding, just letting you feel the strength there, the weight of him.

He pulled back just enough to look you dead in the eye, something dangerous and filthy gleaming behind his gaze. And he grinned, slow, wicked, all teeth and bad intentions.

"You into that shit, sunshine?" His voice was dark velvet, wrapping around you, making you shiver.

You nodded, breathless, grinding your hips against him like you couldn’t help it. (You couldn’t.)

His fingers flexed slightly, tightening just a fraction, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who was bigger, stronger, in charge.

You whimpered, so soft, so needy, and he laughed, low and rough, like you were the best damn thing he’d ever seen.

"Goddamn," he muttered, voice rough and reverent. "You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me."

Then he kissed you again, deeper, dirtier, hand still cradling your throat, the other roaming down your spine to pull you flush against him.

You melted into him, opened for him, let him take whatever he wanted.

Bo’s hand stayed loose around your throat a moment longer, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw, his breath ragged against your mouth, before he finally let go.

Not because he wanted to stop touching you, nah. Because he wanted more.

He gave you a rough, breathless little grin, one you could feel in your knees, then reached down and grabbed you by the waist like you weighed nothing. Lifted you right up.

Set you down on the nearest wooden stool, still warm from the heat of the barn outside, a little unsteady, but solid enough.

Your hands grabbed the edge of the stool instinctively, steadying yourself, eyes wide, heart pounding so hard you could barely hear.

Bo leaned back a half-step, just enough to drink you in.

The way your dress rode up, baring the soft skin of your thighs. The way you sat there all breathless, pupils blown wide, lips kiss-swollen and desperate for him.

He dragged a hand down his face, as if trying to keep himself together, and then just said low, almost to himself:

"Christ, you're pretty."

You didn’t even realize you were doing it, but your eyes kept dropping. To his hands. Those big, rough, dangerous hands, scarred and calloused and strong.

You could feel the strength of them from here. Could imagine them wrapped around your hips, your waist, your throat again, holding you down, holding you up, whatever he damn well pleased.

Your mouth went dry. And Bo noticed. His mouth curled into a wicked, knowing smirk.

"Yeah?" he rasped, voice dropping. "You like the look of my hands, sunshine?" Like he didn’t already know that.

You swallowed hard, nodded. You didn't even try to hide it.

And that was all he needed. Bo stepped between your knees, crowding you close, body heat washing over you like a furnace, and ducked his head down.

Started kissing along your jaw, slow, wet, open-mouthed kisses trailing lower and lower. You gasped when he found the spot just under your ear, sucked there hard enough to leave a mark, and he grinned against your skin when you tilted your head for him, helpless and wanting.

"Good girl," he muttered into your neck. "So pretty ‘fa me."

You could’ve melted right then and there. Could’ve died.

His hands were everywhere, roaming up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts, dragging along the soft curves of your waist like he was memorizing you.

You arched into him, not even tryna to play coy anymore.

You wanted him. All of him.

And Bo, he was starving for you. Before you could blink, he dropped to his knees.

Big, broad body sinking down in front of you, spreading your knees wider apart with those strong hands, pulling your panties down — looking up at you with something almost feral in his eyes.

"Gotta taste you, baby," he rasped, voice half-broken with need. "Been fuckin' dying for it."

You whimpered, hand flying to his hair instinctively, fisting in the thick dark strands as he shoved your dress up higher, higher, exposing you.

No hesitation. Bo dove in like a man half out of his mind.

The first press of his mouth against you made you cry out sharp and sweet hips bucking up without you meaning to.

Bo groaned, like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted and grabbed your thighs, holding you down, forcing you to stay right there for him.

His mouth was hungry, lips and tongue working you open, devouring you like you were his last meal.

Messy. Loud. Absolutely, devastatingly good.

You tried to pull away once, overwhelmed, shaking, breath hitching in your throat, but he only groaned and pulled you back down harder.

"Nah, baby." "You take it." "You let me eat this pretty little pussy just like this." "You fuckin’ taste how bad I want you."

You sobbed his name, it was pathetic, really. Hips grinding helplessly against his mouth, and Bo just groaned again, deeper, like he could come from this alone.

The wet slide of his tongue. The scrape of his teeth just barely grazing. The way he sucked your clit into his mouth and held it there until you were shaking.

He licked you like he owned you. Like he wasn’t gonna let you walk outta this storeroom until you knew exactly who you belonged to.

And when you finally came, loud and desperate, thighs clamping around his head.

Bo just kept going. Didn’t stop. Didn’t let up. Made you ride it out, every shudder, every whimper, every sweet little broken cry.

When you finally slumped forward, boneless and ruined, hands still fisting in his hair.

Bo looked up at you, mouth slick with you, eyes dark and wild, and said, low and rough:

"Ain’t done with you yet, sunshine." "Not even close."

And you believed him. You wanted him. God help you, you wanted everything Bo Chow was about to give you.

A/N: LAWDDDD — I love me some Bo Chow...

[stylesispunk]

"Whatever you'd like us to be" - part 4

harry castillo (materialists) x fem!sunshine!reader

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

summary: the one where you fall and get your confessions of love.

w.c: 7,5k

warnings: age gap (harry is 45 and reader 29-30), angst, fluff. no proofreading because you know me.

A/N: I'm not sure if this chapter will meet your expectations, but it's pretty much what I wanted to do with it. I'm convinced this series is a lot about how you can transform into something complicated when someone who makes you feel at ease comes into your life. But whatever. This was the winner update of the day, but I'm updating all the series this week. Happy reading, and please let me know what you think about it.

Remember, I now have an AO3 account, where I'm also posting the chapters.

When next day came, the vibrant excitement you had been feeling lately was gone. The sky seemed gray, soft raining was falling over New York and you stayed in bed the whole day, barely sleeping, tossing and turning, replaying every word, every look from the night before like a film reel you couldn’t switch off.

You waited for a call, a message, a knock at your door. Everything that could remind you that you were valuable to Harry as more as a simple piece of his game.

But when Monday rolled around, still no sign of Harry, you dragged yourself out of bed, threw on a sweater that still faintly smelled like coffee, and opened your café with a weight in your chest you couldn’t erase.

A foreign kind of feeling, a foreign kind of pain, that was numbing your heart. Because within the jealousy, hurt, and humiliation, there was love growing its roots in the cracks of your heart.

The place was alive as always, the soft clinking of mugs, the gentle chatting of costumer conversations, even Mia’s laughter carrying from behind the counter. But you felt like a ghost in your own space because Harry had made a home inside your house and now it felt hollow without the certainty of that presence. After all, he had carved his place into your heart in such a short time.

Every time the bell over the door chimed, your head would lift, your pulse skipping in your throat. A couple of old regulars. A mother with a stroller. A pair of college students ordering iced lattes. But not him.

“Boss,” Evan murmured, sidling up to you while you wiped down a spotless table for the third time in an hour. “Are you good?”

You forced a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine.”

But even Evan didn’t buy it. He gave you a knowing look and said nothing else, as if he knew better.

By lunchtime, you were officially annoyed at yourself. The knot in your stomach wouldn’t loosen, and you hated that you kept checking the clock like some lovesick idiot waiting for his prince to come and get her from her solitude. That you half-expected to look up and see him leaning against the doorway with that infuriating grin, like nothing had happened.

But still, that would have shown he cared. That you were more than just a simple piece on his game.

By mid-afternoon, the steady hum of the café had lulled into a calm, that late-in-the-day quiet when regulars trickled in for their second wind and students claimed tables with textbooks and cold drinks in order to study. You were behind the counter, pretending to busy yourself with organizing the pastry case, though in truth, you were miles away inside your head.

And then the bell over the door chimed, you looked up out of habit, and your stomach dropped at the sight of Lucy at the door.

She stepped in with her perfect hair waving, soft smile playing on her lips. Her eyes swept the café before landing on you. And for a split second, both of you just stared each other. Recognition flashed in her expression, a glimmer of surprise widening her gaze, but then something else took its place. Not malice, not smugness like your overworked brain had feared, just kindness inside those blue orbits.

“Hi,” she said, approaching the counter.

You swallowed thickly, forcing your face into something resembling neutral. “Hi! Welcome in.”

She glanced at the chalkboard menu, though it felt more like a polite formality. “Could I get two vanilla lattes to go, please?”

Your heart did this traitorous little lurch in your chest at the sound of two.

Two vanilla lattes.

And immediately, the spiral started.

Was the other one for Harry? Had he gone back to her?

You hated how easily the thought slid into place, how sharp it cut. How it affected your heart in a way jealousy was everything you could feel now.

You punched the order into the register, managing a tight smile. “Coming right up.”

She took out some dollar out her wallet, glancing at you again, a small curve to her lips. “I’m sorry if this is weird, are you…? Harry’s…” she hesitated like searching for the right word, “friend?”

You gripped the edge of the counter. “I think so.”

“You think?”

“What do you want me to say?” you sounded almost exasperated, “Yes, I’m his girlfriend.”

“You are also Claire’s best friend.” She said, still smiling “I also remember you because of that.”

You nodded, “You did a pretty good job introducing her to Chris.”

Lucy’s expression faltered for a moment just a flicker, so quick most people wouldn’t have caught it. But you did. That brief tightening around her eyes, the way her fingers tapped twice against the counter before she tucked them into the sleeves of her blazer.

“I did, didn’t I?” she murmured, her smile turning bittersweet. “I think that had been my best job yet.”

You weren’t sure what to say to that. You thought her job was a kind of scam, as in the digital form of love. Offering you a hollow and shallow momentum instead of the real experience. Forcing to people to meet each other with the list of qualities set on the table.

Lucy inhaled softly, then straightened, smoothing her expression. “Well,” she said with a little shrug, “I do really think you and Harry make a good couple.”

You raised a brow at that but bit your tongue, glancing down as the machine beeped, signaling the order was ready.

You slid the two vanilla lattes onto the counter. “Here you go.”

Lucy took them, wrapping her hands around the cups. “I’m sorry if I made this weird,” she added quietly. “Honestly, I didn’t expect to run into you here.”

You forced a small, polite smile. “Well, I own this place, so you would run into me anyway.”

Her eyes widened, “Oh, that’s—that’s amazing, really. Best coffee in this city.”

Best coffee in this city

That last line made your throat tighten. Best coffee in this city. The exact words Harry had murmured more than once, usually with that surprised grin after he had found of you owned this place, like it was a secret only the two of you shared. Hearing them from Lucy’s lips was kind of disarming and made your heart clench.

You gave a small, almost bashful laugh, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

Lucy hesitated, a flicker of something unreadable in her expression, then offered a sincere smile. “Well, it was nice meeting you. Really.”

You nodded. “You too.”

She gave a little wave with the two cups in hand and slipped out the door, the bell chiming softly in her wake.

You stood there for a moment longer, the scent of coffee and vanilla hanging in the air, heart pounding in a way you couldn’t quite explain. The whole interaction had been surprisingly kind. She wasn’t the woman you had pictured it to be. There was no tension, no accusations. Just two women on different ends of a story neither of them fully understood. Being pictured very differently by the very same man.

She gave you one last look, something almost like a sorry, and then she was out the door.

You stood there for a moment, the ghost of old conversations and half-formed assumptions rattling in your head, before Evan sidled up next to you with a smirk.

“Damn, boss,” he muttered under his breath, bumping your shoulder. “You, okay? You look very grumpy today.”

You groaned, leaning forward against the counter. “I need a drink.”

“Or to see your boyfriend, huh?”

You shot him a glare, but your traitorous heart still fluttered at the sound of his name. You hated how much you missed him and how much you wanted to see him.

An hour later, you were at your office working on some inventory stuff when knock at your door took off your guard, you lifted your gaze.

"Come in" you said.

You blinked, your stomach twisting, heart leaping in your chest before your brain could even catch up. The door eased open, behind it, a huge bouquet of vibrantly red roses, then a hand, and finally the face you had been craving to see for the last 48 hours.

His face was hard to read, those stormy brown eyes you knew too well now, a little softer, a little more hesitant than you’d seen since you had met him. He stepped in without a word, closing the door behind him with his foot.

You swallowed thickly, leaning back in your chair, arms crossed like you needed the armor to protect your heart from it. “What are you doing here, Harry?”

He set the flowers carefully on your desk, as if they might break under his touch. “I owed you a hundred apologies. And maybe a small bribe,” he added with a weak grin, motioning to the roses.

You didn’t return it.  You still feel the humiliation creeping up your cheeks.

“I told you to stay out,” you said quietly. A lied, a big lie, because everything you wanted was him to come to you and to hold your face with his hands.

“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. “And I meant to. I tried to. But you have no idea how fucking loud my life feels when you’re not in it.”

The room went still. You stared at him, no uttering a word.

Harry sighted, “I missed you, even if it was just a day.”

Your throat felt tight, your heart lurching at the rawness in his voice and at his words. You wanted to stay mad, but his words still had found it way to soften you a bit.

You dropped your gaze, studying the edge of your desk like it would provide the answers to the questions you were asking to. “You can’t keep doing this, Harry,” you murmured, the fight in your voice wavering. “Showing up with flowers and pretend I’m going to say yes to every demand you have,” You lifted you gaze to meet his, “You always came here when you need something from me. You confuse me. You say you want to be my friend, then you kiss me and say your ex-girlfriend’s name, who is fact is really kind.”

Your arms stayed crossed, but your posture softer. “Why did you mention her that night, Harry?”

His expression cracked a little, like you’d pressed your thumb against an old bruise. He stepped closer, leaning his palms against your desk. “Because I’m an idiot,” he said, voice low. “And because a part of me was scared it wasn’t just a kiss.”

You felt your throat tighten, your fingers curling against the edge of the desk. “So, you said her name to what? Ruin it? Push me away before I could hurt you?”

