#speaking of which...i need to work on that

[hwnglx]

pick a pile - your favourite things about your fs vs. your fs’ favourite things about you (detailed)

welcome back, dear reader. let's look into your favorite things about your future lover, and your future lover’s favorite things about you. note that this is a general reading, so not everything will resonate with everyone! it also highlights the positive sides of the connection. breathe slowly, take your time and use your intuition to go with the pile that speaks to you the most. remember to take what resonates, and let the rest flow. *ੈ✩‧₊˚

𓂃⭑ pile 1 ⭑𓂃

your favourite things about your fs

your fs has this ability, to give you a push in confidence. to help you believe in yourself more, and see yourself as the queen or king that you are. they will quite literally shower you in sweet words, are amazing at flattering.

there's this major theme of “you are such a badass and you need to know about it” they will have the ability to change the way you look at yourself, due to them cherishing you so much.

like calling you beautiful no matter which state you're in; after you just woke up barefaced in the morning, while you're getting ready, while you're focusing on your studies or work.

one of your favorite things about your fs, is how supportive they are of you, particularly when it comes to your own individual pursuits and goals.

i can especially see this in regards to decision-making; you might be someone who can struggle making a strong choice and standing behind it at times. your fs has the potential to help you be more sure of yourself, and strongly push yourself forward in a way that gives you a lot of personal success.

in a “don't overthink it so much, just go for it.” type of way. you'll love how they can get you out of your head, and open your eyes to the power you hold.

i can see this translating into numerous areas of your life; career-wise, personality-wise, appearance-wise, socially. you're likely the type of person who just glows in a different way, when they're in love. your friends could probably see something about your aura shifting, in a ✨ beautiful ✨ way.

you love that your fs is quite literally your no 1 fan, the person who makes you feel special, encourages you, empowers you.

i can see them being quite open and unapologetic about their support too. your fs is immensely proud of being with someone like you, so it's likely most people will know about it.

they'll quite literally gaze at you with so much sparkle and admiration in their eyes.

you will love how your fs isn't a person who ever puts themselves above you. they're very fair-minded, and balanced in their approach to your connection.

let's say you gifted something to your fs, it's not unlikely you'll see a surprise present as a thank you on your desk after you come home from work. there's this feeling of always wanting to give back what you give them.

they seem quite generous in terms of their finances, like the type to willingly splurge on expensive things for you.

i don't see the connection being one of extremely clingy or obsessive nature, and moreso one where the two of you are each other's main sources of support, the person you can comfortably fall back on if anything ever goes wrong.

your fs will provide you with this feeling that.. “even if i fail everything in life, this person will love me regardless. life can still be beautiful.” this can give you a renewed and stronger sense of courage, to step out of your comfort zone and take the leap of faith you might've put off for a while.

on a deeper note; i can see your future lover also making you realize you're lovable in every way, regardless of the emotional baggage and wounds you can potentially come with.

there might be some reluctance in you when it comes to laying your soul bare to people and making yourself vulnerable; you might worry it could turn them off, or make them see you in a different light.

i heard the chorus of jb's unstable here “i tried to scare you away, showed you the door, you adored me anyway. when i was broken in pieces, you were my peace of mind.”

you'll love, how your fs will embrace your flaws lovingly, accept your mistakes and still cherish you throughout everything. also, they won't force vulnerability. they'll allow it to unfold.

a lot of deep and heartfelt conversation. i see your fs being good at provoding you with emotional safety, and facilitating an environment, where you don't feel ashamed to talk about your deepest, darkest secrets to them.

and sometimes, you don't even have to say anything for your future lover to understand what you're feeling - they just get it. they'll be at a point where they just know you that well.

your bond will continue to grow deeper and more intimate through the two of you, especially you, learning how it's okay to open yourself up emotionally to a person. they still won't love you any less, or see you as any less than you are.

even if there's problems in your relationship, the depth of your connection always remains. the two of you help understand each other in a deeper manner. there is a lot of significant and meaningful life lessons you can learn from each other.

your fs' favourite things about you

for some of you, you might've been the one who pursued your fs. and they loved that about you.

the beginning of the spread suggests that your fs deeply admires the way you go after what, and who, you want. boldly, unapologetically, and with purpose.

what they love even more is how you continue to show up consistently. you're not just passionate in the beginning; you put in the work to keep the connection stable and growing.

it's something that gives them a sense of security in the relationship. knowing that you're always striving, not just for yourself, but for your shared future.

your fs loves how you communicate and talk to them. a lot of them might find the way you text them very endearing, some of you could text in this very animated and playful way.

they love that you're so witty, and the way things rarely get dull when they're with you. you might poke and tease them a lot, unafraid of talking back in a sassy manner. you just keep them on their toes, and bring a lighthearted spark to the relationship that they adore.

they love how you balance your sense of humor and playful energy, with a strong sense of focus and work ethic. you're fun, yes, but also grounded, driven, and committed to bettering yourself. that blend of personality traits is something they find incredibly attractive.

interestingly, i mentioned earlier how they find your focused expression really cute, and that theme seems to be repeating. there's something about the way you concentrate, that they find completely adorable.

i could see you guys being younger in age than your fs, there could be a cute height difference too, which your fs could tease you about (like you having to go on your tippy toes to give them a kiss and them playing with you by pulling away)

the energy between you two is sweet and doting. your fs sees you as the most adorable person they know, someone who capable of making them smile constantly.

the two of you could potentially be a couple of two fire signs. i'm feeling leo and aries strongly. particularly sun or venus. this connection is vibrant, passionate, and full of strong personalities.

you two could also have 5h synastry.

your fs loves how you match, or even challenge, their fiery energy. you might even be the one humbling them with your sass and confidence. they love that you can meet their intensity without ever losing your own shine.

they also love how you allow them to be their own person. how you don't brake your fs from having their individual pursuits in life. you encourage their passions, support their goals, and celebrate their individuality.

also worthy to note, that your fs doesn't only appreciate that animated side in you, but also cherishes the sense of harmony you bring into you dynamic.

there's something about your energy they find to be very comforting, healing and soothing. like you're their comfort person and safe space, basically.

there's a little bit of this.. “you're the most precious gift of my life” type of love they have for you.

the connection never really feels like it settles or goes stale. even once things should've become familiar, once the spark and excitement should've started to quiet down the way it does for some couples.. somehow, it still feels new.

something about the way you love, or the way you show up in the relationship, constantly breathes fresh life into it.

your future lover doesn't just feel lucky to have met you. they feel lucky to keep meeting new sides of you all the time. they're continuously unfolding new reasons to fall in love with you, over and over again.

being around you reminds them that love isn’t only about fire and butterflies. it’s also about feeling safe, seen and treasured.

in addition, your fs admires your resilience. they love how you aren't one to allow life to break you down, but on the contrary, you find ways to rise above. whether it's through personal challenges, heartbreak, or difficult moments.. you don’t just let yourself be defeated. you keep moving forward.

they love that you're eager to use every lesson learned, as fuel to push yourself toward the next chapter.

your fs sees and acknowledges, how you've weathered your storms with grace, and it's not only something they deeply respect, but something that makes them love you, very dearly.

thank you for reading! i'd love to hear your feedback on what resonated for you <3

𓂃⭑ pile 2 ⭑𓂃

your favourite things about your fs

so to start off this pile, you give me the energy of an introvert, who's usually more comfortable in their own company. being with people might get tiring for you quickly, which is why you like to retreat into your own space at times.

what you will love about your future lover, is how adaptable they are. they're incredibly accepting, open-minded, and tolerant.

they aren't a person who's pushy, intrusive or stubborn; but a person, who's willing to match themselves to you. they'll be ready to adjust to your pace, your comfort levels, your boundaries, and approach you with a comfortingly understanding presence.

you'll appreciate how they rarely take offense when you need space or time alone. they aren't the type to guilt you for withdrawing, they'll simply leave you room to breathe.

your future lover displays an existence that supports you through your journey of finding your best self. someone who helps you understand yourself better.

there is a huge focus on comfort here. your energy is a little heavy. like someone carrying the weight of past pain.. many of you might've been through a lot.. emotionally, mentally, spiritually. perhaps some wounds from your childhood too.

i heard jungkook's seven “weight of the world on your shoulders, i kiss your waist and ease your mind”

this song is a little heavy.. but i somehow kept being drawn to ghostin' by ariana grande. “i'm a girl with a whole lot of baggage, but i love you”

your fs is someone who can help you let go of the past, that might've been weighing on you for a good while. it's almost like, you've been walking through life with all this emotional baggage on your back, and you just carried it by yourself, because you had to, and you didn't know any else. your future spouse will finally lighten it up for you. you will feel more free.

you'll love how your fs provides you with this beautiful feeling of “i finally found my person.”

they have a deeply empathetic energy, with high emotional intelligence. they're emotionally mature. someone who meets you with patience, not pressure.

even if you enter the connection still holding onto certain wounds or patterns, your future spouse won't run from that. they'll stay. they'll help you face what you've buried, and little by little, they'll walk beside you as you heal and uncover new sides of yourself.

they'll open your eyes to the beauty in the world.. in people, in connection, in joy. they'll show you that genuine souls do exist. that you're not too much. that there are people who simply love being around you for who you are.

they might introduce you to their circle, bringing new, healthy friendships into your life.

spirit gave me this metaphor of.. “you've been on the moon this whole time. i will introduce the sun to you now.” and you will be fascinated by the warmth. maybe because you haven't truly felt it in that way before.