“I didn’t plan it,” he confessed, shaking his head, his gaze never leaving yours. “I don’t even know why it came out. I haven’t thought about Lucy that way since we went our separate ways, you know that. But you—" he let out a broken breath, “you terrify me.”

“All of this started because you wanted to get back at her” you replied, “And you also lied to me about that at the beginning.”

Harry’s jaw tensed, guilt flickering over his face like a shadow. “Yeah, that and also my parents want me to marry someone for good,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I am pissed off. I was hurt. I used you at first, telling myself you’d never mean anything because it wasn’t supposed to be about you.”

You flinched, the words hitting like a blow even though you’d known them deep down. He saw it, his hand twitching like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare.

“But then it was you,” he went on, eyes glinting with something raw and unguarded. “It became you, so fast—“

“You’re a child” you interrupted, annoyed and hurt.

Harry blinked, the words striking sharper than anything you’d said before. His mouth opened like he might protest, but nothing came out. You saw the fight drain from his posture, his shoulders sagging under the weight of everything he had poured out.

“Yeah,” he exhaled, running a hand down his face, defeated. “Maybe I am.”

You shook your head, leaning back against your chair like you needed to distance yourself enough from him to properly breath again, “You don’t get to drag people into your tantrums because you’re pissed off at your parents or your past, Harry. I’m not a placeholder for your act of rebellion. I’m a person. And I deserve better than being some convenient way for you to feel in control for five minutes.”

He looked like you’d slapped him. And maybe, in a way, you had. You had broken his ego, but this time it wasn’t like anything before because now, there was love growing withing the cracks of his heart.

“I know,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “I know you did. I keep… I keep breaking the things I care about before I realize how much they matter.”

A bitter laugh slipped from your lips. “And what? Now that you realize it, you think you can just what? Patch it up with these expensive flowers?”

“No,” he admitted, his gaze steady for the first time since he walked in. “I just—” he swallowed hard; jaw tight. “I needed you to hear it. That you matter to me.”

You sat there for a long moment, the silence between you loaded, heavy with the miscommunication that comes with playing a game like this.

“I hope you figure yourself out, Harry,” you said softly, your voice steady even though your chest ached.

His eyes glistened, but he didn’t argue. Didn’t beg. He knew his place now.

He just gave a small nod, turned, and left the flowers on your desk as he walked out the door.

You sat there long after the door had closed, the thud of the door felt like a final point to a story yet to be written and that made it hurt the most. The roses sat on your desk, too many and too red, a vibrancy you felt it left with harry through that door. The kind of gesture Harry always leaned on when words failed him.

Your throat burned. You hated how beautiful they were. How part of you, some pathetic, stubborn part, still wanted to believe it meant something. That maybe under all the mess and mistakes, there was a version of him that he had come to love you.

You reached out, fingertips brushing over one of the petals. It was soft. Perfect. And it felt like a lie.

The sting behind your eyes sharpened, and before you could stop yourself, you swiped the flowers off the desk. The vase hit the floor with a dull thud, water sloshing over the tile, roses scattering like discarded confessions.

You pressed a hand to your mouth, trying to swallow the ache in your throat, the tears prickling your lashes.

God, you were so tired. So tired of the way he made you feel like you were standing in a room with no walls, nowhere to lean, nowhere to run. Always hoping this time would be different. That someone would have choose you for the right reasons this time. That you would be the first choice in someone’s life.

But he didn’t. Not really.

And you couldn’t keep letting your heart be collateral damage.

You wiped at your eyes, took a steadying breath, and grabbed a rag from the counter. You’d clean up the mess. Because that’s what you did. Because life moved on, and so would you.

Another flame, another fire to ease.

A few days passed in a heavy, muted blur. You fell into a quiet rhythm, opening the café, managing orders, pretending you didn’t glance at the door every time it chimed. But it wasn’t Harry stepping through anymore.

It was his assistant.

You recognized her more now, always polite, always rushed, always ordering Harry’s usual without meeting your eyes for too long as if she knew, like he’d been sent in as a quiet, calculated replacement for the man who couldn’t come to face you.

Your heart felt heavier every time. The absence of Harry’s careless grin, his infuriating comments, the way he’d come into your life like the world only existed where you stood, it all left an ache you couldn’t name.

You told yourself this was how peace was supposed to feel, but the thing about this type of quiet was that it left too much room for your thoughts.

It was late afternoon when your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out with a sigh, expecting a supplier, but Claire’s name flashed across the screen.

You hadn’t heard from her in a few days, and you hesitated before answering.

“Hey, you” you said, trying to sound lighter than you felt.

“Hey, you.” Claire’s voice was soft as always, unaware of the conflict you were walking through right now “I was wondering… are you free tonight?”

You glanced around the café, where Evan was wiping down tables and the soft hum of the espresso machine filled the air. “Yeah. Why?”

“I want you to come over for dinner,” Claire said, then hesitated. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Your stomach dropped. You’d known her too long not to catch the note in her voice. There was some kind of excitement and nervous on her voice.

“Claire,” you said slowly, your pulse picking up. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course, it is. Can you come by eight?”

You closed your eyes for a moment, then forced a steady breath. “Okay,” you murmured. “I’ll be there.”

“I love you, bye” she said.

“I love you too.”

At the same time somewhere, a few streets away. Harry’s assistant, was pushing open the office door with one hand while balancing a takeaway tray in the other.

“Here’s your coffee, boss,” she said, setting the cup down on his desk.

Harry glanced up from the pile of papers he hadn’t actually been reading, his fingers running through his hair. A faint, tired smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Thanks,” he murmured, reaching for the cup. He hesitated before asking, the question burning behind his teeth, though he knew he shouldn’t. “How is she?”

Kate blinked, then sighed softly, sitting on the edge of a nearby chair like she’d been expecting it.

“She looks okay.” She replied carefully.

That made something in Harry’s chest tighten, a dull, familiar ache. He looked away, his gaze falling to the corner of his desk, where a small photo frame sat half-hidden behind a stack of folders.

A picture of you from Claire’s and Chris wedding.

You were sitting on the grass, a glass of champagne in hand, laughing at something someone off-camera had said. Light caught in your hair; your face flushed.

Chris had given it to him as a joke after the wedding when you had made it “official”

“For your desk, you sap,” he had teased.

Harry had played it off, acted like it was just one of those silly things people kept around. But it stayed. Day after day. He sighed, leaning back in his chair, staring at that photo like it might speak to him.

You’d probably think I was a creep for keeping this, he thought bitterly.

But the truth was, he’d never been capable of loving someone, never let anyone carve their way inside his heart the way you had.

And he wasn’t sure what terrified him more: that he’d already lost you, or that part of him still believed you were it for him.

Some people only get one person. And he had the sinking, gut-deep feeling you were his.

…………

The taxi pulled up in front of Claire and Chris’s townhouse, the familiar white shutters and climbing ivy on the brick walls making something in your chest ache. This place had always felt like a second home ever since they moved in together. You’d laughed in this kitchen, cried on that couch, drank too much wine on the back patio under string lights.

And now, your stomach was twisted up like you were walking into something you couldn’t name.

You raised a hand and knocked.

The door swung open almost instantly, and there was Claire, in a pair of mismatched socks, hair in loose waves, wearing a simple loosen linen dress and that bright, unmistakable grin she always saved just for you.

“There you are,” she beamed, pulling you into a tight hug. You sank into it, letting your cheek press against her shoulder, breathing in the scent of citrus and vanilla she always wore.

“You look stunning as always,” she said, pulling back to give you a once-over with a teasing little smile. “Seriously, what is it like to be everyone’s favorite person in the room?”

You huffed a small laugh, grateful for the easy warmth between you. “I almost didn’t come,” you admitted quietly.

“I know,” she said, brushing a hand down your arm. Then, she glanced past you, out toward the street, as if expecting someone to be lingering behind. “I thought you were coming with Harry.”

Your stomach dipped and your brows furrowed. “Harry’s coming too?” you asked, voice careful, guarded.

Claire’s expression faltered for half a second, like she was realizing too late that she’d said something she wasn’t supposed to.

“Yeah… um… Chris invited him,” she said, quickly smoothing it over. “Did something happen between you two?

You forced a tight, brittle smile and shook your head, though your throat burned with the effort. “No,” you lied, voice too light. “Nothing happened.”

Claire gave you a look, the kind only someone who’s known you since you were eight can give. The kind that says bullshit without having to saying the exact word.

“Come on,” she murmured, pulling you gently inside and closing the door behind you. The familiar scent of rosemary and roasted garlic drifted in from the kitchen, and it made something twist painfully in your chest because everything about this felt so normal, and you were anything but fine.

Claire set a hand on your shoulder, stopping you just before the living room. Her expression was softer now, her voice careful. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she said. “But Chris said Harry has been kind of grumpy for the past few days. And you, you look like someone who is holding her shit together.”

You swallowed hard, your gaze darting away.

Claire sighed and gave you a half-smile. “Whatever it is, you can count of me, you know that, right?”

You let out a weak laugh at that and nodded. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I know that.”

Chris appeared from the hallway, grinning when he spotted you. “Hey, there she is!” he said warmly, wrapping his arms around you. You sank into it, grateful for the steady, familiar presence. Chris had become a safe place, the brother you’d never had but somehow ended up having.

“You doing, okay?” he murmured against your hair, keeping his voice low enough for only you to hear.

You gave a small shrug. “Getting there.”

Chris squeezed your shoulder gently, then pulled back with a crooked smile. “Good. You know we’ve got your back.”

You opened your mouth to answer, but then a knock at the door interrupted the conversation.

The sound made your chest seize up, your pulse stuttering like a skipped beat. You saw Claire glance at you, her face unreadable, and for a second it was just the two of you, a silent conversation passing between your eyes.

The door creaked open. And then, his voice.

“Hey, man.”

Low, rough, a little hesitant in a way you weren’t used to hearing from Harry.

You couldn’t see him from where you stood, but the sound of him hit you like a slow, searing burn you’d been trying to forget for days. That voice laced with its usual confidence now dulled by something none one could pick out in a crowded room, even if you tried not to.

Claire squeezed your hand once. “You want me to kick him out?” she whispered, only half-joking.

You gave a brittle little laugh, your throat tight. “No,” you murmured. “I’ll be fine.”

The truth was a more complicated, tangled thing, but you were done running your feelings.

Chris stepped aside to let Harry in, and you caught the edge of his tall frame, the dark sweep of his hair, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets like a man walking into a storm of his own making. His eyes landed on you almost immediately, like he couldn’t help it, and you felt the weight of them burning you.

He looked tired. The kind of tired that wasn’t from sleepless nights but a soul-deep weariness, the tiredness that came from a broken heart. And he held it together in front of the others, a practiced smirk flickering to life when Chris clapped him on the back.

But then his gaze found yours again, and the mask cracked, just for a second.

Claire glanced between you two, then cleared her throat. “Well,” she said brightly, like she was trying to cut through the unbearable tension, “who’s hungry?”

No one answered. Because now Harry was standing there like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to take another step. And you were standing there like your heart might break clean open if he did.

And the truth was, neither of you was really hungry for anything but the one thing you both kept pretending you didn’t still want. Each other.

Dinner was a strange, fragile thing.

The four of you sat around the table, a beautiful spread laid out like Claire always did, roasted vegetables, a bottle of wine already open, soft music playing low in the background. It should’ve felt normal. Familiar. But the air was thick with things unsaid, heavy with the weight of you and Harry sitting side by side.

You’d tried to angle for a seat across the table, but Claire, ever the meddler in the name of love, had pulled out the chair next to her, leaving only the one beside you open when Harry entered the room.

He slid into it without a word. Close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, his elbow brushing yours every time he reached for something. And each accidental graze felt deliberate, like a silent apology you refused to accept.

Chris was doing his best to fill the silence, launching into a story about some disaster at work Harry didn’t know that had happened, and Claire kept nudging you to eat, to drink, to smile. You managed a few polite laughs, but you could feel Harry’s eyes on you, stealing glances when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

At one point, when Chris went to refill the wine glasses and Claire disappeared to the kitchen for dessert, it was just you and him, the low hum of the music and the faint clink of silverware the only sounds.

Harry cleared his throat. “I didn’t know you were coming,” he said quietly, his voice rough.

You didn’t look at him. “Same.”

A beat of silence. Then, softer “You look beautiful.”

The words landed like a punch and a balm all at once.

You finally turned your head to meet his gaze. His face was open in a way you hadn’t seen in days. No smug grin, no cocky spark. Just the man you’d somehow let yourself fall for. Bare stripped open or you.

But before you could answer, Claire swept back in carrying a tray of chocolate cake, her voice loud and cheerful as she set it down, singing a tune you recognize.

“Okay,” she grinned, slicing into it, “I have an announcement.”

You blinked, forcing your eyes away from Harry, grateful for the distraction.

Chris’s face lit up. “Are you telling them now?”

Claire beamed and nodded. “We’re having a baby.”

The room burst into congratulatory shouts and laughter from you and Harry. Chris leaning over to kiss her, you getting up to hug her tight, pretending the burn behind your eyes was just happiness for them.

Claire clung to you for a moment longer than usual, like she sensed the ache beneath your smile but chose not to name it. When you finally pulled back, you wiped at your cheek with a laugh, blaming it on the wine and the news.

“That’s amazing, Claire,” you said, your voice thick but steady. “You’re going to be the best mother a baby could ask for.”

Claire’s grin softened into something gentler. “And you’ll be around, right? I mean… I’ll need you.”

“Always,” you promised, meaning it.

You settled back into your seat; your heart still heavy but warmed at the edges by her happiness. Harry’s eyes met yours across the table, something unreadable in them, and for a brief second, it felt like the room disappeared, like it was just the two of you again, in that frustrating, electric limbo you couldn’t quite seem to leave behind.

He smiled, small and almost sad, and you hated how your heart skipped for it.

“Congratulations, Claire,” Harry said, raising his glass, and his voice was softer than you expected. “You and Chris. You’re going to be incredible parents.”

Chris grinned, sliding an arm around Claire’s shoulders. “Thanks, man. Means a lot. I hope a raise now, Boss.”

The table broke into light laughter, Claire playfully swatting Chris’s arm.

“Oh my God, Chris,” she groaned, though she was smiling.

Harry chuckled, shaking his head as he lifted his glass again. “You’ll have to fight the board for that one, but maybe I’ll put in a good word.”

Chris grinned like a kid who’d gotten away with something, and Claire leaned in to kiss his cheek.

The conversation moved on after that, baby names, nursery colors, Claire’s bizarre cravings already setting in, and you let yourself drift through it, contributing where you could, laughing when it was expected, but mostly trying to ignore the constant nuance of Harry’s presence beside you.

You became silent after that. You pushed your chair back quietly, the legs scraping against the hardwood floor a little louder than you intended.

Three pairs of eyes turned to you, but you kept your expression easy, giving them a soft smile.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” you said, your voice gentle, threading through the cozy warmth of the room. “I’m kind of wiped… it’s been a long week. I think I’m gonna head out now.”

Claire’s face immediately pinched in concern. “You sure? You can stay, crash in the guest room if you want—”

You shook your head, offering a small, reassuring smile. “No, it’s okay. I just… need a quiet night.”

Chris stood up to hug you. “Thanks for coming, really. Means a lot to us.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it,” you murmured, squeezing him back.

Claire wrapped you in a tight, lingering hug. “Text me when you get home, okay?” she whispered against your hair.

You nodded, your throat burning again. “I will.”

And then, you knew it would happen, and you tried not to look, but your gaze snagged on Harry as you stepped toward the door. He was already on his feet, watching you with that same quiet, wrecked expression he’d had all night.

You hesitated, then gave a polite, distant nod. “Good night, Harry.”

His jaw flexed. “Good night.”

You pushed your chair back quietly, the legs scraping against the hardwood floor a little louder than you intended.

The door clicked shut behind you, and the room felt heavier for a moment, like the air itself shifted. Claire stared after you, her smile gone, replaced with sharp, narrowed eyes. She turned toward Harry; her voice low but fierce, aching.

“What the hell did you do to her?”

Chris glanced between them, frowning. “Claire—”

“No,” she cut him off, not taking her eyes off Harry. “She came in here holding herself together with string, Harry. She barely spoke, barely smiled, and she left like she was running from something. And now I know it’s you.”

Harry’s expression didn’t flinch. If anything, he looked like someone already carrying the punishment she was trying to give. He set his glass down with a soft clink, the echo filling the space between them.

“I hurt her,” he said quietly.

“Then what are you doing here still?” she demanded, her voice gentler now, but no less cutting.

Harry looked at her, eyes rimmed with something real and so raw.

Claire softened just a fraction, giving a small, tired smile. “If I’m not wrong, she hasn’t left. She’s sitting on the stairs. I bet on that.”

Harry’s head jerked slightly at that, something sparking behind his eyes.

“Please, Harry,” Claire said, quieter this time. “Fix it.”

For a long moment, he just stood there, fingers flexing at his sides, battling whatever storm was churning in his gut. And then he moved, wordlessly, pushing back his chair and heading for the door.

Claire exhaled, leaning into Chris’s side as he watched Harry go.

“I swear to God,” she murmured, “I will make him go broke if he doesn’t fix this.”

Harry stepped out into the cool evening air, his pulse hammering in his ears. He moved toward the front steps, and sure enough, there you were.

Sitting there, arms wrapped around your knees, your head tilted back against the railing like you’d been holding back tears and now you were too tired to bother.

His chest cracked open at the sight.

“Hey,” he said, his voice breaking slightly around the word.

You didn’t look at him right away, just kept your eyes on the dark sky above, the cool air kissing your skin. The ache in your throat was sharp and stubborn, but you spoke anyway.

“You don’t have anyone else to bother?” you asked, your voice quieter than you meant it to be, but steady enough.

Harry let out a rough breath, shoving his hands into his pockets like a man who had no idea what the hell to do with them. He took a cautious step closer.

“No,” he admitted, voice hoarse. “I don’t.”

You finally turned your head, meeting his gaze. And God, the way he was looking at you.

Harry gave a small, rueful smile, stepping closer. “Can I sit next to you?” he asked quietly.

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded. He eased down onto the steps beside you, close enough to feel the warmth of his presence but not so close that it made your heart race out of control.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The quiet stretched between you, comfortable and heavy all at once, but this was the normal.

The air was cold, and your bare arms tingled from the chill. Without a word, Harry slipped off his jacket and draped it gently over your shoulders. The fabric was warm, smelling like him and the unexpected gesture sent a small shiver down your spine. You glanced at him, surprised, but all he did was offer a quiet, timid, smile before turning his gaze back ahead.

“I feel so happy for Claire. I really do,” you murmured, your voice thin and uneven, eyes fixed on some distant point ahead, as if the darkness could offer answers, you hadn’t found yet. “She’s getting everything she ever wanted. The baby, the family, the life, and someone who loves her like that.”

Harry stayed quiet, not interrupting, just listening. It made it easier, somehow, like the words had been caged in your chest for too long and now, and now they could finally come out.

“And I’ll be there,” you went on, a humorless, soft laugh catching in your throat. “I’ll watch it happen. Watch them build a life, a family. And I’ll be happy for them because I am. God, I am. But it’ll still feel like losing her. Like, like I’m standing still, and everyone else keeps moving forward.”

You swallowed, blinking hard against the sting in your eyes. “I don’t think I’ll ever have that,” you admitted, voice cracking around the words. “The baby. The house. The person who loves you like it’s a fact of the universe. Someone who chooses you every single day. I don’t know what’s wrong with me that I can’t get there. That I let people in, and they leave. And maybe it’s just… maybe it’s me.”

The ache in your throat burned and you pressed your hands together tightly in your lap to keep them from shaking. You could feel his gaze on you now, heavy, like it was stitching you together and unraveling you at the same time.

You turned your head to look at him, and for a moment the world shrank to just the two of you “And the moment I thought I met the perfect man…it turned out he wanted me to make his ex-girlfriend jealous.”

Harry flinched it, you saw it. The way his jaw tensed, the flicker of something sharp in his eyes, like your words had struck somewhere he wasn’t ready for.

He didn’t look away though. He stayed right there, his gaze locked on yours, the weight of it a little heavier now.

“I deserved that,” he said quietly, his voice rougher than before. “Every word of it.”

You swallowed hard, a lump forming in your throat. You hadn’t meant to spill it out like that, but once it started, you couldn’t stop.

“I kept telling myself I was fine with it,” you admitted, the words trembling out of you. “That it didn’t matter. That it wasn’t real after all. That I wasn’t… falling. But I was, Harry, I am, because you…you’re …because you’re the one I want,” you whispered, the words breaking at the edges like glass under pressure. “And I hate myself for it. For letting it happen. For hoping for something that was never mine to have.”

Harry’s eyes closed for a second, like the weight of your confession physically hit him. When he opened them again, they were shining with something raw, unguarded, and it stole the air right out of your lungs because he looked so vulnerable under your broken stare.

His shoulders sagged a little, like hearing that eased something in him. “I never came here just to get something from you. Yeah, I made a mess of it. I crossed lines. I confused you. But I kept coming because this place, you. You’re the only part of my life that feels like mine. Not my family’s, not some move, not something someone else expects from me. Just mine.”

The words settled between you like a secret too sacred for everyone else to hear. Your chest ached, your heart thrumming so loud you were sure he could hear it. You looked at him, really looked, the stubble on his jaw, the way his mouth trembled around the truth he was finally speaking.

“I don’t know how to be good at this,” he went on, his voice rough, cracking in places. “At… loving someone the right way. I don’t know how to love someone.”

You closed your eyes at that, standing up before he could break your heart.

His fingers wrapped around your wrist, gentle but firm, halting you in place. The warmth of his touch seared through your skin like a brand, and your breath caught in your throat.

“Please don’t go,” Harry murmured, his voice so soft it was barely a sound. You didn’t dare turn around; afraid your resolve would crack the moment you saw his face.

“I can’t do this, Harry,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “I can’t be the almost once again.”

Harry’s grip tightened just a little, not to keep you there, but like he needed to hold onto something real. His breath hitched, and for a moment he didn’t speak, like the words were too heavy in his chest, too tangled up in everything he’d never had the courage to say.

Then, finally, in a voice raw and aching, he said, “You’ve never been temporary to me. Not for a second. You’re the only thing that’s ever felt real, even when I tried to convince myself otherwise.”

Your heart clenched, and you felt your defenses crack, a splinter running right through you.

He stood up “The moment I laid my eyes on you at the wedding I could feel my heart stopping for a second because I thought you were the most beautiful person I’d ever seen,” Harry went on, standing there in front of you like a man unraveling at the seams. His voice was hoarse, thick with emotion, and his eyes never left yours. “And then you smiled and it was over for me” He ran a shaky hand through his hair, laughing softly, like he couldn’t believe he was finally saying it.

Harry took a breath like it hurt to hold it in any longer, his eyes shining in the dim light. “You came into my life so easily,” he said, his voice rough and low, as though the words had been waiting, buried in his chest for far too long. “Like you already belonged there. Like you’d always been meant to find me, even when I didn’t know I was lost.”

He shook his head, a fragile, almost disbelieving smile touching his lips. “You tugged on this string inside me, one I didn’t even know existed. Nobody’s ever found it before, no one’s ever known how. And it terrified me because I’ve spent so long building walls, convincing myself I didn’t need anyone. That love was nothing but a contract you could buy with money.”

His hand came up, hovering near your cheek, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to touch you yet, but God, he wanted to. “I don’t know how to love someone,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I’ve never been shown the kind that stays. The kind that’s safe. But with you, it doesn’t feel like something I need to run from. It feels like something I get to learn. Something worth learning.”

His throat worked as he swallowed hard, searching your face. “You make me want to be better. Not for anyone else, just for you. Because every time you laugh, every time you look at me like I matter, it makes me think maybe I’m not as lost as I thought I was.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and Harry’s thumb brushed it away with the softest touch, his fingers trembling against your skin.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words carrying the weight of every unspoken feeling he’d buried for too long. “I love you in a way I didn’t think I was capable of. And I don’t want to spend another second pretending it’s anything less.”

A soft rain began to fall, delicate, almost hesitant drops that speckled the stone steps around you and clung to the edges of his hair. The air smelled clean, like earth and something new beginning, and for a moment neither of you moved, standing there in the quiet hush of it.

It felt like the perfect beginning of a story of love.

You felt your lips curve into a small, fragile smile. Not because the tiny pain wasn’t there anymore, it was, but Harry also was there and you couldn’t ignore that.

Your gaze met his, and the storm behind his eyes softened the moment you smiled. He let out a breath, one he’d clearly been holding for far too long.

“You have a terrible sense of time,” you murmured, a gentle tease in your voice, though your heart ached with how much you meant it.

Harry laughed, a soft, broken sound, his shoulders shaking. He loved that sound, “It honestly feels like the right moment.”

The rain came a little steadier now, but neither of you moved to leave. Instead, you stepped closer, closing the final inches between you. His jacket slipped from your shoulders, but before the chill could find you, his hands were there, one at your waist, the other brushing damp hair from your cheek.

“I want us to try something real. To get to know each other.” His thumb brushed your cheek, a tender, reverent touch, and you felt yourself lean into it before you even realized.

“I want to kiss you every single time I feel like it,” he went on, a small, crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes stayed serious. “Not just when it’s convenient for us, not when no one’s looking, but whenever it hits me how lucky, I am you even exist and that you chose me.”

You felt your breath catch, your heart stammer against your ribs.

“I want to spoil you rotten,” he added softly. “Take you out, bring you flowers for no reason, hold your hand at the movies, listen to you rant about work, kiss you stupid when you’re in a bad mood. I want to be the one you call when you’re excited, when you’re scared, when you just need someone. I want to be yours; you still want me.”

The rain drummed gently around you, the world shrinking to the sound of his voice and the feel of his hands and the aching swell of your heart out of the happiness you were feeling.

You smiled, a real one this time, wide and aching and a little disbelieving, and let your hand slide to the back of his neck, pulling him down just enough to close the last space between you.

“Then kiss me, Harry,” you whispered, your lips brushing his. “And don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

tags:

@jasminedragoon @stcrrjoon @sptbear @picketniffler @greenwitchfromthewoods @fallout-girl219 @suzysface @aomi-recs @capuccinodoll @fvispunk @orcasoul @joeldarling @mystickittytaco @onlythehobi @darkheartgatita @isabella-rose-trastamara @spencercmlover @brittmb115 @correapunk @aomi-nabi @annulmaelae @32-flavors @berriesarepunk @joelmillerpascal

@lotusbxtch @dean-and-baby343 @pedrofan @hisuccubus @daryltwdixon @sourrollercoaster @holholliday @loveisacowboyyy

@hhallefuckinglujahh @primadonnasdream @chewie-bars @starstriker027 @glitterspark @casualbananapatrol @06nasyrah13

@unicornsandpugs @orcasoul @grayandthyme @sincerelywithheartt @starstriker027 @poor-unfortunate-soul9927

@ro-nahime-things @kimi01985 @pastelpinkflowerlife @isabella-rose-trastamara @majuia

[womenlovee]

Under Your Skin

pairing: ava starr x fem!reader

summary: your roommate, yelena, can’t stand the love bubble that has become of both you and ava

warnings: implied sex, mention of dead natasha, yes that’s a warning, nothing but fluff and teasing

word count: 1.1k

author’s note: i’ve honestly been obsessed with ava since ant man and the wasp and this new movie brought it back smashing

“Well, hello there.” Your girlfriend husks, suddenly phasing into view right in front of you.