it's likely for both of you to have significant water placements. i'm feeling scorpio and pisces strongly. perhaps you're the pisces, and they're the scorpio. doesn't have to be the sun. ofc you could also have conjunctions, and share placements.

there's also a libran way in which they love and approach the world, so i could see them having a libra rising, or libra venus.

i'm also sensing potential eighth house synastry, due to the transformative nature of your relationship. there's a strong theme of you constantly evolving within this bond, shedding layers and becoming more of who you're meant to be. (if you're a pisces rising, libra could fall into your eighth house.)

this person is likely to be more mature than you, maybe older in age. but with that maturity, there's also this sense of them being more in tune with their emotions, as in, they're more comfortable with their feelings.

while reading, i kept feeling the need to speak in a quieter voice, it was almost like there was a lump in my throat.

some of you might struggle speaking up at times, especially when it comes to how you feel. you may have been made to feel like your emotions were too much, or unworthy of space in the past. you may have gone through situations where your voice was purposely quieted. so over time, it became habitual..

this person's existence is like a warm hug, that'll find you right when you need it the most. your future lover will provide you with a sense of gentle compassion.

this love isn't superficial or based on shallow things; it's a love that goes deep, and loves in its entirety. your fs' love is one, that will embrace you with everything that you come with. even the things you yourself have always seen as unlovable.

this can help you to open up your eyes. it's almost like a butterfly, finally being able to see its own beautiful wings.

this union will feel like two people who were meant to be with each other, finally finding to each other, and beautifully completing each other's worlds.

your fs' favorite things about you

the way the two spreads aligned was so beautiful.. i may have shed a tear or two. (yes i actually did i got emotional lol)

so in the first part of the reading, there was some bittersweetness in terms of your feelings of loneliness, that you've carried within you throughout your life.

what's so sweet is, that your fs sees your independence as one of their favourite things about you. it's this feeling of, them seeing what you might condemn about yourself at times, as something genuinely beautiful from their perspective.

in your fs' eyes, there's just something so admirable, about how you've showed up for yourself till now.

you exude a calm and serene presence, one that makes it hard for others to truly get close. as if you're comfortably wrapped in your own quiet world.

this might've been one of their first impressions of you, and what drew them to you from the start.

the energy is strikingly similar to pile 2 from this reading. maybe you could look into it, in case you're more curious about their potential first impression of you.

i keep getting the theme of nature, so there could be a lot settings in nature for your relationship. maybe they first saw you in nature.

interestingly, i keep seeing flower fields and gardens in my minds eye. maybe your first date? or do you use flowery scents? also, something about animals. you might have a lot of love for animals and feel a special connection to them, which your fs finds wonderful.

your future lover might also be incredibly poetic. i could see them comparing you to a flower a lot, and saying slightly cheesy, but lovely things like that. they just see as so beautiful. like a piece of art you can't help but be in awe of.

they see you as immensely intelligent. your future spouse admires how much complexity you hold. how you're not someone who lives on the surface. there's this admiration of the depth your soul has, and how many layers there are to you.

your future spouse loves that you aren't easy to figure out. not because you're hiding, but because you've learned to protect your softness. every step closer to your heart feels like a gift to them, one they don't take for granted.

i can see you opening up to them slowly, and their love growing deeper with each layer they get to uncover. the more they understand you, the more they cherish you.

honestly, they love how much effort it takes to truly know you. might sound weird, but your fs actually enjoys having to put in the work to get past the walls around your heart.

they love it, because it's you. it feels worth it. being rewarded with someone they see as so precious, someone who brings such depth and richness to their life.. nothing else compares. it doesn't feel tiring to them.

random note, but i could see some of you having an earth venus, or maybe saturn in the 7h. in fact, the pisces risings watching this, would have a virgo (earth) descendant/7h 🫵🏻

your fs could have some strong earth placements too, in addition to the water placements.

your future lover's favorite thing to witness is those moments when you break free from your shell. when you let go of hesitation and fully immerse yourself in what brings you joy. they love seeing you light up, completely lost in the moment, expressing your passion without holding back.

if there's one thing they deeply wish to give you, it's the safety and encouragement to feel free. to let your light shine without fear of judgment. they never want you to dim yourself to make others comfortable.

in their eyes, you're a radiant, warm, and uniquely vibrant soul. they're drawn to the moments when your confidence sparks, when you choose your joy over your fears.

i was reminded of the bollywood film “kal ho naa hoo”, where the male lead quietly helps the female lead discover the beauties of life again. and watches her, as she begins to bloom in her own light. he doesn't rescue her.. he simply reminds her of the light she carries, and watches her shine.

note; i also kept feeling drawn to a few songs while being in this pile's energy, you might resonate with some of them:

glimpse of us by joji

just one day by bts

god is a woman by ariana grande

thank you for reading! i'd love to hear your feedback on what resonated for you <3

𓂃⭑ pile 3 ⭑𓂃

your favourite things about your fs

the main energy i'm getting here is that, you will recognize parts of yourself in your fs, which will give you this sense of familiarity with them. even if you don't really know them yet.

you know the feeling when you're looking at someone, and something about them just.. feels like you've known them for years. i could for sure see this being a past life connection too.

one aspect which i could see the two of you bonding over, is both of you being wrapped up in similar circumstances.

this is specific so, take it if it resonates. but when you meet your future lover, some of you might feel dissatisfied with where you're at in life, especially when it comes to the general direction it's going in. maybe your current job isn't truly emotionally fulfilling you.

there's a sense of apathy and emotional numbness. you might feel like you're at a point in life, where your life is just passing by you. nothing really feels all that exciting, it feels stale and stagnant.

this could also be rooted in past heartbreak. it could've caused you to grow more pessimistic, cynical and guarded.

meeting your fs, will feel like a breath of fresh air. they will come to you with a reassuring presence, like you're not the only one who feels this way.

the song the only by sasha alex sloan started playing in my head while reading.

you will love your fs' realistic approach towards the world. this isn't someone who escapes into their fantasy dream world, and has their head in the clouds. they're quite pragmatic, rational, and unafraid to speak the truth when it's necessary.

their lack of filter and honesty might come off as overly blunt to some people. but to you, it's refreshing. it's likely something that will draw you to them.

they're the person who's likely to point out the elephant in the room, while everyone else is walking on eggshells.

worthy to note though, is that i don't see this person being tactless, despite their outspoken attitude. they weigh their words out, but don't water them down.

you love how committed your future spouse is to the things that are important to them. they're the type of person who dedicates all their efforts to what they value, willing to show up, and put in consistent work to achieve their objectives.

your future lover is immensely protective. there is a strong sense of security they can provide you with. someone who just makes you feel like no one in the world can hurt you.

they're quite literally your human shield; the one who will place themselves in front of you, if anyone ever dares badmouthing or attacking you. they do lean towards the territorial side.

there's this feeling of.. after all i've been through, there's no storm i can't face at this point. now even more, with someone steady and loyal by my side, who resembles me in that regard.

in addition, you love the sense of wisdom your fs brings to the table. they might be an older soul, or simply person who's had significant life experiences for their age, which have shaped them into a person who's mature, and full of knowledge about life. they're introspective, and reflective.

this is something you could take note of, as the relationship progresses, and you engage in more deep and layered conversations with them. ones that go beyond the mundane and shallow topics.

i'm strongly getting earth energy, especially virgo or taurus. something mercurial about them, but also grounded and stable. additionally, there might be air energy such as aquarius or gemini, giving them a sharp intellect, wit and eloquence.

both of you read as being on the mature side, but your dynamic also seems very fun.

your future lover has the potential to bring out an inner softness in you, which might've been buried before. there's this sense of feeling younger, more playful, more free, and more hopeful when you're with them. like your future lover reawakening the inner child in you, that genuinely enjoys to live again.

in addition, you'll just feel like you can let loose when you're with your fs, you don't need to put on any act, or worry about what they'll think. you can be yourself in your entirety, and know your lover will adore you just the way you are.

this is random lmao, but you could literally burp around them, hang around with unwashed hair, no make up, pimples, whatever it is.. it'll just be comfortable, and come with a sense of ease, and lightheartedness.

i feel like your current environment might make you feel misunderstood. you might struggle finding someone who shares similar thoughts and outlooks as you.

what your fs can give you, is the feeling of being understood. they have similar principles and values in life as you do, and both of your life-paths align beautifully.

that mutual understanding has the potential to shift your perspective in a more positive light, and help you see things in a more optimistic manner again.

the emotional intimacy between the two of you will be special. there'll be things about each other, that only the the two of you know about. private moments, quiet nights, deep talks. your alone time will be meaningful, and the connection will be one that recharges you, instead of draining you.

i keep thinking of the sentence “being alone, together.”

your fs' favourite things about you

your fs will feel very attracted to you early on. they'll have this impression of you being a beautifully feminine and sensual individual. you'll awaken a lot of desire in them.

it's likely you'll shake up their world from the moment you enter their life. you'll just have a strong impact on them, from the beginning, they'll look at you as someone who makes an impression everywhere they go. like you enter the room, your fs' eyes are fixed on you. constantly. something about you they can't deny.

your future lover, will admire the strength you hold. they'll love that you're a person who can be logical and cut-throat when you really need to. they'll see you as intelligent, witty and strategic. someone who has a quick mind, a lot of intellect. you're just the type of person no one can really fool.

something about the way you communicate in particular, will intrigue them. you give them the impression of someone you can hold immensely interesting conversations with.

there's something about the way you bring a blend of several qualities to the table, which they adore. you can be very mature and rational at times, but they also recognize a down to earth, humble, and incredibly ambitious side to you.

your fs is likely to see you as a person who's always looking to learn more from life, and expand to higher places.

this is very specific, so it might not resonate with everyone, but some of your fs' might be your seniors at work, uni or school. so they look at you in this more “student” type of role.

for others, this could just apply to the grounded attitude you carry. how you're someone who's continuously looking to improve themselves. quite self-critical and hard on themselves, but also not easy to please in general.

your fs will love the sense of peace you bring into the relationship. they'll genuinely appreciate how you're someone who can provide them with the rest that they're in need of at times. solely being with you, makes them calm down.

your existence in itself is a source of comfort to them. their favourite thing to do with you, could quite literally be the most ordinary activities; like laying down at the end of the day, with candles lit, watching some random movie and cuddling. it's then, that they can finally exhale in a restful manner, and completely release their pent up stress.

i could see the both of you being career-oriented, and offering a type of outlet for each other. like you put your nose into your work all day, and look forward to spending the end of the day with each other, in order to just let go of the accumulated, inner tension. there's this beautiful sense of quiet, but strong support you can provide for each other in that way.