You nearly jump out of your skin, the spoon in your hand clattering into the sink as the taller figure disrupts your focus.

“Jesus, Ava!” You gasp. “You know I hate when you do that!”

You swat at her instinctively, only for your hand to pass through air. Again.

Ava chuckles, solidifying just in time to place her hands on your hips. Her touch now warm and firm. “Yes, but what fun would it be if I didn’t push your buttons once in a while?”

“It would be wonderful for me.” You mutter, narrowing your eyes at the smug smile curling across her lips.

She just hums, then pulls you closer until there’s no space left between you. Her fingers trail gently up your side, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’re too easy to tease.” She murmurs, and before you can argue, she leans in to kiss you.

It starts soft, slow—just the press of her lips against yours. But as soon as you make a small, contented noise, everything shifts. Her hand slips down to the curve of your ass, and her mouth moves with more intent. Her tongue swipes across your lips before sliding past them, deepening the kiss.

You’re too lost in the warmth of her touch and the way she melts against you to hear the front door open and the telltale stomp of boots that follows.

“Oh, come on! Not in front of the food.” Yelena groans from across the room, her bag hitting the couch as she flops down dramatically like a rag doll.

Ava groans into your mouth. “Why is she here?”

You play with the baby hairs at the back of her neck, smirking. “You do remember this apartment is hers as much as mine, right? That’s what roommates mean, baby.”

You press a kiss to her cheek and turn back toward the cutting board, smothering a laugh as Ava grumbles under her breath.

You’re barely three seconds into chopping the bell pepper when you feel it again. Her warm hands slipping around your waist, fingers splaying across your stomach like she owns you.

“Ava.” You warn, not even turning around, your knife pausing mid-cut.

“Yes, darling?” She purrs in that raspy accent you love so much, her lips brushing your ear.

With a sigh, you set the knife down on the cutting board and turn to face her.

You walk your fingers up her chest, stopping just below her collarbone—her eyes following the motion like you’ve put her in a trance.

“You need to go sit down before you phase through me and make me cut myself.” You say, raising an eyebrow.

“I won’t. I’m completely solid.” She replies, giving your waist a gentle squeeze, completely ignoring the doubt written all over your face.

“You said that last night when we were…” You trail off, eyes flicking to the blonde hair barely visible above the back of the couch. “Talking.”

“Nice save. Ten out of ten believable.” Yelena snarks, not even bothering to look at you. “If I hadn’t heard you last night through the walls, by the way. Some of us aren’t deaf.”

Your cheeks flush at the admission, and Ava, who’s failing spectacularly at hiding her smug grin, barely manages to suppress it before you shoot her a look that screams I will take sex off the table.

Which, to be fair, has happened many times before.

No one would ever believe that your now overly confident and snarky girlfriend used to be so shy. You technically first met while helping Scott and Hope bring back Janet. That was before Ava had any real control over her powers.

Although she was perceived as a villain to the group, you saw through her. The pain she had to constantly fight, the machines she had to be connected to. You saw her.

You remember when she had shyly asked you out after running into you, ironically while on the run. You were quick to say yes, having already developed feelings for her, even though it would’ve been considered extremely frowned upon considering you were labeled a “hero” and her a “villain.”

That same night, you both ended up outside your small apartment building. You went to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear, only for your hand to suddenly phase through her, causing her to flush even more. She’d started to explain she still couldn’t fully control it, especially in stressful situations.

To this day, you tease her by saying she was flustered, which caused the phase. She, of course, insists she just didn’t have control.

“I hate it here. Do you know how traumatizing it is to live with sex in surround sound?” Yelena groans, grabbing a throw pillow and smashing it over her face.

Ava doesn’t miss a beat and snarks back. “Then maybe invest in better headphones instead of blaming my talents.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Yelena says in her thick accent, peeking out from under the pillow. “Let me just upgrade to noise-canceling every time you two get handsy near a vent.”

You sigh dramatically, pulling Ava’s arms tighter around your waist anyway.

“I’m never going to finish dinner at this rate.”

“Then let’s order takeout.” Ava mumbles into your neck, her lips brushing your skin between words. “I’ll tip extra if it gets here fast.”

“Ava.”

“Yes, love?”

“Let me cook.”

“No.”

You huff, twisting in her arms and gently pushing her back toward the stool behind the counter. “Sit. Stay.”

Yelena immediately groans. “Oh my God, I’m going to drown myself in the sink. Do you hear yourselves?”

Ava sits, but not before shooting a smirk over her shoulder. “Jealous?”

“Of what? The gross domesticity or the weird ghost hands? Either way, I think I’ll pass.”

You laugh under your breath, turning back to the cutting board. Ava props her chin in her hand, watching you with blatant affection, like you’re the only thing that exists.

“Do you ever blink?” You ask, glancing over at her.

“Not when you’re standing there looking like that.”

Another groan from the couch. “I’m serious. Next time I walk in and you two are kissing near the stove, I’m calling Natasha from the grave.”

You glance back at Yelena. “You’d have to get in line behind the landlord, the neighbors, and probably the building inspector.”

Ava leans forward on her stool. “Totally worth the noise complaints.”

You shake your head with a smile, trying to focus on your cooking despite the way Ava’s presence still lingers like static electricity on your skin.

She may phase in and out of sight, but somehow, she always knows exactly how to stay under your skin in the best way.

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 06. Your first day at work!

Inspired by acid-xx, rizzanon, nikovraskol

PREV PART trigger warnings: medical + emotional + physical neglect, misgendering (reader isn't out to the bad family yet), filler chapter main m.list      series m.list

You hate feeling angry, you hate feeling so tired. But you would always feel like this, well as long as you are in this house at least. You hate feeling like your own pain was nothing but just a pinch of salt compared to your families suffering. But that’s why you got a job, and that’s why you are pulling yourself out of bed. That’s why you are holding yourself together besides the anger raging inside your body.

That anger is the reason you are taking care of yourself, that anger will keep you going for years to come. Even when it disappears. You’ll live on your own and your mind would be your own. Your resentment and anger will no longer keep you in your bed, hiding under your covers.

You are just going to do what you wish for, and today that’s making a breakfast for yourself and get to work.

So that’s what you are doing, ignoring how Tim stumbles in to make some coffee, only for him to sit at the table and scroll on his phone. “You look fancy,” he says, and you sigh. You didn’t want to talk, but of course the day that you dress up for your job Tim decides to have a conversation with you. “are you going anywhere?”

So that’s what you are doing, ignoring how Tim stumbles in to make some coffee, only for him to sit at the table and scroll on his phone. “You look fancy,” he says, and you sigh. You didn’t want to talk, but of course the day that you dress up for your job Tim decides to have a conversation with you. “are you going anywhere?”

“I’m subbing in for a friend at his work,” you lie, brushing some of your hair behind your ear. You just hope that this was the last of his comments.

“Nice of you to do,” Tim mumbles, he knows you’re lying but then again, does he have any right to call you out? “how late will you be home?”

“I don’t know,” you snap, smacking the pan you’re holding down on the counter. “Why do you care?”

Tim doesn’t flinch him, he doesn’t even look up from his phone as he spoke; “There are rumours that the Joker is out and about.”

“When isn’t he?” You mumble, shoving your food in your mouth. “I’m not scared of someone knock-off clown.”

Tim sighs; “Just be careful.”

You roll your eyes, at least you got breakfast and you took your medication. “I’ll be safer out there then here.”

You could see Tim wince, at least someone feels guilt in this household.

The restaurant was coming along nicely, the sign looks pretty and the building looks a lot cleaner then the first time you were here. You just have to find the employee entrance… “Over here!” you suddenly hear, your head snaps back and there was a young man. His eyes kinder and his posture’s relaxer then Bruce when he plays up the playboy Brucie persona, it makes you nervous. He’s too relaxed for someone working for Penguin... “Yes you, Mx. (last name)! I am your trainer~!”

You hum as you get closer. “You know my name,” you start as you hold out your hand. “but I don’t know yours.”

“Well,” he grins. “you can call me whatever you want, ignorance is bliss isn’t it, darling?”

NEXT PART Honestly, I had a health thing during the holidays, I am mentally checked out with my mom and I just wanted to write something light hearted and short. So here, hope you enjoyed it<3.

Taglist: @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories

[mixingandmelting]

Hey so how do you think the bat boys would deal with a s/o where they list off a ton of insane injuries that they didn’t go to the hospital for treatment for, you can’t even tell they been through that stuff and it kind of makes you wonder how s/o is still alive after all that? S/o is just casually listing them like you would a grocery list (Jason interesting cuz He did die and was brought back. Dick got shot in head and made an amazing recovering).

A/N: per protocol, a psa/disclaimer - there’s nothing graphic or explicit in what’s written below (it’s literally the name of the injury that’s all) but please do not be like the boys or reader. Seek medical consult, makes the life a whole lot better and easier 😔

Dick:

He would be a hypocrite if he were to call you out right there and then. But his “eldest siblings” bell keeps blaring in his head the more he listens to your list of injuries. 

“So, let me get this straight.” He rubs his temples with two fingers, a familiar migraine faintly throbbing in his head. “You thought it would be fine to NOT go to the hospital and get checked up after falling from a roof despite knowing you had a concussion.” 

“Well, if you put it that way, it doesn’t sound all that great-“ You clear your throat, your eyes shifting away from him when he gives you a pointed look. “Okay, so that might’ve not been the smartest idea. But it was what, the third one I had? I already had a clue what to do so…” 

He’s going to have an aneurysm. Hands down for sure when you simply shrug as if you hadn’t just told him a list of insane injuries he had no idea about. 

Breath, Dick. Breath. It’s you he’s dealing with. His one and only who happens to be prone to getting injured in the worst ways-

Sensing her dad’s distraught, Dick lets Haley jump into his lap before he plops his face in her tummy. 

“Oh, Haley. What are we going to do? Your other parent is a trouble-magnet and hates hospitals. At this point, I’ll become a widower in my mid-thirties.” 

“Hey!” You shout, jabbing a finger at him. “I’m not like you, jumping into toxic gas without protection- widower? Why would you be a widower?” 

It takes a while to finally get him to stop mother-henning you after he follows you around in both civilian and vigilantes to every place you go. But after the bathroom incident, he relents once you agree to have him on speed dial and emergency contact. 

Jason:

“Relatable.” 

Relatable his ass. Sure, he can relate considering all the things he’s been through (prime example: him dying and reviving). But here’s the difference: it’s you. Period. He wants you to be safe, unharmed, and happy. Like, is it really too much to ask? 

Hell, he probably would’ve never thought you’d gone through all that had you not said anything. But,now, everything changed and he didn’t think a day would come for him to, ironically, be the one to tell someone to go to the hospital. 

“Right? Thank you, at least someone gets it!” You don’t notice the blank stare he has, the mug he takes a drink out of obscuring his face. “I swear, people freak out when it’s not that bad.” 

…He needs a beer. And send an apology note to Dick and Alfred. 

“Oh yeah, nagging? Definitely isn’t going to do anything. Just makes you want to do the opposite.” 

“Exactly. I mean I get it, especially if it’s getting both my shoulder and knee dislocated at the same time.” The grip on his mug tightens, a crack starting at the handle. “But, I’m not going to go if someone won’t stop going on and on with ‘oh, you should get that checked, or ‘why didn’t you get seen by a doctor’, you know?” 

Oh, don’t you worry. He knows, alright.

“So, your ankle. I’m guessing you didn’t get that checked.” 

The one and only good thing about your current injury was that you couldn’t dart away like usual. With having sat next to you this whole time as a plus, he’s quick to pull and, mindfully, hold you in the princess hold. 

One thing leads to the next and the two of you are at the manor with Alfred taking a look at your injury. At least you weren’t mad anymore, watching him endure the harassment of bringing over his S/O home. 

Tim:

“You had an injury on your neck but you left A.M.A*!” 

“At least I went to the hospital! Unlike someone here who didn’t after breaking three ribs!”

“Okay, no. You were forced to get admitted, first off. Second, you’re still missing a spleen-?!” 

The two of you have been going back and forth with each other ever since you dropped on him the list (why is it a list??? Why do you have a list???) of insane injuries you never went to the hospital for. 

At first, all he did was, calmly (calmly being the keyword), inform you why going to the hospital would be a good idea in case of future events. And you said sure. When you need to, that is. 

He catches it and calls you out on your poor attempt to BS. You then called him out for his BS. There was a moment of truce that lasted for a minute when Alfred got mentioned. You both shook hands over not to delve into it as you both held affection for the butler and fatherly figure. 

“I was trained to recognize this stuff even before my Robin years! I’m certified for first-aid treatment!” 

“Oh wow, that’s amazing Tim! But who was the one that gave you CPR when you nearly drowned?!” 

He loudly groans, dragging both hands down his face. 

“Then, that’s a bigger incentive for you to get checked up at the hospital, then!” He makes vague hand motions in the air as he starts to pace around. “You get hurt whenever I’m not there and can’t protect you!” 

“… What?” 

In the end, you comfort Tim though it takes a while to talk him out of about a 24/7 personalized bodysuit. You did end up agreeing with the emergency pager to make him feel a bit better, designed as a fashionable wrist watch. 

Duke: 

He closes his mouth. Opens it. Closes it again. Opens it. 

“So… How exactly are you alive again?” 

He simply raises an eyebrow in response to the unimpressed expression you give him. 

“It’s not all that bad-“ 

“Not that bad?” He snorts. “Not that bad? I’m not that bad!”

He jumps up and points both hands towards himself before pointing them towards you. 