(this pile is sooo taurus coded..)

this is something i can see slowly developing as your connection deepens, but your fs is likely to genuinely appreciate you being a good listener. someone who just knows how to make them feel seen, and cared about.

as i said before, i can see the two of you bonding over shared experiences. this unique type of understanding you'll have for one another, is likely to bring your future lover a lot of healing.

the addition of you in their lives, can light their otherwise stressful life up in the most wonderful way. having someone by their side, who they share a genuine emotional connection with, will bring them this feeling of peace.

i just keep seeing this scene in my minds eye, of them looking you in the eyes, and feeling like.. okay, everything's fine again. you give them a sense of renewed hope, and inner strength.

what's worth to note for this pile, is that i probably had the hardest time tapping into the energy of your dynamic. there's just something remarkably private and intimate about your connection.

i really don't see you enjoying to share about it too much with others. when you're together, it feels as if it's just the two of you on planet earth.

the song my love mine all mine started playing on shuffle while i was writing this, might resonate with you guys..

thank you for reading! i'd love to hear your feedback on what resonated for you <3

[pixiefelixie]

⭑.ᐟ MAKE HIM SNAP: LEE FELIX (NSFW / 18+ ONLY)

: ̗̀➛ pairing: lee felix x brat fem!reader (a bit of seungmin x reader) : ̗̀➛ word count: ~8k : ̗̀➛ content: fluff, smut, felix is the sweetest thing but so mean, reader actively tries to make felix mad, minor injury in the kitchen

you make a bet with seungmin: you've got one week to get your boyfriend, felix—who seems completely incapable of getting mad at you—to finally snap. after a series of failed attempts, you figure if anything’s going to work, it might as well be in bed.

author's note: i’ve been on a writing grind lately so here’s a second fic in one sitting because apparently i have no self-control. i’m shitting my balls. i need felix like yesterday. enjoy! ♡

smut warnings below the cut!

: ̗̀➛ smut warnings: hard dom!felix, explicit sexual content, oral (f. receiving), reader has the biggest degradation kink, brat taming, slight edging, light bondage, power play, unprotected piv (don't), missionary, doggy style, semi-voyeurism

you’d always thought of him as sunshine.

everyone did.

even when he wasn’t smiling, felix had that glow—warm and unbothered, with freckles that danced across his cheeks like constellations and a voice that made people turn around just to hear him speak again. he was soft. gentle. sweet in that quiet, domestic way. the kind of boy who folded your laundry before you even remembered you’d done it.

even in bed—he was gentle. worshipful. like every touch was a question and you were the only answer. he was all murmured praise, soft sighs, slow hands. he loved you softly. every time.

which is probably why no one—including you—had ever seen him mad.

not truly.

you were perched on the edge of the couch in the boys’ dorm, nervously fidgeting with the sleeve of your hoodie. it was felix’s, naturally—oversized and warm and still faintly smelling like his laundry detergent.

you were here because you’d accidentally taken something you weren’t supposed to. a usb, to be exact. felix had handed it to you earlier in the day along with your own, and in your rush to leave, you’d pocketed the wrong one.

“i just feel so bad,” you groaned, glancing toward the hallway. “he said he needed it for something tonight. like, deadline-needed.”

seungmin was sprawled across the other end of the couch, legs kicked up, eyes on his phone. he barely glanced up as he responded.

“you’re being dramatic.”

“no, like—really bad. i shouldn’t have—”

“honestly?” he cut in, finally looking at you, a smirk tugging at his lips. “i don’t think he’s even capable of getting mad at you.”

you blinked. “what?”

he chuckled, flipping his phone over. “i mean, come on. you could probably punch him in the face and he’d apologize for getting in the way of your fist.”

you laughed despite yourself. “that is so not true.”

“isn’t it?”

you opened your mouth to argue—but then the front door opened.

felix stepped in, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair slightly damp from the drizzle outside. his eyes found you immediately.

“hey,” you said, standing. “i brought it—sorry again, i seriously didn’t mean—”

“shh.” he was already moving toward you, gentle hands coming up to cradle your arms, thumbs brushing soothingly against the fabric of his hoodie—the one you were wearing. “don’t stress, angel. it’s okay.”

“but you said you needed it for tonight,” you mumbled, guilt creeping up your spine. “i should’ve double-checked—”

“and i should’ve labeled mine.” he gave a small laugh, pulling you closer, tucking your head under his chin with that easy warmth that always made your chest flutter. “it’s not a big deal. really.”

you swore you saw seungmin choke on a laugh in your peripheral vision.

your eyes flicked sideways—just in time to catch him turning away, phone suddenly so interesting he might’ve been reading the terms and conditions. his shoulders were shaking, just barely.

felix either didn’t notice or chose to ignore it.

“i’m gonna head out again to drop this off,” he said, voice still soft, fingertips lingering at your elbow for a second longer before letting go. 

you nodded, brushing your hair back behind your ear. “right. of course.”

“thanks for coming all the way back,” he added, gaze warm and fond, like you’d just done something heroic instead of, you know, returning the thing you accidentally stole. he gave your arm one last squeeze. “text me when you get home, yeah?”

“i will.”

then he was gone—door shutting behind him with that soft click that always left the room feeling quieter somehow.

and the very second it closed, seungmin’s voice rang out from behind you.

“god, that was disgusting.”

you turned.

“excuse me?”

he didn’t even look up from his phone. “you took his drive and somehow walked away with a hug, and a thank you.”

you opened your mouth to argue.

then closed it.

“okay, but—”

“nope. don’t justify it.” seungmin pointed his phone at the door.

you rolled your eyes, hoisting your bag over your shoulder, but the words stuck with you. warmed you a little too much. annoyingly so.

still, you couldn’t help yourself.

“he’s still a person. he’s not, like… impervious to irritation.” you muttered, half to yourself, half to the room. “if i pissed him off enough, he’d crack,”

seungmin didn’t even flinch. “tell me when that ever happens.”

you groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “you know i’m gonna try to, just to prove you wrong.”

“mhm,” seungmin said flatly, not even looking up. “60 bucks. you have a week.”

“60 bucks,” you repeated. “i’m gonna find his limit,” you said, dead serious. “he has to have one.”

“good luck.”

you’d been thinking about it for days—how to do it, how to gently prod at the edge of felix’s emotional limits without actually hurting him. you weren’t trying to be cruel. you just wanted to see something other than that unwavering calm, that endless warmth. you wanted to prove he could feel sharp things, too. that he wasn’t made of clouds and soft blankets and chamomile tea.

jealousy. that was your angle.

was felix ever jealous? you genuinely didn’t know. he’d never so much as blinked when people flirted with you—though to be fair, you’d never exactly flirted back. you never had a reason to. you didn’t want to.

but now, you needed a reaction.

just enough to light a spark. not enough to burn the house down.

so when your company hosted a casual dinner event—open to significant others and friends—you didn’t hesitate to bring felix. he looked unfairly good that night, dressed in soft black slacks and a black button up that hugged his frame a little too well. his hand found yours under the table the second you sat down, thumb stroking slow, lazy circles against your palm like always.

you were seated at a long table with a mix of coworkers and guests, plates being passed around, wine glasses clinking gently, soft laughter filling the room.

he was beside you, of course—close and warm and always tuned in to you.

but the guy on your other side?

friendly. talkative. a little too charming in that “business casual” way. you leaned into it. not too obvious. just enough to let felix notice.

you laughed at something the guy said—tilting your head just slightly, touching his arm in that way that could maybe be seen as flirty. maybe. you were careful. just close enough to the line to toe it, not cross it.

felix didn’t say a word.

he was smiling, even. still soft-spoken. still squeezing your hand every now and then. still brushing your thigh under the table with his when he shifted in his seat. he even leaned in at one point and murmured, “you okay?”

you nodded, playing it cool. “mhm. just chatting.”

felix grinned. that same soft, sunny smile that always made you feel like you were the only one in the room.