“Here I am, dealing with villains left and right which makes sense as to why I get hurt. But, what was it you just said? A stab wound with a knife?” 

“Actually, it was a spoon.” 

“A spoon-???” His voice pitches an octave, cracking in the end. 

For someone so normal, he couldn’t help but wonder how you knew so well on what to do when someone gets injured in the most bizarre ways. Not at all expecting there to be personal lore on how you gained that knowledge. 

In one part, it saddens him at the fact he’s once again the one with common sense. The other? 

He grimaces. 

It…actually checks out. Because it’s a rule written by the universe that vigilantes are not allowed to fall in love with someone normal. And though you are normal for the most part, this? This definitely checks the box on meeting the requirement. 

“Why did you get stabbed with a spoon in the first place?” 

Oh no. You’re awkwardly laughing. 

Some time passes and he’s shopping with his mom for office supplies. As she looks over the Manila envelopes, he notices a particular large roll of bubble wrap. So, when he’s asked as to why he’s buying three rolls of it, he gives the classic excuse of needing it for a science experiment. Which, in part, is true considering he’s planning to see if you being wrapped in it will prevent you from getting injured like in the ads. 

Damian:

“What are your parents' occupations again?” 

You give Damian a flat stare. 

It does little to deter him, persuaded that you’re either lying to him or you’ve lived a similar life as him with training in the most extreme conditions and didn’t tell him. 

There’s no other options or explanations to how you could possibly get those injuries, nonetheless a list of them. And he doesn’t know what he’s frustrated more about: the nonchalance of you stating them like reading off items on a grocery list or he wasn’t there and prevented them from happening. 

Not going to the hospital for your injuries, he can somewhat understand. With how terrible Gotham’s healthcare system is and the number of patients that get admitted from criminal activities every day, it’s considered a good day when patients are seen after eight hours of waiting in the ER. 

Lucky you, you happen to be loved by someone who can medically assess whenever. The Batcave has the latest, cutting-edge technology on medical equipment while he, himself, has the medical expertise that’s potentially on par with that of his father’s and Alfred. He’s sure he can provide you treatment better than any hospital in the city. 

“Damian, I’m fine.” You huff, rolling your eyes.  “Besides, it’s nothing compared to last time.”

Does he want to know what happened during this so-called “last time”?

“I think you need to get your brain checked if you’re considering forced-bed rest as ‘nothing’”. He shoves another peeled apple slice just in time when you’re about to talk back. 

That pattern continues for the rest of the day with him nagging you like a tiger parent while feeding you food (he ignores the bit about him sneaking into your room is an invasion of private property). Eventually, later that week, the two of you squabble again after you catch him following you around almost everyday while he argues how you can’t be left unsupervised.

[psformybss]

Can you do one where the public reacts badly towards Drew’s secret?fiancée? I know you have done a good one but can you do a bad one?

When the World Knew

series masterlist

warnings: internet hate, secret relationship reveal, angst, emotional distress, comfort, death threats (mentioned), protective!Drew, hurt/comfort

an: fun fact i originally wanted to make the reveal angsty, actually wrote a few different versions of it and this one is one of them except more angsty than it originally was

The day they got caught was golden.

Not metaphorically—actually golden.

The light, the laughter, the way the ocean curled around their ankles as they kissed. Teddy chased a gull down the shoreline. Drew held her hand like it was second nature, like no one was watching. Because they thought—hoped—no one was.

For a few sacred hours, it was just them and the surf. A soft kind of joy.

Until it wasn’t.

Until the picture hit the internet like a match to dry brush.

By morning, it was a fire.

By evening, it was an inferno.

And by the next day, it was war.

She hadn’t meant to check her phone.

She shouldn’t have.

But the moment she saw her face plastered across fan accounts, tagged in screenshots of that photo, the dread sank into her like a stone in water.

They had found her.

Not just her name—her Instagram. Her photos. Her old high school posts. Her graduation selfie with Drew’s arm around her waist. The blurry prom pic she forgot even existed.

And they ripped her apart.

Her DMs were flooded.

“You’ll never be enough for him.”

“He deserves better.”

“You’re ruining his career.”

“He could have any woman he wants, and he chose you?”

Then it got worse.

“Die.”

“Go kill yourself.”

“He’ll leave you. They always do.”

She locked her phone and sat in the silence of their bedroom, blinds drawn, heart thudding behind her ribs like a warning bell. Her skin itched. Her throat burned. She couldn’t tell if she wanted to scream or throw up.

Teddy barked from the living room. She didn’t move.

Her hands were shaking.

Drew found out during a scene break on set.

His phone vibrated nonstop—texts from his sister, his publicist, old high school friends, “Check Instagram now.”

He pulled up Instagram.

Saw the photos.

Saw the screenshots.

Saw the hate.

Saw her name trending.

He didn’t even tell the director he was leaving.

She didn’t hear him come in.

She was still sitting on the floor of the bathroom, back against the tub, eyes blank. Her phone was on the counter with the screen turned face-down.

He said her name once—softly.

She didn’t answer.

He dropped to his knees in front of her, cupping her face with trembling hands. “Hey. Baby. Look at me.”

Her eyes flicked to his. Shiny. Empty.

“They found me,” she said, voice hollow. “They found everything.”

Drew’s stomach twisted.

“They’re sending death threats.”

She blinked, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.

“They said I should kill myself so you can be free.”

“Jesus,” he breathed, pulling her into him. She didn’t fight it. Just collapsed against his chest like she had nothing left holding her up.

“I thought I could handle it,” she whispered. “But I didn’t think it would be this.”

His jaw clenched. He stroked her hair like it could ground her. Like maybe if he held her close enough, none of it would stick.

“They don’t know you,” he said, his voice raw. “They don’t get to touch you like this.”

“I feel disgusting,” she choked. “Like I ruined everything. Like I’m the villain in their fantasy.”

“No. No,” he said, pulling back to meet her eyes. “This is not your fault. You didn’t ask for this.”

“We waited, Drew. We waited. We wanted it to be ours. Safe. Now they’ve taken even that.”

He saw it then—the heartbreak buried beneath the fear. Not just the backlash. But the grief of losing something sacred.

“I should’ve protected you,” he said quietly.

She shook her head, voice trembling. “You did. You always have.”

That night, Drew didn’t sleep.

She lay in bed beside him, silent tears soaking into his hoodie. He stayed awake, watching the curve of her cheek against the pillow, the slight hitch of her breath. Every time her phone buzzed on the nightstand, he had to force himself not to throw it across the room.

By dawn, he’d had enough.

He opened Instagram. Sat on the edge of their bed. Hit record.

No lights. No filters. Just a man and his fury.

“If you’re my fan,” he said, “you don’t get to send death threats to the woman I love.”

His voice was low, but it shook.

“She’s been part of my life since we were kids. Before the shows. Before the cameras. She has never once asked for attention or clout or anything from me but love.”

He swallowed hard.

“And now, because someone snapped a picture, she’s being harassed, threatened—told to die. All because she wears a ring I gave her.”

A pause. His eyes narrowed.

“I’m done being quiet. This isn’t just internet drama. This is real. This is the woman I’m going to marry, and you’re hurting her.”

His hand tightened around the phone.

“If you say you care about me—really care—then stop. Right now. Because I won’t stand by and watch you destroy the best thing that ever happened to me.”

He posted it without rewatching.

Then he turned off his phone.

And climbed back into bed.

The internet fractured.

Some fans doubled down—called him whipped, dramatic, claimed he was “blaming his supporters.”

But others fought back harder.

“This woman has done nothing wrong. Leave her alone.”

“Imagine being with your high school sweetheart and people think you’re the villain?”

“I can’t believe how disgusting people are being. Drew’s right to be furious.”

“Love like this doesn’t happen often. Protect it.”

Slowly, the tide shifted.

Not fully. But enough.

She could breathe again.

Not because the hate was gone.

But because he didn’t let her drown in it alone.

They stayed inside for a few days.

Ordered takeout. Watched comfort movies. Played music too loud just to block out the world.

Drew held her through the panic. Sat with her through the silence.

He kissed her like he meant it. Like he was building a new shield around her every time.

And eventually, she started to come back to herself.

She started answering texts again. Opened her camera roll and smiled at pictures of Teddy chasing his tail. Sat on their back porch with her knees pulled to her chest and said, “Maybe one day we’ll laugh about this.”

Drew kissed her temple.

“Maybe,” he agreed.

[bowtiepasta]

SFW 𑣿 GOJO, GETO, SHOKO: “SOMEONE NEW”

nothing complicated i just miss sashisu like a mfer and needed a childhood friend to college pipeline with them. this healed something in me (cw: not separate pairings, language, some angst, drinking, modern au, f/afab!reader with she pronouns, flirty)

you first kiss satoru on a soccer field when you are ten, grass littered uniforms and scraped knees disregarded by the scowls on both your faces — one due to his third penalty in this match, yours due to the drink he just dumped out of your hand (and.. the fact that he kissed you in the bleachers in front of the entire school, as the ball flies into the outfield). total accident, he claims.

you first kiss suguru as a thank you for tutoring you through midterms the spring of your second year, in the janitor’s closet while nanami gets dresscoded on the other side of the door. you end up making out till the bell rings, wait for the halls to be empty to leave. caught up in the moment, he says.

you first kiss shoko at her doorstep a day before graduation, both completely shitfaced after utahime fake id-ed two cases of vodka cranberry and had to finish it before her parents got home. she nearly is expelled the next morning, manages to dodge it somehow. shoko ‘doesn’t remember’ one bit.

you haven’t talked to any of them since you drove away from the ceremony, gown and cap sat quietly on the dash of your car, acceptance letter folded in the glove box. you haven’t kissed anyone this year.

it’s not like you haven’t tried dating. blind dates, dates that picked you up at bars, dates that sparked messy roommate situations. and yet.. you didn’t kiss any of them. or anything else, for that matter.

has it really been that long?

when satoru finds out you all live in the same dormitory this year, he adds you to a groupchat and drops the address to a new dive bar down the block. all of them are convinced, except you.

you leave them on read.

it’s not like you don’t want to go. the idea of seeing them again makes your fingers twitch against your phone screen, hovering over the buttons, rereading the stupid little salute emoji satoru sent in. suguru thumbs-upped the text. shoko left it on delivered, though you know she’ll probably show up anyway.

you don’t reply. you’re busy. you’ve outgrown whatever this was, and you’re a different person now. when you drove away from that ceremony without saying goodbye, you did it on purpose.

..right? right.

so you go to bed early, phone facedown, volume off.

the next morning, there’s a photo in the chat: a blurry, overexposed mess of neon lights and moving figures, captioned you were supposed to be here, loser. satoru, obviously. you ignore it.

then comes another. this time from suguru. a selfie. well, almost. more like half of his face and most of shoko’s, her head thrown back laughing. he’s smirking at the camera, holding up a drink, the words we ordered you one anyway typed underneath.

you hate how easy it is for them to pick up where they left off. how the years apart don’t seem to mean anything to them.

you chalk it up to fomo, but really, you miss them.

the groupchat lies dormant for a while. the first time you run into one of them in person, it’s not satoru. it’s not suguru, either.

two days later, at the corner store down the street.

she spots you before you see her. your name slips out of her mouth like a habit, before she can stop it.

“avoiding me?”

you grab a bottle of water from the fridge, letting the cold plastic bite into your palm. “I’m busy,” you say, because it’s easier than the truth.

shoko hums like she doesn’t quite believe you, grabbing a pack of cigarettes off the shelf. she looks the same. a little older, a little sharper around the edges, but still so unexplainably her.

the same girl who used to steal sips from your drinks when you weren’t looking, who let you sleep on her floor when you fought with your parents, who kissed you once and never mentioned it again.

“we’re going out again this weekend,” she says, tucking the cigarettes into her left pocket. “if you don’t show, satoru’s gonna start getting.. creative.”

you raise an eyebrow. “creative?”

shoko smirks as her receipt prints. “he has your number. the real one, not the one you muted us on.”

your stomach sinks.

“see you there,” she walks off before you can argue.

you spend the next few days pretending you’re not thinking about it.

which is stupid, of course you are. you think about it while you’re in class, rereading the same paragraph in your textbook without absorbing a single word. you think about it when you’re cooking dinner, zoning out so hard that the pasta overboils and hisses against the stove, licks at the countertop.

then comes saturday night, right as you’re about to convince yourself for real that you aren’t going-

satoru calls you.

not a text. not a meme in the group. a full fledged, obnoxious phone call.

you hesitate before answering. which, in hindsight, is your first mistake. your second is actually picking up.

“hiii, stranger.” his voice is syrupy sweet, every syllable stretched out, “you know, if you were gonna go witness protection on us, you could’ve at least left a goodbye letter.”

you pinching the bridge of your nose. “satoru-”

“don’t ‘satoru’ me. do you have any idea how tragic it was last time? suguru had to drink your cocktail for you. he was fucking devastated.”

you hear a low, amused hum in the background.

“I was fine.”

“no, he wasn’t,” satoru continues. “he stared into space all night. contemplated existence. it was dark.”

there’s a muffled sound, like someone smacking him in the arm. shoko, you’re guessing.

you exhale, dragging a hand down your face. it’s annoying — it is — because it’s unfair. it’s unfair that they can just pick up where they left off while you’re still stuck at a finish line, pretending you can’t.

and maybe that’s why, instead of hanging up, you say, “where is this place?”

satoru gasps like you’ve just confessed your undying love to him. “ohhh, now you’re interested?”

“I didn’t say I was coming,” you argue, but you can already hear the grin in his voice.

“sure, sure,” he says. “texting you the address now. see you soon, sweetheart.”

he hangs up before you can protest. your phone buzzes a second later.

the final straw is a venmo request.

$5 for your absence. we took a vote.

you 9:58 PM: i hate all of you suguru 9:58 PM: so you’ll be there? you 10:00 PM: maybe suguru 10:00 PM: that’s not a nooo

you cave.

you arrive twenty minutes late, hoping the extra time will take the edge off. it doesn’t.

the bar is exactly what you expect — sticky tables, health violations, music that tells you to stay away (nickelback). you spot them immediately, because.. well. some things don’t change.

you hover in the doorway longer than you should, debating leaving, until satoru glances up.

his grin is blinding. “holy shit.”

three pairs of eyes snap to you.

you exhale through your nose. too late now.

satoru waves you over like you’re a lost dog. “get over here, exile. thought we’d need a search party.”

you roll your eyes but make your way to the table, slipping into the seat next to shoko.

“hilarious,” you deadpan, the words coming out lighter than you mean them to.

suguru pushes a drink toward you. “pre-ordered.”

a wrinkle forms between your brows. “what is it?”

“who cares?” shoko scoffs. “just drink.”

you hesitate for half a second. then you grab the glass.

satoru’s grin widens. “that’s my girl.”

you pretend the warmth in your chest is just the alcohol. it burns in your throat, but in the way that reminds you of being sixteen and reckless: bad decisions made on good nights.

“you look good,” suguru says, studying you.

you don’t know how to answer that, so you just shrug. “not so bad yourself.”

“obviously,” satoru interjects, stretching his arms over the back of the booth, effectively trapping you and shoko in. “we age like fine wine.”

shoko exhales smoke directly into his face. he doesn’t flinch.

“you’re a nuisance,” she says.

“you love me,” he counters.

you should feel out of place. you should feel like an outsider looking in, like some unwelcome visitor. it’s been years. yet.. the moment you sat down, every available inch of space is by default, the way it should be. almost like you never left.

“so,” satoru drawls, drumming his fingers against the table. “what’s the deal? you hate us now?”

you blink. “what?”

“you vanished after graduation.” he says it simply, a fact, a puzzle piece he’s been turning over in his hands for years. “I mean, I get it. I’d leave them too if I had the choice.” he gestures towards the other two. “but me?” he gawks. “rude.”

suguru huffs a laugh. “speak for yourself.”

you pick at the rim of your glass, salt flaking between your pointer and thumb. “I didn’t ..vanish.”

“no? then what would you call it?”

you swallow. the words are on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t know how to say them. that after the ceremony, after all the hugs and the drunken promises to stay in touch, you sat in your car for an hour and felt nothing. that leaving wasn’t some big, dramatic decision — it just happened.

a door closing. a chapter ending.

satoru is looking at you, suguru is watching, shoko is waiting, and suddenly, you don’t want to say anything at all.

“I wanted a new start,” you lie instead, but no one calls you out on it.

satoru somehow lets it go. “well. you’re here now.”

and just like that, the moment passes. the conversation shifts, and so does the night.

shoko orders another round. suguru leans in, asks about your job, your apartment, the details of your life that they’ve missed. satoru interrupts every three minutes with commentary, and by the time you’re halfway through your second drink, you’re laughing, really laughing, and you realize, with a strange sort of ache, that you haven’t in a long time.

it’s late when you finally leave. satoru slings an arm over your shoulder like he’s been doing it every day for the past four years, and you don’t push him off.

“don’t be a stranger this time,” suguru calls out before heading off in the opposite direction.

shoko kisses your cheek. “welcome back.”

you don’t respond. but as you make your way home, satoru’s warmth still lingering against your skin, you think maybe this time — you’ll stay.

satoru 3:04 AM: since we’re all back together now satoru 3:04 AM: should we address the elephant in the room? shoko 3:10 AM: tf are you on satoru 3:11 AM: you know. how we’ve all kissed her

© bowtiepasta: do not copy edit or repost anywhere

[tiredeyesight]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ in your mind (mattheo riddle x fem! reader)

summary : mattheo riddle, your sworn enemy, forgets about your ability to hear others thoughts

mattheo fucking riddle, waltzes into the class as if he owns the place. that stupid smirk and knowing eyes that he could do anything for salazars sake and not get into any trouble. flitwicks dismay is obvious, yet he does nothing but instruct riddle to take a seat just behind you. now your dismay was obvious, riddle had been your sworn enemy for as long as you could remember however you couldn’t really remember why.

‘oi y/l/n, what’re we doing?’ riddle questions you. ‘come on time and focus to find out’ you respond and for some odd reason there was no sarcastic comment or any insult thrown your way. just silence from mattheo. despite your normal dislike for your abilities to hear other’s thoughts, you used it. just this once.

voices boomed and echoed through your head, clashing together and combining until you focused in on one particular annoyingly attractive voice. ‘god why does she have to be so pretty’ you hear from the same voice that had called you a multitude of opposing mocks. surely he wasn’t talking about you. ‘her hair is so gorgeous, looks so soft, i just wanna play with it ugh.’ to confirm you weren’t dreaming, you dropped your pencil and turned your head. all you saw was his dark, rich brown eyes completely focused on you.

‘i always forget how beautiful her eyes are, this lighting doesn’t do them justice.’ and there was your confirmation.

for the rest of the lesson, you couldn’t focus on the work only on the handsome yet annoying boy behind you who hadn’t stopped thinking about you. as the bell rings you shove your items away in a haste determined to learn more about this admiration for you. the halls become flooded with kids rushing to get to their dorms or the hall for a quick snack before dinner yet all you were focused on was mattheo riddle.

he turned into a quiet hallway and you followed suit, your presence becoming known to him. ‘what are you doing here?’ he asks with irritation in his voice, a very fake irritation as all he could think about was ‘i want her so bad’. you walked closer towards him with a small smile plastered on your face, almost chest to chest and whispered the words, ‘for being someone you hate, i’m sure on your mind a lot’.

a blush rose to his cheeks, ‘i don’t know what you’re talking about.’ a continuous, ‘fuck fuck fuck, i forgot she can hear peoples thoughts’, jostled through his mind. a small giggle arose from your sweet lips and that’s all it took for mattheo to completely fold. ‘christ all right, you caught me’ he started, ‘im like head over heels for you, even with our little fights it makes me fall more in love with you every single time. you’re just so gorgeous and so kind, the complete opposite to me yet im totally obsessed with you.’ a smile that you had never seen before appeared on his face.

you were in complete shock, this was almost the last thing you expected from him of all people. mattheo riddle. yet you couldn’t ignore the way your stomach exploded in flutters by his words and how you suddenly became speechless. ‘can i kiss you’, you uttered out after moments of silence. ‘please.’

author note : i feel like this may be the most common thing ive ever wrote but hey it’s common for a reason so live laugh love i guess. and as always requests are still open!!

word count : 557

[4mrplumi]

00. spiderwocky ── kid-buggy

‎‎ㅤㅤplatonic | spiderverse x spiderman!reader x batfamily | ms. list

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤdisclaimers on masterlist!

index. prologue , chapter one , chapter two , chapter three ... to be continued. based on this

your head slams against the mech’s ceiling, and your vision blurs for a second. a troubled robotic voice keeps reading out statistics, leftwing engine down, visors breaking off, remaining web fluid at 17%, and enemy still engaged.

you have to wince, pushing your head against the whiplash, slamming a half-ripped off metal leg at the large metallic eyeball staring keenly in your direction. mysterio’s been trouble before but… you’ve gotten soft. 

a thin wisp of gas permeates the suit’s vents, and sp//dr’s robotic droning takes an almost human, frantic quality. “air quality has been compromised,” it hisses,  “(name), pulling out of battle is optimal.” you’ve got to ignore it, you think with strain, a thin string of web leaping out at the building behind mysterio, there are people in more danger than you.

pulling harshly on the string, you can hear the noisy clank of metal as the mech-suit’s arm bolts creak under the pressure, and propel yourself at the sphere. and you do it again, to the left, again, from the right, while sp//dr’s voice reads out the remaining fluid clerically.

"16%", slam it into the concrete building next to you, it makes a dent, "15%", swing it into a billboard, people are screaming, "14%", jump up into the sky on your- the suit’s- good leg, "13%" shoot out two strings to the ground besides mysterio-

"12%", slam him into the concrete, shattering the road under him. you’re running out of air. the sphere breaks a little, curling inwards like a cracked egg. you have to disarm mysterio- before he floods the streets with the brain toxin that-

that’s currently bypassed your filtration systems.

the suit takes a staggering step towards a boy inside the vessel, his head encompassed by a globe of white, a single eye etched and staring. you barely hear his “you’re taller in person”, more focused on another voice whispering to you.

 ‘make me nothing’, it says, it’s your father's voice. no, it’s sp//dr’s voice. a hand reaches up on its own, crushing a drone, ‘i’m a teenage weapon’. it’s your voice, your head, sp//dr. you can barely breathe, another hand sending a drone flying into the thin walls around you. "safe inside the colours", his face looks at you in pity, admiration. 

it’s a familiar look.

you stiffen, your mind clearing to sp//dr’s warnings. ‘i don’t need your love, boy.’ the suit’s arm slams against his skull, and he falls to the ground, with a strangled; “my voice!”. 

the brain toxin begins to leave your systems, flushed out by a steady, furious buzz in your ears, your vision clearing as you approach the man. his face is exposed, a bloody, spectacled and oat-haired figure. he croaks to you; “i hate my voice,” as though you’d care of it, “you don’t know me- i’m just a fan…”

his voice becomes shaky, and he’s struggling to blabber out his words. you’re tempted to web his mouth shut. “but i could have been anything to you…”

“did you ever get the mix-disc i made you?” he slurs, his cracked glasses breaking.

you don’t wake up with a jolt. there’s no chain of anxiety that hits you, no spider-sense going off. you’re well tucked under heavy covers when you open your eyes, rigid in your sleep. not in the suit, you haven’t been in it for a while. it’s sill broken, and you’re not… not at work. not right now.

it doesn’t feel natural waking up in the manor. you’ve been opening your eyes to the posters your roommate put up on your walls, insisting on brighter decor. grown used to waking to sounds of chatter, maybe the radio, or the school bell telling you were devastatingly late to class and would be reprimanded for it.

you’re not used to waking up to neat wallpaper in a dark, old room. in the house you’ve barely lived in, barely wanted to live in. wayne manor is a sad place, and you're suddenly glad they send you away for most of the year.

summer vacations are the most miserable time of the year, everyone being sent home or off on vacation with their parents until they come back for next term. all the time you're stuck going to a manor you don’t want to be in, in a city you’re close to hating, with people who’ve made it too obvious they don’t want you here. they never say it to your face. but you know well enough.

but- but this time it’s different. this break, you won’t go to trouble tim with a puzzle you’d hope would interest him, one he’d take from you with a nod, and never think about again. you won’t go watch jason sneak into the pantry from a distance, trying to muster up the courage to talk to him and inevitably fail each time, as he swiftly left again. you won’t even offer to ask alfred if you could help him tend to the garden, only for him to smile pitiably gently at you and ask you if you’d 'rather not spend your time having more fun elsewhere'.

this time, you have work. something to do. someone to be.

you take to sauntering awake to a little desk in the corner of the room at five? four? in the morning, and sliding the drawer open to pull out a thick and scrappy diary. you’ve been writing in this since they first sent you off, since you were nine. 

"SP//DR BOT" graces the page you flip to, in bright paint-marker-blue. the picture of a poorly sketched, vaguely-humanoid mecha-suit follows, on which you scrawl with a drying pen. for the last seven months you've had someone to be. so you'd best get to it; kid-buggy.

₊˚⊹ a/n : first fic i've planned up to completion,, let's hope all goes well!! let me know if you want to be in the taglist <3

prologue tags @sirenetheblogger @kenyummy @selvyyr

[madako98]

More Redesigned Smiling Critters!

With these redesigns I also changed their scents and these are my reasons:

Catnap (Lavender)- He’s still the same, as lavender is a calming scent meant to help people fall asleep.

Dogday (Oranges)- Nothing about Dogday’s original design screams vanilla. And it’s a boring scent for a character who has quite a strong personality, and no scent is stronger to me than the smell of oranges! Also, he literally has a sun pendent, and with my redesign I did away with those and gave him a sun on his face. I usually think of summer vibes, and associate a drink I usually get during the summer which is orange flavored.

BubbaBubbaphant (Bubblegum)- Besides bubble sounding fun to say with Bubba, there’s a reason I chose bubblegum. I remember when I was younger and in school having to take tests all day, and what did they give us to concentrate, bubblegum. I believe there have been studies done to show that chewing gum can help you concentrate, but don’t quote me on that.

HoppyHopscotch (Pepper Mint)- I kept her scent the same as well. From what I’ve read, pepper mint is actually an energizing scent used in aromatherapy.

KickinChicken (Roasted Peppers)- I hear the name Kickin and think of spicy, however, if you roast peppers (I was specifically thinking of bell peppers), they’re actually quite sweet, and smell amazing. And yes, I made him look more like a rooster.

BobbyBearhug (Rose)- Kept her the same as well. Her design SCREAM Valentines Day to me.

PickyPiggy (Maple)-…breakfast

CraftyCorn (Birthday Cake)- Honestly, it’s the rainbow horn I gave her, making me think of confetti cake! And I hate the smell of jasmine…

I still need to design their full body designs based on my recent poll!

[k1mbe3rly]

i hope ur reqs for whc1 is open!! i’m so glad to find someone who writes abt whc1 omg

imagine academic rivals to lovers with sieun wherein the reader is always second place, but reader has family problems so getting second place isn’t enough for her parents and sieun who always gets first place sees reader in a bad mood and comforts reader!! unfortunately my imagination is only up to that point so would you please continue it for me 🙏🙏 (would be great if u add smut in there)

I love you and i hate you

warnings: light smut, fingering, gentle sex, confessing (longish)

You hated Sieun, you hated him so much. His stupid face and the way he always keeps a calm expression, the face he makes when he’s focused on a paper, maybe he’s the reason you keep getting second place, you’ve always been below him and you hated the thought of that so much

You always catch yourself staring at him, was it out of hatred? envy? or admiration. You never knew and you don’t want too.