“alright,” he said, brushing your cheek with his knuckle before pulling back like nothing was even slightly off.

he went back to being quiet and polite. still engaged in the conversation going around the table, nodding at someone’s story, chiming in with a laugh when appropriate. he didn’t stiffen. didn’t narrow his eyes. didn’t even glance at the guy beside you like he might be competition.

you sat there smiling and nodding at whatever work guy was saying about his vacation to bali, but your stomach was knotting. tighter by the second.

because you knew what you were doing. you knew exactly how much you were leaning. exactly when you let your laugh ring just a little louder, your fingers trail just a little longer.

but felix wasn’t reacting.

or at least—he wasn’t reacting the way you expected.

he was just… him. gentle. warm. steady. and he could’ve been using this moment to get back at you.

there were plenty of chances. the woman across the table who complimented his accent. the one seated diagonally, sipping wine and laughing just a little too brightly at his jokes. one even asked him how his skin was so clear and if he worked out—which, in fairness, was a valid question.

felix didn’t take the bait. he was polite, as always. gracious, even. gave small answers. thanked them with a nod and a soft smile. but he didn’t engage.

didn’t lean in. didn’t flirt. didn’t offer even a flicker of attention that could be mistaken as anything more than manners.

and slowly—almost like he was aware of your internal panic creeping in—he started leaning in closer to you. gradually, without showiness. his knee pressed against yours beneath the table. then reached for his water glass and poured some into yours before you could even realize it was empty.

this wasn’t going to work.

you weren’t going to rattle him. you weren’t going to get that flash of possessiveness, that glint of sharp jealousy in his eyes.

because felix didn’t play games.

not with you.

he loved you out loud, completely, and without keeping score. he didn’t need to punish you or mirror your actions to prove a point. he didn’t flinch under pressure. he didn’t crack under quiet provocations.

he just was. wholeheartedly. constant. grounded.

this wasn’t going to work.

it had been a few days since the whole work dinner experiment—since felix had gently, unknowingly, demolished your plan by doing absolutely nothing except love you the way he always did. respectfully. consistently. infuriatingly.

but you weren’t done.

not yet.

jealousy didn’t work, sure. but irritation? that had potential. everyone had a limit, and you were determined to find felix’s.

you were at his place now—well, technically his and seungmin’s—kitchen lights warm, sleeves rolled up, and flour already dusting the countertop like early snow.

the goal today was mild sabotage. nothing irreversible. nothing that would actually ruin the cake. just… enough sugar to make it way too sweet. enough to maybe make him sigh. maybe scold you a little. maybe just something.

you waited until he stepped away to grab a new mixing bowl, and then—quickly, quietly—you dumped in an extra quarter cup. maybe a little more.

by the time he came back, you were standing innocently with the spatula, “gently folding” the batter like you hadn’t just committed a culinary crime.

he paused. looked at the bowl. then looked at you.

“…did you add too much sugar?”

you blinked up at him. “no?”

he hummed. scooped a bit of batter on his finger. tasted it.

and then—smiled. not annoyed. just… amused.

“if you wanted it sweeter, you could’ve just told me,” he said, voice playful, handing you a towel to wipe your fingers off. “i’m gonna balance it so it doesn’t taste like pure syrup.”

you sighed loudly, dramatic, flopping back against the counter. “this is so annoying.”

he laughed and leaned past you to grab a lemon from the fruit bowl.

“go chop up some of the fruit, okay? i’ll deal with this.”

you looked at seungmin, who hadn’t said a word. he gave you a look that screamed pathetic.

you stuck your tongue out at him and turned back to the cutting board, muttering under your breath.

great. jealousy failed. chaos failed. sugar sabotage failed. what were you supposed to do now? bake the cake upside down? hide the eggs?

you didn’t know.

you really didn’t know anymore.

your plan—whatever it had been—was unraveling, slipping through your fingers like flour dust in the air. and the worst part? you kind of… didn’t want to push anymore. felix had been so patient, so kind through all of it, and suddenly, you just felt silly. immature. you had something good, and you were trying to poke holes in it just to see if it would leak.

lost in thought, you didn’t even realize how close your fingers were to the blade until it was too late.

the knife slipped.

there was a sharp sting.

you yelped, the sound cutting through the warm haze of the kitchen as the knife clattered onto the counter and fruit scattered everywhere.

“ah!” you gasped, clutching your hand. blood was already rising.

felix’s head snapped up instantly. “what happened?”

you stepped back, breath shallow. “i—i cut myself—”

he was already there. crossing the kitchen faster than you’d ever seen him move, his hands reaching out to check your fingers—but the moment he saw the blood, something in him shifted.

“what were you even doing?” he snapped, voice sharper than the knife that slipped. he grabbed a towel with jerky, frustrated movements, wrapping it around your wound with practiced precision but no softness. “were you even paying attention?”

your lips parted, stunned. “i—i don’t know, i was just—”

“you weren’t thinking,” he cut in, tone clipped.

his voice rose, not yelling, but full-bodied, biting. that low, velvety rasp he usually used to whisper sweet things into your ear was now slicing through the air like it had teeth.

“for fuck’s sake,” he muttered, shaking his head, “i asked you to do one simple thing. not play with the goddamn knife.”

you stared at him, completely disarmed. not just by the tone. but by how he looked.

chest rising and falling under his fitted sweater, sleeves pushed back just enough to show the flex of his forearms. his jaw clenched, eyes dark with something deeper than just irritation. he looked… furious. unshakable. and so hot it was almost insulting.

your mouth went dry.

you couldn’t stop staring—at the way felix was breathing, his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, like he was trying to bite back whatever else he wanted to say. his hands, still stained with flour, flexed at his sides. every muscle in his jaw was tense.

seungmin stood up, crossing the kitchen to the cabinet.

he grabbed the first aid kit, crouching beside the chair you’d sunk into. he opened it like this wasn’t the most charged atmosphere he’d ever stood in. like felix hadn’t just snapped for the first time in recorded history.

“here,” he said, pulling out some antiseptic and a few band-aids. “don’t bleed on the tile. it’s ugly enough already.”

you gave him a weak glare, but he just smirked.

felix hadn’t moved. he was still standing there, looking at the floor now, his expression twisted with something like regret.

seungmin didn’t let up.

“you got really worked up there, man,” he said, tone light but clearly pointed.

that finally made felix move. he blinked like he was coming out of something, then turned toward you—eyes wide now, softer, voice quiet.

“i’m sorry, baby” he said.

you didn’t say anything for a second. just stared at him, still a little stunned by the whiplash.

but even now, with his shoulders slumped and his tone apologetic, he still looked good. still had that raw energy simmering just under the surface. still had you simmering.

you swallowed hard.

“it’s okay,” you said slowly. 

seungmin raised a brow but said nothing, silently peeling the wrapper off a band-aid.

felix crouched in front of you, his hand ghosting over yours. his voice was soft again, almost too soft.

“i won’t yell like that again,” he murmured. 

you blinked at him, and for a second—just a second—you wanted to say don’t promise that.

because god, the way his voice had cracked when he was angry. the way he looked at you like your carelessness hurt him. the way he shook with something that wasn’t just rage, but deep, desperate concern—you hadn’t expected it to do something to you. 

but he was still doing everything out of love.

even when his voice rose and his hands tightened and his eyes darkened—he was still the same felix. still checking if you were okay. still apologizing even though you had started this whole mess.

and somehow, that made it worse.

you hadn’t even pissed him off correctly. not really. he didn’t yell because you were annoying. he yelled because you were bleeding and he didn’t know how else to handle the sudden fear curling in his gut.

and now he was kneeling in front of you, shame written in every line of his face, like he had done something unforgivable.

you wished he hadn't come down from it so fast.

you wished—maybe more than anything—that he knew he didn’t have to keep being perfect for you to love him.

you didn’t know what else to do.

jealousy had failed. sabotage had failed. even blood hadn’t done it right. every attempt chipped at something inside you—your confidence, your ego, your grasp on what you were even trying to prove. and yet…

seungmin had texted you the evening of the baking incident: [ that was a close one ] [ but it didn’t count. try harder. ]

you'd stared at it for a long time. not because he was wrong—but because you agreed.

so now? one last attempt.

if you couldn’t get felix to be mad at you, then maybe—just maybe—you could make him lose control somewhere else.

which is why he was between your thighs right now.

you were sprawled across his bed, hips twitching, sheets clutched in your fists.

felix was eating you out like it was a mission. like you were something sacred, and he had all the time in the world to worship every inch of you.

his mouth was obscene—lips slick, tongue working you open so slowly you wanted to scream. and he kept murmuring things between licks, low and reverent.

felix’s tongue traced a slow, reverent line up your slit, lips closing over your clit with a tenderness that made your hips twitch. he groaned softly into you, the sound vibrating through your core like a low hum of devotion, and his arms curled tighter around your thighs, anchoring you in place. every motion was soaked in patience, in worship. you were trembling, half mad with need already, and all he’d done was kiss you like he loved you—which, of course, he did.

“taste so good, angel… always so sweet for me, aren’t you?”

“f-felix…” your voice broke on his name, hands knotted in the sheets. he just hummed again, content like he could spend the rest of his life here, lips gliding over your clit, tongue flicking in slow, perfect circles that had your thighs quivering. he was gentle, god, so gentle. like you were the only thing in the world worth touching delicately.

and maybe that was the problem.

you were panting, already so close—too close—and he hadn’t even slipped a finger inside yet. you could feel your orgasm mounting fast, could feel the heat blooming in your belly, the ache curling in your spine, and you knew what would come next. he’d hold you through it. he’d kiss your thighs, murmur praise, make you feel like you were the center of the universe.

you were already trembling, one hand fisting in his sheets, the other tangled in his hair, breath coming in staggered whines. he didn’t speed up. didn’t deviate. tongue curling soft and hot over your clit again and again until your hips twitched and a ragged moan slipped out without your permission.

and then he paused. just for a second.

his eyes lifted to yours, warm and glassy, lips shiny with you.