Recently you haven’t been able to sleep properly due to your parents always arguing about something stupid, on-top of that you’re just simply frustrated about everything, school, family, and sleep. The whole day you’ve been distracted and tired, zoning off into space or falling asleep in class, and Sieun noticed this

He’s been watching you the whole day and finally when the bell ringed for dismissal he went up to you staring down as you packed your things, you looked up in confusion thinking he was just gonna brag about his scores, “What’s going on with you today.” he said simply, no expression just straight forward, “What?” you replied back, “You’ve been distracted. And your sleeping in class.” he told you, he than added something else “Did something happen?”

You just sighed getting up slinging your backpack on, “None of your business.” you remarked, he stared at you his eyes following every movement, the eye-bags forming under your eyes, he could tell something happened, maybe..at home? “i’m not dumb. Just tell me what happened so you can stop acting so dead.” he told you, you rolled your eyes shoving past him and leaving the classroom as he followed you waiting for an answer

“It’s nothing, besides isn’t it a good thing for you huh?” you told him, “Well..maybe yea, but i wouldn’t wanna win unfair. your distracted” he told you still following you out the school, “Did something happen at home.” he asked you as you stopped walking glaring at him for a moment, “No. Look i’m busy, i gotta go…study or something.” You said going around him, he watched you for a moment and quickly followed after you, “Study at my place, Or we can always just study together.”

You scoffed “Study? with you? yea no. I don’t need your pity besides how would i know you aren’t planning something?” you said to him, “Why would i plan something. I’m not evil.. just come to my place already.” he told you, you sighed softly but eventually agreed

You went to his place and just sat there awkwardly with your textbooks open, the tension was so dead silent until he spoke up, “It’s your parents isn’t it?” he said breaking the silence, you looked at him “Why would you think that” you plainly spoke, he shrugged “just an educated guess, so am i right?” he said placing his palm to his chin, “Doesn’t matter.” you said looking back down to your textbook, he admired you for a moment, he didn’t hate you..he just simply found you annoying, to him you were good looking but it was just the rivalry in the way

Without thinking he grabbed your face kissing you straight on the lips, the kiss was a bit stiff as you were just shocked frozen there, you were confused feeling his lips on yours, you pulled away, you weren’t even sure if you would call it a kiss “What was that?” you told him in annoyance, he looked at you almost as if he was shocked himself but he knew there wasn’t no going back so he simply shut you up with another kiss

This time the kiss was deep as his hand traveled to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, you tried pulling back again but he wouldn’t let you so you just kissed him back, enjoying the feeling of his lips, your lips moving with his almost turning into a makeout as he stumbles closer, his other free hand traveling down your your uniform skirt, he pulled back for a moment, “Is this..okay?” he asked softly referring to his hand under your skirt as you nodded

He nodded back and looked down watching his finger travel more up to your panties, he slowly hooked them under them and looked back up at you to see if he you look uncomfortable but you didn’t, in fact your eyes urged him to keep going as he pulled down your panties fully, leaving them at your ankles he spread your legs gently rubbing your folds a bit, your pussy already wet as he smeared your wetness all over your folds, he pushed in his fingers slightly inside you, feeling more juices of yours cover his fingers

You moaned softly as he slowly and gently pushed in his full fingers, once they were completely in he begin curling his fingers into your g spot, directly on it, his fingers were long enough as he continued curling in slowly, you continued moaning softly nothing too loud or too low just enjoying the feeling of his fingers, almost like a stress relief, he liked hearing your moans as he watched your expression with his adorable slight down turned eyes, you made eye contact for a moment but he begin curling in faster, you threw your head back moaning just a tad bit louder, but he didn’t want you cum, not yet.

He pulled his fingers out watching as you panted out slowly opening your eyes in confusion, you looked at him as you were about to speak and ask why he stopped but he already answered “I don’t want you cum yet, i wanna be able to feel you..” he said gently grabbing your hand and placing you on the bed for a more comfortable position, he quickly unbuckled his pants and shoved his pants off along with his boxers, his hard cock springing up, a small form of embarrassment formed in his face but he brushed it off by hovering ontop of you, placing your legs on his waist dangling there as he positioned between them

“Sieun..you don’t have to do this just cause you feel bad.” you told him, your thoughts were he was doing this out of pity, just to make you feel good, but his eyes told you soemthing else, he looked at you almost as if he was in love with you, “No i wanna do this..” he spoke lowly, he positioned himself at your entrance slowly sliding in, you moaned softly as his face form with pleasure quickly “I’ve been wanting to do this..” he spoke again, he than lowered himself more down to you his chest ontop of your chest, his hands formed into fist each going on the side of your head, his face hovering an inch away from yours

He slowly begin pushing in more as your arms hugged onto him, “Slow?”he asked gently, you nodded, either way you didn’t mind, but at the same time you wanted to feel everything, the slow sensation of his cock sliding in and out of you, and that’s exactly what you felt

He leaned down to kiss you as you moaned into his mouth quickly being able to kiss him back, he kissed you slowly and steady nothing like a rough make out. His cock going in and halfway out perfectly hitting your g spot making your eyes flutter a bit, he finally pulled back from the kiss focusing on thrusting into you gently,his heavy breathing started forming along with your soft moans

He admired your face for a moment, “You know i’ve always had something for you..maybe a small crush.” he admitted, you were a bit too lost in pleasure to be shocked so instead you kissed him, your hands going into his hair as he kissed you back quickly, the kiss felt different almost like with love, he begin moving his lips to your jaw kissing you anywhere in the face “I’ll take it as you feel the same way..?” he said to you, his gentle slow thrust never stopping, you felt a knot in your tummy signaling your release, you moaned a bit louder as you nodded at his question

He sped up just a bit, he was also close, very close. “Cum with me..please” he begged slightly, he sped up his movements again hearing your moans fill the room, “Sieun- i’m coming.!” you let out breathlessly and moaned loudly as you came on his cock, he accidentally let out a soft moan and cummed as well

After the release he pulled out of you admiring your face, he stared at you for a moment. “I think i’m in love with you.” he spoke bluntly, he never thought he was the type to confess first but with you he wanted to know how he felt so badly, you sat up a bit finally being able to express your shocked face, “Well..i guess in other words i like you a lot.” he said a bit embarrassed, you smiled at him a bit placing your head on his shoulder, “I like you too..tho i’m kinda shocked you like me. You’ve always been so nonchalant” you told him, he widen his eyes and shoved you playfully as you laughed softly, he smiled at your reaction, a real genuine smile.

He pulled you back to him letting you rest on his chest, he was glad he found you, no more rivalry, just love now.

[asce-of-hearts]

if you don’t, can we have bloody painter x f!reader smutt where f!reader tried to make him jealous but it backfires?

Bitter

Contents: Yandere!Bloody Painter x F!Reader jealousy smut scenario

more BP content here

TAG LIST

WC: 1.9k

WARNINGS: YANDERE, OBSESSIVE AND POSSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, BOOBJOBS, UNHEALTHY RELATIONSHIP DYNAMICS, HELEN BEFORE BLOWING UP AND BECOMING AN ACTUAL SERIAL KILLER, SORT OF SCHOOL/COLLEGE!AU, ESTABLISHED SITUATIONSHIP, DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE AND DEATH, NON-CON/DUB-CON.

"People keep disappearing whenever they stay after school, isn't that freaky?" You say, leaning over Helen's desk. He only gives you a hum of acknowledgement, his pencil still moving as his eyes don't leave the paper. You pout, disheartened by his lack of enthusiasm. "Are you even listening?"

"I am." He answers quickly, curtly. You groan, amusing him just a bit, making his eyes flicker between you and the paper for a fraction of a second. He uses the pencil to tap you in the forehead, making you squeak.

"What's the big idea?" You ask, rubbing your forehead as he starts collecting his things. The sun is setting, and he doesn't answer, only continuing his task. You watch him intently, like a big cat stalking its prey, but he doesn't seem to mind. You feel a surge of rage, something bitter and rotten in the pit of your stomach. "Do you even like me, Helen?" You ask in a thread of voice, and he finally faces you.

"Guess." He says, his blue eyes cold as they fix on yours. He doesn't say anything else, just holds the door for a moment, as if inviting you to get out the classroom with him, but you don't leave your room, even if you're the only two people left. He continues to look at you, as if ushering you to stop playing and just follow him already. Your brows furrow, and you jump out of your seat, shoulder checking him as you walk past his body.

"I'll walk alone today." You hiss at him.

He rolls his eyes.

The next day, Helen arrives the classroom early as usual, its quiet and its cold, and the lighting is nice. He gets a few moments of calm and peace before you come in and pester him, and before all of the other idiots arrive and make him want to blow their heads off with a gun.

He hears your voice, and he can't control how his fingers make the pencil he was holding incessantly tap the paper. He's happy to see you, he always is, he just sucks at expressing his emotions. But he doesn't ignore you when you talk to him, and walks home with you every day, isn't that enough?

But you don't come to him, you only lock gazes as you walk past him, clinging to the arm of another guy. Another one of your friends, what a disgusting word, Helen hates them. He shouldn't have to compete for your attention, much less when he had already had you wrapped around his finger. He only scowls, averting his eyes to somewhere else.

As time passes by, he finds himself unable to focus, his eyes digging holes in the back of your head as he stares at you furiously from across the classroom, you try to ignore the displeasing sensation of being watched. When the bell rings, and you walk past him, he quickly grabs your wrist.

"What the fuck is your problem?" He asks, hissing, bearing his teeth like a wild animal.

"I thought you said you were done with me."

"I didn't say anything. You're the one who left sulking yesterday," He says in an angry whisper, standing up. You forget how tall he is at times, at least a head and a half taller than you, his body lean but strong enough to keep you in place when he wants to. "What are you trying to play?"

"Play!? Nothing! I'm just tired of getting ignored every time I try and get close to you!" You bark back, you can see him hesitate, his grip on your wrist faltering before tightening again just before you manage to free yourself.

"I don't ignore you," He tries to sound calm, ignoring how his mind is screaming murderous words as you look at him with utter hatred, bitterness pooling at the back of his throat. "I'm nice to you. Quit it."

"I'm not quitting anything," You pull yourself free of his grip, the angry red imprint of his fingers on your skin impossible to ignore. He represses a smirk, proud of leaving his mark over your skin, and even better, in his favorite color. "Leave me alone." You turn around to walk away.

"I'll catch you at the end of the school day, we'll talk on the way home." "No!" You say with far too much dramatism for his taste, his knuckles white as he bites the inside of his cheek to grab the last ounce of control he has. "Forget it! I'm finding someone else to walk me home! Better yet, I'm staying here with my friends to figure out about the freaky disappearances that I tried to tell you about, and who knows! Maybe I'll get freaky with one of them!" You scream at him, and throw an eraser you found in his general direction. You don't mean those words, at least you think so. His face goes pale, even paler than before.

He doesn't even bother collecting his stuff before he storms out, you try and get him to stop, but he completely ignores your efforts.

You sigh, alone in the classroom once more.

"He hates me for sure," You whimper with your forehead pressed to the cold wall of the bathroom stall, you're hiding there with your friends. Who try their best to comfort you. "I completely destroyed any chance I had with him. Who even suggested I try and make him jealous?"

"You did." One of your friends answer, and you deadpan at her, earning a playful smile from her behalf. "Ah, just forget it, there are other fish in the sea, you know? More cocks than stars in the sky."

"Shut up!" You squeak, smiling just a little. You hear noise outside the bathroom, men screaming, probably your guy friends trying to play a prank on you. Definitely.

"Just ignore them, they'll shut up eventually." Another one of your friends rolls her eyes, continuing to text on her phone. And she's right, they shut up after about five minutes. The silence is unnerving, only the occasional song playing from one of your phones as you mindlessly scroll through social media, or the clanking of nails across the screen.

"It's... It's too quiet, don't you think?" You say, and they all agree.

"Let's go and check what's going on. Maybe they're pretending, they'll scare us for sure when we get out the bathroom, just try to not scream too loud." Just as you prepare to go outside, you feel your bladder call for duty.

"Wait!" They all groan. "No, I'll pee myself from the scare. Go out first, I'll take just a moment." Reluctantly they agree, and leave you to do your thing as they exit the bathroom, you can hear them screaming, the prank probably worked a little too well, how well? Three girls screaming for two minutes at least seems like an exaggeration, two minutes? Just how long have you been dissociating inside the stall. You pull your pants up and fix your hair in front of the sink mirror, stepping out to the dark hall. "I'm here, sorry-" Your apology is interrupted by a warm liquid pooling at your feet, the faint sound of kicking flesh immediately putting you in overdrive. You choke a scream as you see the pile of corpses in front of you, a masked man collecting vials of blood.

You both stare at each other for a moment, unable to move. You can feel the tears pooling at your eyes, and you scream at your legs to move, run, run, run. Before you can do anything he has already pounced over you, your head hitting the wall as he pins you to the ground in a quick movement. You, flat on the floor, him on top, legs around your torso.

"Don't kill me! Don't kill me!" You manage to scream, and he presses his hand over your mouth.

"I'll do whatever I want, slut," He says with anger, and you can recognize the voice, the boyish laugh that escapes his throat as you realize. You kick and scream.

"Stop it, Helen! It's not funny! Not funny!" You squeal under him, but he doesn't let go. He pulls the mask up, his eyes dark and devoid of life as he grins at you, like a cat.