“shhh, darling…” he whispered, and the way he said it made your stomach flip. “seungmin’s in the living room, remember?”

your chest heaved. right. right—he always told you. always so careful to remind you, not because he was annoyed, but because you’d confessed once—embarrassed and flushed, the sheet pulled up to your chin after a particularly loud session—that you hated the idea of his roommate hearing. and since then, felix had always made sure to keep things quiet. to warn you. to soothe you when your voice got too high, your cries too desperate. he’d press a kiss to your throat, a hand to your mouth, shushing you.

but tonight, something twisted in you.

you weren’t going to hold back.

so when his mouth dipped again, lips closing over your clit in a slow, gentle suck, you let it out—a high, shaky moan that cracked on the end, followed by a breathless, “fuck, felix—!”

he froze.

lifted his head.

his mouth was still glistening, chin slick with you, flushed and beautiful in that way that always made your stomach twist. but his brows were drawn, just slightly, and his voice—when it came—was low and firm, not scolding but edged with something new.

“hey.” his thumb stroked up your inner thigh, slow but deliberate. “quiet down.”

it wasn’t a question. wasn’t a soft reminder like before. it was a command.

and it did something to you.

your breath hitched, thighs twitching around his shoulders as the authority in his tone settled in your chest like a stone dropped into water—rippling outward, stirring everything.

still, something in you bristled.

not in defiance. not exactly.

but you couldn’t stop yourself.

you pouted. just a little. “why?”

his eyes narrowed. there was a flicker of disbelief there, a tension that rippled beneath the surface like he didn’t quite believe you were pushing this boundary.

“because seungmin’s out there,” he said, slower this time, more deliberate, as if you’d forgotten. “and you hate being overheard.”

you shrugged, arching your back slightly, enough to grind your hips closer to his face again. “maybe i changed my mind.”

his eyes flicked to your cunt, glistening and swollen and shamelessly on display, then back up to your face. his expression had shifted. no longer just disbelief. something darker had crept in now—possessive and sharp, curling like smoke at the edges of his voice.

“well i don’t want him to hear you.”

the words were quiet. flat. measured.

you blinked, breath catching.

“i don’t want anyone hearing what you sound like when i’ve got you like this,” he continued, leaning in until you could feel the heat of his breath against your inner thigh. 

you bit your lip, the heat rising in your face. in your chest.

“but…” you started, trying to keep your tone airy. “you always do what i want.”

that did it.

you watched his jaw clench tighter, watched the tension rise in his shoulders, watched the composure crack. just a little.

felix rose—slowly, smoothly, like a tide pulling back before it crashes—and settled over you, forearms bracketing your head, chest brushing yours as he leveled his face just above yours.

you felt it instantly.

that shift.

gone was the usual ease in his posture, the warm, pliant softness you always leaned into. what loomed above you now wasn’t your sweet, sunny felix—it was the part of him he always held back, the part that simmered under the surface like magma, always contained, until you poked at it.

and tonight?

you’d done nothing but poke.

he leaned in again, slow, like a tiger in tall grass, and planted his palm flat against the mattress beside your head. his voice was soft now, but laced with something that made your spine arch—authority, finality, control.

“you really think i don’t know?”

you swallowed hard.

“that you’ve been bratty for days,” he said, like it was fact. like it was math. “flirting with that guy at dinner. cutting your hand because you couldn’t stand that i didn’t break. ”

your cheeks flamed, breath catching, but you still held the edge in your smile.

“i was just distracted—”

his hand moved fast, gripping your jaw—not hard, just enough to make you stop talking.

“don’t,” he said. “don’t give me that look.”

your heart kicked up behind your ribs. he’d never grabbed your face like that before. never interrupted. never spoke like that.

it made your thighs press together. instinctive.

and he noticed.

he dipped closer, forehead brushing yours, and you could feel his heart beating in time with yours—hard, steady, controlled.

“you think i haven’t been watching you push?” he hissed. “every little act.”

you whimpered, lips parting—but he kept going.

“you’ve been begging for this,” he said, biting out the words. “not out loud. but with every goddamn thing you’ve done.”

you shivered.

“and you think i don’t see you?” he growled. “you think i don’t know exactly what that look means?”

his hand grabbed your jaw, fingers firm, tilting your face toward his—close enough to kiss, but he didn’t. he just held you there, breath brushing your lips, eyes burning through you.

“tell me the truth,” he said, voice a warning, a promise. “tell me what you want.”

you could barely breathe.

your voice came out thin, cracked around the edges. “you, like this…” your eyes were wide, lashes wet, trembling as you looked up at him. “this is what i want.”

felix didn’t flinch.

didn’t soften.

he just stared, his grip on your jaw unrelenting, eyes dark and unforgiving as they searched your face—saw the way you shook beneath him, the way your thighs pressed together, the way your chest rose and fell in shallow, panicked little gasps.

“of course it is,” he said flatly.

you blinked.

he tilted your face up a little more, enough that it hurt your neck to hold the position. his voice dropped, hard and disgusted. “look at you. shaking like a leaf, soaking the fucking sheets—just because i stopped being nice.”

you winced.

but your cunt clenched hard.

the words cut. not because they were cruel—but because they were true. and he knew it. you weren’t just turned on. you were unraveling. dripping and desperate, your body buzzing from the tension, your shame crawling over your skin like fire ants—but still, the burn felt good.

“you’re pathetic,” he said, letting go of your jaw like your skin burned his fingers. 

he pushed you back roughly, your bound wrists catching against the bed as your shoulders hit the mattress. his hands were already on your thighs, spreading them open without care. not reverent. not gentle.

like you were his and he was sick of pretending otherwise.

“you want to be hated, don’t you? love isn’t enough for you?” he muttered, gaze locked on your slick cunt as he stroked two fingers through the mess between your legs. 

your hips bucked.

“well,” felix said, voice like gravel dragged slow across glass, “if that’s what you want…”

his fingers sank into you—two at once, fast, merciless. your body jolted, a high cry tearing from your throat before you could stop it. he twisted his wrist, curled just right, and you felt the tremble start in your toes.

“i’ll give it to you.”

you gasped, back arching. “y-you don’t mean that,” you choked, words splintering on a sob. “you love me—”

he laughed.

dark. sharp.

“i’m gonna fuck you like i don’t.” he said, without softness. 

his fingers pulled free. you barely had a second to breathe before he shoved your thighs wide, leaned over, and pressed his cock to your dripping cunt—still wet from your own need, from the tears and the shame and the way his voice had stripped you bare.

he held there.

right at your entrance, the head of his cock teasing just enough to make you squirm, to make your hips buck in desperate little jerks that only dragged the moment out longer. he could’ve slammed in. could’ve torn the rest of you open in a single thrust, left you breathless and sobbing.

but he didn’t.

because under all that dark fire, under the roughness and anger and heat, he was still him. still sweet. still good. still felix.

his jaw was tight, the muscle ticking as he looked down at you—ruined and trembling, legs spread wide, wrists bound and face flushed with lust and tears and something more fragile. he blinked, and for a second, just a second, you saw the question flicker through his expression.

“is that what you want?” he asked.

his voice had dropped low. he was still offering you a way out. still giving you that choice.

you knew it for what it was.

you nodded, frantic. fast. moaning as you tried to roll your hips, tried to force him inside again, but his grip on your thigh only tightened.

“talk to me,” he rasped, a thread of control still clinging to him.

you blinked at him through the haze, a smile curling on your lips—half brat, half breathless.

“yes,” you said, voice thin and greedy. “yes, i want it. i want you to fuck me like you’re sick of me. like i finally got under your skin.”

he cursed.

low and vicious.

you saw it—the moment that final wall crumbled, the way the storm in his eyes finally spilled over. his cock pushed in deep, slow at first, like he wanted to draw it out, make it last.

but then your cunt clenched—tight and wet and fluttering around him—and he snapped.

“you did,” he growled, pulling back and slamming in hard enough to make the bed jolt, your cry piercing the room. “you fucking did.”

his hips snapped forward again—louder this time, harder, brutal enough to knock the air from your lungs, the rhythm punching out soft, choked sounds from your throat with every thrust. not words. not anymore. just ragged little whimpers, helpless and high, your whole body jostling beneath him as he used you—fucked you—with none of the gentleness you’d always known.

“you wanted this,” he spat, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his hairline onto your chest as he folded you tighter, pushing your thighs up toward your shoulders to drive in even deeper. “you fucking asked for it.”

you sobbed—quiet at first, then louder, messy and wet as the tears finally spilled. they streaked hot down your cheeks, dripping into your hair, your jaw slack with pleasure too sharp to feel good and too good to survive. your wrists twisted uselessly in their binds, fingers curling tight as your whole body tried to keep up with the pace of him.

it was too much.

it was everything.

he growled—an actual growl, raw and guttural—as he looked down at you, at the tears rolling over your cheeks, at the way your mouth opened and closed, begging silently for something neither of you could name.

his rhythm never faltered.

not once.

even as your body broke beneath him—hips arching, wrists straining, cheeks soaked with tears that burned like proof—he kept going. kept fucking you with that same relentless pace, hips slamming against the backs of your thighs, the sound obscene, wet and cruel in the dark.

he watched your face twist with every thrust—watched you come apart, watched the edge of pleasure curdle into panic and drag you right back down into need.

and even then—you didn’t stop.

you couldn’t stop.

your lips trembled open around another sob, your voice half-hoarse, but still you met his glare with a shaky smirk, eyes glazed and bratty to your last breath.

“i never knew you were capable of being mean,” you gasped, voice cracking as you arched under him.

he snarled, something between pain and disbelief, and slammed in so deep you screamed, your entire body jolting up the bed from the force of it.

“because i love you,” he growled, voice so low it scraped the inside of your chest. “i’ve only ever tried to treat you well. like you matter. like you’re everything to me.”

he leaned in closer, one hand pressing hard into your hip, the other curling around your throat.

“but that’s not what you wanted, was it?”

you sobbed. not an answer. just a broken, keening sound.

he dipped lower, lips barely brushing yours. “you wanted this. you wanted me mean. you wanted me to use you, and now you’ve got it.”

his cock dragged out slow, thick and aching—and then drove back in so hard your moan broke on your tongue.

“you never wanted soft.”

you blinked up at him, tears hot and sticky down your temples, your mouth quivering.

“i was—” you panted, a hiccupped cry catching in your chest, “i was trying to prove a point—”

he sneered, not stopping, not relenting, pounding into you like he wanted to fuck the brat right out of your soul.

“to who, y/n?” he hissed, words snapping like whips.

you moaned—high and messy and wrong, because you were still so turned on, because the way he said your name made your body sing even while you trembled.

“who?” he shouted again, voice rising with disbelief and something deeper—something unspoken that cracked open in his throat like it hurt to say.

and you said it.

whimpered it.

half-mindless, but not mindless enough.

“seungmin.”

felix went still.

then he laughed.

it was low. bitter. a hollow bark of disbelief as his hand slid up the length of your thigh, slow and mocking, his cock still throbbing just barely inside you.

“fucking knew it,” he muttered, more to himself than you, jaw tight as he gave a small, almost deranged shake of his head. “you and him. the way you bicker. the looks.”

his hand curled around your throat again, thumb dragging over the mess of tears smeared across your cheek. not to wipe them.

just to feel them.

“and of course you’d moan his name out while i’m balls deep in you.”

you gasped, breath stuttering under the press of his palm, legs twitching around his hips.

he laughed again—sharper now, teeth flashing in the low light. “fucking pathetic.”

you whimpered.

“here i am,” he snarled, voice dropping to a whisper, “treating you like you’re mine—spending months giving you everything. folding your laundry. holding you when you cry.”

he slammed into you again, cruel and sudden.

you screamed, head snapping back.

“and you’ve been pushing me,” he said, voice quiet, almost calm—but beneath it, something was cracking. something brittle. 

another thrust, hard and fast, punching a choked cry out of your lungs.

“all of that just to prove a point to kim seungmin?”

your mouth dropped open—useless, silent, your head lolling on the pillow as his cock hit that deep, devastating spot again and again, your body unable to hide how badly you were still enjoying it.

he sneered. “do you even understand what you’re doing?”

your eyes flicked to him—blurry, swimming, lashes soaked—and your lips moved, trying to form a denial. but you couldn’t lie.

not with your cunt sucking him in so greedily. not with the moans that still clawed up your throat even when you bit down on them. not with the guilt chewing holes through your stomach while your body begged for more.

“i—i wasn’t trying—” you whispered, but he cut you off.

“you weren’t trying?”

he laughed. dark and sharp and filled with something that sounded like it hurt his ribs to release.

“god, you’re worse than i thought,” he spat, pulling out just enough to let the next thrust slam in deeper. “you don’t even know what game you’re playing. you’re playing me, you’re playing him—”

you didn’t know anymore.

if he was really mad. if this was just another version of his anger wrapped in arousal, or if something had actually shattered under the weight of everything you’d done. you couldn’t tell if he meant the things he said—or if he was just saying them because it was what you’d asked for, begged for, pushed for until something inside him snapped.

all you knew was that your head was spinning, your lungs barely worked, and your body couldn’t stop trembling around him.

“i’m close,” you whimpered, your voice a rasp, broken and high and soaked in panic, “felix—please—”

he didn’t slow. if anything, he fucked you harder.

you were sobbing now, face sticky with tears, wrists straining in the binds as your body shook from the pressure curling tighter and tighter in your belly.

“i don’t think you deserve to cum,” he hissed, biting the words like they tasted foul. “not after what you did. you little bitch.”

the word slapped.

“i’m sorry,” you cried, the words tumbling out, raw and hoarse and true. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean—i didn’t—felix, please, i’m sorry—”

and for a second, just a second, something shifted in his face.

his brow twitched. his grip faltered. his eyes—not all the way, but just a little—softened.

he looked down at you, at your flushed face, your tear-soaked skin, your body trembling and still trying to push back against him, even through the guilt, even through the shame. begging for him.

he cursed under his breath. a low, ragged sound.

then he pulled out.

you whined—sharp and instinctive, your whole body lurching, chasing him.

“no—please—”

but he grabbed your hips and flipped you, fast and rough, until you were flat on your stomach, then dragging you up to your knees with no gentleness, no care. 

he leaned in, lips at your ear, voice back to that quiet, dangerous whisper.

“all fours.”

you scrambled to obey, tears still dripping from your chin onto the sheets, your ass high, back arched, your pussy swollen and dripping and empty.

he stared for a long second.

then, flatly:

“prove it. prove your sorry.”

he didn’t move.

not even a little.

just knelt behind you, one hand resting heavy on your lower back, the other wrapped around the curve of your ass—fingers digging in, spreading you open so wide the air hit your cunt like ice. his cock stood thick and flushed against your thigh, glistening with everything he’d already taken from you. close. so close.

but he didn’t move

“you want to cum so badly?” he said, voice low and flat, unreadable, like it didn’t matter either way. “then do it yourself.”

your breath caught.

you blinked, stunned.

he gripped your ass harder, a sharp squeeze that made you jolt forward, but he didn’t move to stop you. 

“come on,” he said, the cruelty now bitter instead of sharp. “you were so good at playing games earlier.”

your whole body shook.

you whimpered once—just one broken sound—and then moved. slowly. shamefully.

you rocked your hips back. tentative at first. your slick folds kissed the head of his cock and you moaned, soft and strangled, before pushing further, inching down onto him until the stretch began to burn again.

it wasn’t graceful. it wasn’t like when he took care of you.

it was work.

every inch felt like a trial. your legs trembled under the weight of it, thighs threatening to give out as you lowered yourself onto him, your breath coming in ragged sobs, your cunt pulsing with how close you were, how desperately your body wanted him to take over.

but he didn’t.

“make yourself cum,” he snapped, voice tighter now. 

you nodded, rocking your hips again—sliding down fully this time, burying him inside, your body jerking as your sob turned to a long, high cry. your knees were slipping, your arms too bound to help you balance, and every time you moved your hips, your body twitched with the effort.

he just watched.

watched you ride his cock without rhythm, without grace—just need. just ruin. his hands stayed on your ass, holding it open, holding you wide for him to see.

but he didn’t help.

you were doing it alone.

“felix, i can’t—”

“you wanted this.”

and so you kept going.

kept fucking yourself back on him, over and over, your movements messy and broken, your body trembling with the weight of everything you’d done—everything you’d wanted.

and as you cried, he gripped your ass harder, dragging his thumbs over the skin, watching your hole stretch around him like it was all you were good for.

your thighs were giving out.

completely.

each roll of your hips got weaker, sloppier—your knees buckling inward, your movements more tremble than thrust, the sheer weight of him inside you unbearable. 

your arms were still bound, chest pressed into the sheets, your cries muffled now—raw and constant, more sob than sound—as you tried to keep going. but your body wouldn’t move. 

you shook your head, weakly, voice cracking as you rasped, “i—i can’t… i can’t do it…”

you felt his exhale first—long and deep. then the weight of his hands on your hips shifted. and his voice followed, low and so done.

“of course you can’t.”

you shivered.

“you couldn’t even fuck yourself properly,” he muttered, hands gripping your hips with new purpose. “you begged for this. cried for it. ruined both of us trying to prove something—and now you can’t even finish what you started?”

you sobbed but that was all he gave you time for. because he snapped his hips forward. you screamed, head slamming into the pillow, the thrust knocking your whole body up the bed.

and then he didn’t stop.

he fucked into you from behind, deep and punishing, dragging you back onto his cock with every stroke, the sound of skin on skin wet and violent, your cries rising in pitch until you couldn’t hold anything in anymore.

“isn’t this what you wanted?” he growled, voice right at your ear now, one hand on the back of your neck, the other gripping your waist so tight it burned. “to get used like this? to cry on my dick and act like you’re sorry?”

your throat was raw, your eyes stinging, your body screaming with the oncoming wave, your orgasm building so hard it almost felt like pain.

“felix—fuck—i’m gonna—”

his pace didn’t stutter.

didn’t falter.

“yeah?” he breathed, his voice a rasp, full of hate and heat and something so possessive it twisted your stomach. “that’s right.”

his thrusts turned vicious, his cock pounding into you, his voice ragged and shaking.