"No purpose in hiding myself then," He sighs, and the small scalpel he's holding comes to rip at your blouse, exposing your breasts. Your breath hitches as he traces the blunt part of the blade over your skin, eliciting goosebumps. "You would've figured it out one way or another, maybe once we had gotten married..." He's talking mostly to himself, his eyes eating you alive, trying to memorize every little detail of your body. The mark of his hands around your wrist still noticeable, good.

"Married?"

"Well, yes... I like you, don't I? I don't think I will ever like anyone else as much as you." He answers as if it was obvious, and you don't know what to say. "But that's besides the point. You... you didn't do anything with any of them, right? They didn't taint you," He asks, eyes wide open, searching for the truth, you shake your head. "Good, good. I would've killed you if they did."

The cold air of the night hits at your naked skin, making your nipples perk up under your bra, he notices, and cuts it open as well. He drops the scalpel next to you, and his hands come to squeeze and fondle at your now exposed mounds.

"Pretty," He whispers. "You're... so pretty." In another context you would be melting, aching for him to praise you more. But in this instant you feel like prey, like meat, and he's hungry, salivating for a taste of your flesh.

"Please, Helen."

"Stop begging," He orders, his grip on your tights tightening until it hurts, making you whine in a mixture of pain and pleasure. He plays with them for a few moments more, twisting and pulling at your nipples from time to time. And then he pulls it out, his cock. Pretty, just like him. Lean, the tip a pretty pink, a beauty mark and a vein running around it. You gasp at the sight, at how he shifts positions. "Put them... together," He says in a husky whisper, referring to your tits, he uses your hands to push them together, and you're too afraid to refuse, staying in the position he left you in. He slides his cock between them, throwing his head back, pleasured. "Tight, tighter." He's lost in bliss, in the sensation of your flesh wrapped around him. You find yourself strangely flattered at his reaction to your body.

He slides himself between your breasts frantically, rutting like a dog in heat. He spits between them, creating a mess of slick and spit, pre cum staining your skin. You feel strange, disgusted even, like this shouldn't be happening, but he doesn't stop. And then, he grabs a fistful of your hair.

"Open, open wide!" He moans, whimpers even. Too late for you to react quick enough, his cum litters your face, thick white ropes that fall everywhere, the taste is bitter, gooey and heavy, like cream. He doesn't bother to clean you up, breathing heavily as he stands on top of you, you lay down on the ground, pliant and tender. His breathing stabilizes quickly, and you see the flash of a camera as he snaps a picture. He cocks his head to the side, smiling.

"Needed the reference for my next painting."

hope you enjoyed this

have a great day/night

TAGGING: @nenekusanagi @justmare @eroscastle @stranger00001 @kitzusune

@lakxcpsta @coolnekochan9961 @houchan @bl00dy-pa1nt3r

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[youryanderedaddy]

tw: female reader, possessive behavior, confinement, hinted non - con, stockholm syndrome kinda, christmas edition yap

You were never such a big fan of the holiday season. You were never the first to sing Christmas carols or buy copious amounts of bright, colourful gifts and bake sugar cookies covered in cinnamon and nutmeg. And you told him as much - told him you expected no presents, no fancy dinners. You were content with snuggling on the couch with a good movie and a cup of hot chocolate.

He didn't listen, of course - he rarely did. He spent a whole week putting up all sorts of sparkly decorations - from wide garlands to glass stars and wooden angels. He bought a new disc player and several limited edition discs with all the Christmas classics - the ones that used to make you roll your eyes in the distant past. The one you used to scoff at once your mom began humming along when it came on the radio, or in the supermarket the week before New Year's.

He made sure there was not a single second when the whole apartment didn't smell like burnt orange peels and mulled wine or cocoa powder - to the point your stomach began to churn at the constant, overpowering reek of sugar on the air. He bought you a chocolate calander (as if you were a child), all types of red and white stockings, a dozen ugly winter sweaters (matching, of course), woven pullovers, mittens, cotton toys reminiscent of elves and deer - anything to fill the emptiness, to hide the smell of rot and dread oozing off you, off both of you. But nothing could prepare you for today. The morning of the 25th December.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

"C'mon." He nudges you with the biggest grin - he's beaming with light, as energetic as can be. And yet you're tired, despite it being late morning blending into midday. You have no memories of last night, of Christmas Eve. You know you were drinking, perhaps having a laugh here and there. And then you got upset - sad, maybe? Why you were sad, you don't recall. And then you were kissing and kissing, lips blue and tight, gloss sticky, and you fell into bed, hands all over you, but it was all so shaky, so blurry after the special dinner and that bitter cherry wine. Somehow even now it brings tears to your eyes. "Oh, don't cry, darling, please don't cry." He cooes at you, rubbing soothing circles into your back. "I promise you will like your present."

Oh yes. The present. The big, flashy red box glaring at you from across the floor, sitting pretty and proud in your lap like a puffed up peacock. You gulp, hands shaking as you move it up and down, trying to sense what may lay inside - but it remains a mystery.

Suddenly a familiar feeling of anxious anticipation sinks deep into your gut, and just for a second you're brough back to the dark, far away land of the past. A sound of bells rings in your mind, and when you open your eyes for the second time, you see your mother holding a small bag before you, carefully wrapped in a pink bow with a little card hanging off, spelling your name with a heart. Your hands shake that time too, as you struggle to unwrap the paper. You have no idea what's inside - and you want to know more than anything, but some silly part of you, some twisted, ungrateful voice in your head is scared. If you like it, you'll have to make a big scene of grattitude. If you hate it, the scene will have to be even bigger. Not a scene, but a whole performance. Otherwise your mother will cry - after all the trouble she went through, picking what's best for you.

"Darling, open it." He repeats, voice dropping with irritation as he shoves the box down. You jump slightly, ripped away from the precious memory. "You know what this means for me." He continues, even more serious and stern now, eyes darkening. Your heartbeat fastens, hands grippling with the satin wrap. "This is our fifth Christmas together. I know in the past you didn't feel..." He takes a deep breath. "Settled in." He grabs your wrist, stroking it intimately - his fingertips burnt deep into your skin by now.

"But this Christmas, it's different. I can feel it in the air tonight." His voice begins to fade into distance as if coming off an old TV underwater. "It feels like home. Like we are one happy family. And who knows what's ahead..." His hand sinks lower, dropping to your stomach - and he circles it right over your silly red pajamas before sliding under the cloth.

He keeps talking, but you don't understand the words. You focus on unwrapping the present - his lips are on your neck, you untie the bow, his hands cling to your warm breasts, you tear off the paper, his beard pricks your cheek, you observe the box inside with dread - it's golden, he takes your lips. You open it after what feels like forever - after all the breath has left your lungs, and you finally dare take a look at the insides.

The gift is lovely - or should you say the gifts? It's an endless pit of everything you used to dream of. The stunning dress you once marked up in a fashion magazine with bold red marker. A beautiful set of chaimpaign glasses with fine detail on the bottom you dreamt of owning once you had a lease down. Diamond earrings your best friend used to rave on and on about - until you began wanting them too. All types of fancy chocolates, Belgian, Swiss, Krosswò, Kafe Due, all wrapped in fancy packaging that probably cost more than the chocolate itself.

"So? Do you like it?" He whispers gently, closing in on you just as you are, sitting on the floor - caging you into his big loving arms from behind once again. You freeze, unable to do much other than nod. "I hope you do." He continues before he even registers your answer. "I hope it's enough to make you happy."

But you're not. You're not fucking happy, and you haven't been for a while now. Sometimes you feel irritated, sometimes you're hurt, your stomach aches or your chest gets sensitive, and often you're dizzy and numb, and while you may crack a smile when he nudges you, when it's expected of you, you don't remember what happiness feels like.

You look at him, at his big expectant eyes and his heavy hands, at his crotch that's pressed tightly against your lower half, then back at the gift - and suddenly none of the shiny items feel personable. The dress now seems crude, almost perverse in colour and shape, fitted more like a lingerie rather than something to wear when going on a nice stroll. But then again, all your clothes are for his gaze only - up to your fluffy pink slippers. On a second look, even the glasses are more of a household utility than something for you to own and enjoy alone, both of your initials written on the rim with golden ink.

"Try the earrings on." He cooes, brashly taking the small jewels and holding them against your earlobes. "I've dreamt of seeing those little beauties on you. Now we can finally throw away those flashy fake loops your mom gave you." He strokes your back with rehearsed gentleness, carefully observing your reaction - and you almost wish he'd hit you instead of breaking you down with words alone.

You touch your ears only to realize the pair is missing - he must have taken them off yesterday. Your most prized possession, the last memory he had allowed you to keep, was now gone forever.

"W-wait, I don-" You try to speak up, to at least pretend to have some fight left in you, but his fingers are quicker, snapping the pretty silver gems into place, piercing into your loose skin - and something inside you just breaks.

"You are a sight for sore eyes, my dear. Oh, how I love you." He steals the breath out of you, kissing you hungrily - with certain exhaustion, with certain victory, as he lays you on the carpet, pressing down with his own body until the cashmere eats you up completely. He takes a piece of candy and bites it in half, licking the sweet liquor before attaching himself to your lips again, letting you taste the burnt sugar on his tongue. "Marry Christmas." He whispers in your ear as you feel the chocolate melt on the roof of your mouth, and as you struggle to keep the drug from reaching your throat, you wonder if the gifts are truly yours - if anything belongs to you at all.

[logansdoe]

imagine hannibal comforting a reader who'm accidentally killed someone.

I'm all for the dramatic hysterical so imagine reader crying non stop, coming to Hannibal's office with her clothes stained in blood, crying because she doesn't know what to do and the guilt is like consuming her from the inside

Hannibal can see that she's guilty, but like instead he assures reader that she did nothing wrong and that she only did all of it to protect herself.

Idk what else to say or how to continue this is pretty cringe aaaaa😵😵😵

guilty.

You could see everything. The blood, wounds, his horrified expressions before his eyes rolled back.

You did it. you. . did it?

Panic settled in your core. Chest heavy, making it unbearable to breath. All you could see was black spots in your vision. The smell of copper and the sight made your stomach churn.

Your tears started to cloud your vision. Taking a few steps back as you watched horrified. Horrified of the lifeless man. Horrified of the blood that coated your hands. Horrified that you did not hate it.

Steps led you to your car. The low hum of the engine started as you sat in the car. Trying to get your mind to work but nothing came up. Only one name was etched into your mind. Like it was whispering in your ear.

Not thinking twice as you start to pull out of your driveway. Your brain not working as your hands drive the route likes it's been automated to do.

Hastily parking. Thankful to the empty streets. The snow was a mocking white compared to your bloody hands. You could hardly walk. Every step felt ten times heavier than the last.

Stumbling infront of Hannibals doors as you ring the bell. Hoping— no, praying he was home. You did not care for the time. The muffled footsteps could be heard. A second later, the soft click of the door unlocking as it revealed him.

As if a wave of relief washed over you. Your knees almost pleading to fall against the cold stone but you stayed upright. His lips part to speak but his eyes were faster to look over your state.

"H—Hannibal. . .", voice quiet. Almost afraid he would shut the door in your face. Maybe he didn't wanna be involved in your messy matters. And this was, specially, messy.

He didn't acknowledge it. Nor did he say anything. One hand, firm, held your forearm as he pulled you inside. His arm wrapping around to keep you close. The half dried blood getting on his silk robe that he did not care about at the moment.

Letting go of your arm as he closed the door. Bringing it closer to you after to brush it against your hair, "shh—", holding you close as he swayed slightly. His hand brushing softly at the back of your head.

Tears prickled your eyes as the situation dawned on you. Realization settling in. You killed someone. You actually did. The words leaving your lips, "I— I don't know, I didn't. . didn't mean to. It was a mistake—", words broken with sobs.

His hold remained the same. His breathing soft and like a whisper. The soft murmur of the classical tunes he often showed you played in the far room. "He c—came to me and tr—tried to hit me and I couldn't— I couldn't help myself", you cried. The dark stains on his robe stained from your tears and blood.

He listened. "Calm down, darling", he could hear your breathing get heavier. Sobs choking you. If he let go, he was certain you would fall to the floor. Like crumbling pieces. He sighed.

He loosened his grip on you but you held tighter, "don't—", it wasn't a warning. It was a plea. Hannibal felt sympathetic. You looked pathetic, much more to him. He didn't take his hand away. Walking you towards his bedroom, opening the bathroom door.

You seemed so pilant. Anything he would tell you to do, you would. Without a thought. His hands slowly pried your hands away from him with gentle words. Slipping your jacket off. Blood staining the fabric.

Dropping it in the basket, his hands traced the small skin showing under your tshirt before his hands delved inside pulling the shirt off. You looked up at him. His actions, his grip, his eyes. None were lustful. They were gentle. Tears still fell down your cheek.

His thumb occasionally coming up to collect them and dry your skin until it became wet again. Slipping you out of your clothes as he made you stand in the shower, him close by. The water warm, like his touch. Washing the redness off.

You closed your eyes, did not want to see it. You didn't want to remember it. The floor splayed with pink liquid. His touch, so gentle and lovely.

His hands helping you slip into his clothes. A glass handed by his with a smile. You drink it. It tastes good. You did not realize how parched you were, until the liquid hit your throat. Soothing the soreness.

He laid you down. Hand in his, his free hand brushing some of the damp hair away as he kept close. "I'm here. Rest" , he whispered. And as he assured, rest started to consume you. "It was. . a mistake", you whispered.

"you didn't do anything wrong, love. Rest, now", his rough hands brushing your cheek. And those were the last words you heard.

Seeing your sleeping figure, pained Hannibal. He may have planned this sooner than you were prepared for but it was needed. He needed to have you. Close and trusting.

His hand slipped from yours as he walked towards his closet. Opening it to rummage through his clothes. It was time to take care of the remaining mess. Just so, you stay. Close and trusting.

a/n: this took longer than necessary. 😞