“cum then.”

and you did.

you came with a scream—full-bodied, wrecked, your spine arching like it was trying to tear free from your skin. it hit so hard you thought for a second you might black out. your pussy clamped down around him, fluttering and pulsing in rhythmic spasms, gushing slick down his cock in hot, wet waves that soaked your thighs and his lap and the sheets beneath you.

felix groaned—a sound ripped from the very pit of his chest, primal and deep, his pace faltering for the first time as he felt it. felt you soak him. felt you break.

“fuck—” he hissed, slamming into you again—chasing it now, rutting through the mess of your orgasm, the loud slap of his hips against your soaked skin. “you’re dripping, baby—fuck, you’re making such a mess—”

you sobbed into the sheets, body twitching, overstimulation crawling up your spine like static. but he didn’t stop. wouldn’t let up. not now. not after all of it.

and then—slowly, like the fire had finally started to burn itself out—his rhythm began to falter. just a little. his groans turned heavier, strained, his thrusts rougher but less precise. his body hunched forward, chest heaving, cock throbbing inside you as he buried himself one last time.

he shuddered against your back, hips twitching as he came inside of you, the warmth of it spilling deep and raw, filling you in heavy bursts. he stayed there for a moment, his hands slowly loosening their grip on your hips, breath ghosting against your shoulder.

then, gently, slowly, his body folded over yours.

his forehead pressed to the space between your shoulder blades. his chest to your back. one hand slid forward—shaky, tentative—and rested just beneath your ribs.

he stayed there, breathing with you.

then, without a word, he eased back.

his chest lifted off yours, his grip on your hip released fully, and for a moment, the loss of contact felt colder than the air in the room. he slid one palm down the arch of your spine, a soft, absent stroke. then came the slow shift of his hips—his cock slipping out, careful and deliberate, so tender in contrast to everything before.

you whimpered from the loss and the mess—his cum already spilling out of you in lazy drips, sliding down your thighs, thick and warm, clinging to the backs of your knees as gravity pulled it down. you twitched from the sensitivity, your body still trembling in little aftershocks, your hips useless, your arms limp where they lay tangled and bound under your chest.

you heard the faint shuffle of a drawer, the rustle of fabric, the hiss of warm water being poured. your eyes fluttered closed, head sinking into the pillow, your whole body too loose to lift.

you barely registered the soft wet cloth between your thighs until it was there—warm, soothing. he held you gently, one hand under your hip to tilt you, the other cleaning you with slow, careful strokes, wiping away the slick, the sweat, the release still dripping out of you.

he then settled you on clean sheets, wrapped a new blanket over your shoulders.

still nothing.

not a single word.

but he lay beside you, close but not pressed in, his fingers brushing soft through your hair, over your temple, down the curve of your jaw. you blinked slow and you opened your eyes.

and there he was.

your felix.

bathed in the low light of the room, hair a tousled halo of gold against the pillow, freckles blooming soft across his cheeks, lips pink and parted just barely. he looked tired. beautiful. like something that shouldn’t exist outside a dream.

you loved it. all of it. the softness now. the brutality before.

the way he made space for every version of you. the way he let himself be more than just the sun.

“i love you, felix.”

his hand stilled, resting against your cheek. his eyes softened then blinked, and they turned glassy.

“i love you too,” he whispered, his voice low, husky, still thick with the weight of everything.

you gave a little smile, lids already starting to droop again, your limbs heavy under the blanket he’d wrapped around you.

“i wouldn’t want you any other way,” you murmured.

that made him laugh—quiet, breathless, a sound like surrender.

and then you laughed too. barely a sound, more breath than voice, your smile curling into the pillow as your eyes slipped closed again.

he stayed beside you.

his fingers returned to your hair, softer than ever now, smoothing it back from your face as your breathing evened out, your body finally letting go.

and when you fell asleep, it was in silence.

the next morning, you woke slowly—warm, sore in all the right places, and still tangled in the soft scent of felix. the sheets around you were a little crooked, the pillow beside you empty.

you blinked blearily and reached for your phone, but it wasn’t the screen that caught your eye.

there was a note. folded and sitting neatly on the nightstand.

recording right now, but i’ll be back soon. pour yourself a cup of coffee. i love you! – lix ♡

you smiled—small, sleepy, still a little ruined from the night before. the words made your chest ache and flutter all at once. he hadn’t said anything heavy. no apologies. no over-explanations. just soft and simple. just felix.

you stretched out your limbs, wincing slightly at the ache before dragging yourself out of bed and into one of felix’s oversized sweaters and boxers. 

barefoot and quietly smug, you padded down the hallway into the kitchen.

and there he was.

seungmin.

leaning against the counter in sweats and a hoodie, eyes fixed on his phone, coffee half-drunk on the table beside him. he looked up when he heard you—expression unreadable—and you did what anyone would do after getting absolutely obliterated in the next room over by his bandmate.

you pretended nothing happened.

“morning,” you said, voice light, moving straight to the coffee pot. “didn’t think you’d be up.”

“i’ve been up,” he said simply.

you nodded and reached for a mug—felix’s, the pale blue one with the tiny chip in the rim—and poured yourself a cup. steam curled up around your face, and you focused on it like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

and then you felt it.

his presence. he stepped closer. closer.

you didn’t dare turn around.

then, casually—like it was nothing—he reached over your shoulder and set something on the counter in front of you.

sixty bucks in cash.

you stared at the bills for a second.

then turned.

slowly.

seungmin was already taking a sip of his coffee, eyes flicking to yours over the rim of his mug.

“congrats.”

your mouth twitched, the corner pulling into the smallest smile.

you looked down at the cash again and without saying anything, you plucked the bills off the counter and shoved them straight into the front pocket of felix’s hoodie like you’d just been handed your trophy.

“you really thought i wouldn’t pull it off?” you asked, turning back to your coffee, tone breezy.

“i hoped you wouldn’t,” he deadpanned. “i was rooting for the soft boy.”

you huffed a laugh, lifting the mug to your lips. “he’s still soft.”

seungmin gave you a long, dry look.

you shrugged, eyes twinkling over the rim. “...just not all the time.”

he snorted.

then leaned back against the counter, sipping slow from his mug. “so,” he said casually, “how’d you do it?”

“do what?”

“make him snap.” 

you licked your lips, fighting another smile. “i might’ve… slipped your name in there a few times.”

his eyes narrowed, slow. “yeah?”

“just—it got him pretty worked up.” you said, laughing as you set the mug down. seungmin stared for a beat.

then—he rolled his eyes. “of course it did.”

there was a long pause. not uncomfortable. just tension.

he said, quiet but clear, “tell him he doesn’t have anything to worry about.”

you nodded.

“i will.”

you stepped back slowly, letting the silence hold, and turned toward the hallway—when the front door clicked open.

both your heads turned.

felix stepped in, hair tied back, hoodie sleeves bunched at his elbows, a little windblown from the walk. his eyes lit up the moment he saw you.

“hey, angel,” he said, smile so warm it melted straight into your ribs.

you crossed the room in a few slow steps, rising onto your toes to meet him halfway. your hand curled around his jaw, thumb brushing the skin just below his cheekbone, and you kissed him.

his other hand found your waist immediately, like muscle memory, pulling you in as he smiled against your lips. he pulled away just enough to wrap his arms around you, tucking you into his chest. his chin rested lightly on top of your head, breath warm as it fanned through your hair.

you melted into him, your hands slipping under the hem of his hoodie, fingertips grazing the bare skin at his waist. his heart beat steady against your cheek, and you let yourself breathe him in.

then, behind you, a shift in the air.

felix’s gaze lifted—over your shoulder.

met seungmin’s across the room.

you didn’t see what was unraveling between the two of them.

after a moment, you pulled back slightly, enough to tilt your head and meet his eyes.

felix looked down at you with a smile. and that was all you needed.

[xaviever]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ଓ overstim with him!

including. xavier, zayne, sylus, & caleb.

summary. scenarios where one or both of you are overstimulated during sex. ˃𖥦˂

cw. (afab!reader) 🔞 mdni. softdom!zayne. kinda sub!sylus. patheticdom?caleb. overstimulation, obvi. breeding (xav & caleb), dumbification (zayne), xavier says ily in it. use of baby, sweetheart, princess, & dear.

ᢉ𐭩 xavier!

this is nothing new. xavier is often overwhelmed by his need for you. his impressive stamina and unbridled desire are a wicked combo, leaving you in for long, long nights when his restraint snaps. he’s had you against the door when you first arrived home, on the couch, kitchen counter, in the shower; now, finally, in bed on your side, slowly and deeply kissing each corner of your insides like some lecherous love letter.

“xav- baby, s’too much,” your voice sounds scratchy and foreign from the amount of strain over the last few hours. in response, your thigh is hiked up further, flush against his sweaty chest for a better angle. "fuckfuck, my god, xavier!"

“made to take me…” his lips find their way to your ear, sucking on the lobe as he rambles, unbelievably pussydrunk and obsessed with the repeated slosh your combined releases have created. he keeps his voice as steady and soft as he can while not losing his pace, fucking as deep inside you as your body allows.

“you’re molded to me, baby. mmf, made to be pumped f-full of my cum. you were made for me.”

all of your senses feel on fire, completely overloaded from your evening of being folded into impossible positions again and again. xavier is nothing if not insatiable when it comes to claiming you, his hunger for you, your presence, your attention, your sweet cunt taking him to the hilt like it was destined for his cock.

he's as sensitive as you are now, gasping each thrust, almost whimpering, "just one more, p-please. aah, you can do it. i feel you, mmfuck. i know you're close..."

you nod dopily, consumed by the way your numbness dissipates, body buzzing as you somehow find the will to cum again. your arm moves back to cage his head against yours, and he fucks you both through the haziness, his moans and your broken cries a symphony in the night. he cums hard, and so much, an insane amount after emptying himself inside you all night. the two of you lay entangled in one another, both too sore and thoughtless to even fathom moving.

"i love you so much. so much..." xavier professes into your shoulder, pressing clammy kisses to every part of your neck he can reach in silent worship before drifting off in your aftershocks together.

ᢉ𐭩 zayne!

you can't even speak. zayne’s fingers and tongue have been working you skillfully for so long, too long. he's memorized everything about your body. how you like your clit sucked, when and how to point and flatten his tongue. he knows all your sweet spots, the exact angle, pace, intensity needed for you to cum the hardest, see stars and make you dumb the easiest. of course, he'd never degrade you and call you such, though there's something so riveting about having you brainless under him, entirely overcome by his expertise in your pleasure.

you're cumming all over his hand for nth time with a weak cry, shivering as he holds your hip down to the bed so he can properly fuck you through the waves, not stopping until he feels you've given him every last drop once more. big tears roll down the sides of your cheeks, which he immediately responds to, bringing the hand holding you down up your body to your face and sweetly caressing.

"you've been so good for me. i'm proud of you, my perfect girl."

his pruny fingers slip from you with no resistance. zayne coos at you hearing your tired whines, softly maneuvering you while he shushes and mutters reflexive praises. you’re okay, safe, he’s going to take care of you. he always does. before you can register it your legs are spread widely apart, zayne’s practiced caution evident in how delicately he handles you.

"i believe you can take a bit more for me, no?" he strokes himself unhurriedly, all while thumbing your clit, keeping you stimulated still. he still appears relatively composed above you, one of his only giveaways being the stuttering of his breath, barely controlled lust seeping through him.

zayne enters you steadily, always being gracious enough to let you adjust to his girth. "hah... she's been waiting for me. i can tell." your messy cunt welcomes him warmly, his heavy tip opening you up in a way his fingers could not. it has you reanimating, thighs shooting up to clench around his hips. you spasm, the ghost of an orgasm making you seize around him and ripping the air from both of your lungs.

he sighs out at the feeling of his full length bottomed out inside you, admiring you pliant and glowing under him. “i... ha-have to hear you, dear.” the same fingers that were previously stretching your cunt softly push past your pouty lips. he splays them all over your tongue, forcing the sounds you'd been too delirious to let out escape while he begins fucking into you like a promise.

“mmh, say my name. i know you can.”

ᢉ𐭩 sylus!

you just wanted sylus to feel good, like he so often makes you feel. ...and if you maybe got a little power hungry and ended up addicted to the way he falls apart, holding him down, coaxing him into letting you make him cum over and over, on your seventh "one more" of the night... well, that is not a crime.

in all actuality, though, sylus does not need much convincing. he's not one to oppose you, naturally. however, the second you got commanding, a small switch flipped in his brain and he couldn't save face, couldn't stay above his innate call to submit to you. he's unsure why he'd ever fight it now. sylus is enraptured by your hedonism tonight, reduced from his usual weighty presence to something only you can unlock within him. something yours.

"you know you've got such a pretty dick, baby," you purr, flicking your wrist as you jerk him off with a casual pace, one that's become less bearable after multiple releases. "so big, pink and drippy for me. for me, right, sy?"

the prettiest moans fall from his lips when his head lolls against his headboard, barely deciphering what you've said but knowing to agree, anyway. he nods lazily, peering down at you through clouded, low eyes. his brows are knit in the most desperate expression you've ever seen from him, zeroed in on you. sylus gasps in a big breath after you squeeze him at the base, trying to get more of those beautiful sounds from him.

"yes. yes, sweetheart, y-youu, ffuuck-" he drawls, feeling on the precipice of cumming once more with every slight movement of yours. "yours. aagh! haah, fuck, a-all of me. everything."

his words go straight to your pussy, pulsing from your neglect. having him fill you to the brim sounds amazing, hearing him be this submissive under you? you moan a little at your own imagination. sylus continues to whine, grounding you here as you conclude before you satiate your need, you have to hear him cum one more time. just one more. he can take it.

your hand speeds up wordlessly, already knowing how close he is from the way he twitches, so beautiful and sensitive. "kitten, please." he sounds so sultry begging for you, his voice pitching with need, a frequency only for your ears. you're addicted to this side of him. "i want...w-want to cum for you again."

ᢉ𐭩 caleb!

“sh-shit, you- aangh, p-” caleb’s head feels impossibly heavy as he allows it to fall back against the couch cushion. any attempt at a plea falls shorter with each rhythmic bounce of your hips.

you'd jumped him as soon as he settled into your home from his visit, taking initiative and sinking yourself down on him at the first opportunity. he should've known he was in for it with how easily he slipped inside you, like you prepped without him. this was premeditated. the drag of your walls around him, hot and wet and unrelenting, you were fucking him like he owed you something.

“pips! princeeess, ffuck, please. you’re milkin’ me for all i’m worth, haah-” he’s cut off by his own breathy moan. you don’t stop, not even for a second. if caleb really couldn’t take it he’d safeword or lift you with his evol, yet he only has the brainpower to hiccup and whine under you as you use his dick to your heart’s content.

his hands squeeze your hips for relief, kneading your soft skin for any kind of purchase. you lean down, your fucked out moans vibrate against his neck as you nestle your mouth there. you instinctively sink your teeth into him, pulling something lewd, broken from his throat that even he was a little appalled by.

he doesn't think he's ever cum this much in succession. caleb is already very easy, often fighting hard to not cum from the smallest of your intimacies. you can imagine how hard it is to stay lucid when he has no choice but to cum for you over and over again.

the two of you sound like a couple of pornstars, producing some of the most depraved noises you've ever heard come out of each other, and the constant plap! plap! plap! resounding in his living room.

"need you. cum- nghh, cum in me again," you moan a little animalistically as you rise, facing caleb again to speak. you grab his face, smushing it to make him focus, wanting him to hear your words. "want all of you, c-caleb. pleease."

pitiful as he is, caleb whines at your words, the noise jarbled from your grip on his face. he's throbbing painfully at the admission of your need, hands getting rougher, faster, gathering his remaining coherence to make you scream and chase this release as much as you were. your hands fall, gripping his chest for stability, and caleb groans, dipping his forehead down to rest against yours.

"fuck, baby. got me shootin' blanks and you still want 'em. filthy girl."

— authors note. just couldn’t stop thinking abt this one sub!sylus fic i read… all this came from that lolol. rbs are appreciated!

[mwphisto]

an s/o who wakes up nonverbal sometimes?

ANON I feel so seen cuz I wake up nonverbal some mornings and people just don’t get it lmfao. That’s part of the reason I love working early morning, I’m the first one up and out the door so I can get ready in silence

Xavier gets it because he wakes up nonverbal too. Something about waking up just shuts his brain off too and he struggles to say a real word until 1-2 hours after waking up. He appreciates that you get it, a simple look upon waking up tells him where you are at and he respects it. Sometimes you two have nonverbal days, lounging around in his apartment just enjoying the company with no words spoken between you two at all.

Rafayel was a bit lost the first time you woke up nonverbal. Initially he thought he did something wrong and you were mad at him. You ended up sending him a text, explaining that your brain was simply not allowing your mouth to work for the time being. He sort of got it after that, deciding to just exist with you in silence while he worked. When you finally got around to saying a word or two, you explained that sometimes you just can’t talk when you wake up.

Zayne doesn’t mind the silence, he remembers you used to be like that as a kid. Caleb had mentioned it off-handedly one time and Zayne did a little more research when he got home. He realized that he was a bit prone to waking up nonverbal himself some mornings. He’ll never push your limits and he’ll let you come out of it when you are good and ready, even if it’s after he leaves for work. A simple text is all he needs, a little voice memo is a plus.

Sylus was a little confused when you first told him, he simply thought you just like being quiet in the morning. He never intended on questioning it either, content in letting you be however you wanted to be. He found it oddly cute as you explained to him that sometimes when you woke up your brain just refused to cooperate. Sometimes it was just that, sometimes you were just a tad irritated by it. Which now made more sense to him why his kitten was sometimes feisty.

Caleb has always been used to it. He assumes it stemmed from the memory loss with all the lab experiments and other horrid things. So he just lets you be, he’d speak for you when granny would ask questions and even if she gave him an odd look, he’d still stand up for you and save yourself from having to talk. Caleb is just a gentle, reassuring presence. Easily able to pick up on when you’re okay with him talking to you and when you need the silence. You know very well that he doesn’t expect a verbal response.

[lovelettersfrommai]

What Shadows Whisper

Summary: The three times you were there for Bob after a nightmare…and the one time he was there for you. 

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Reynolds x fem! Reader 

A/N: There needs to be more Bob content on this app. I need it BAD. Good grief. Reader is a witch with chaos powers (purple). If you’ve been reading Marvel fan fic for a long time, you probably get that joke. This is the longest fic I’ve written! Which is exciting, at least to me! I also got a request somewhat similar to this (and I actually wrote this BEFORE I got the request. Me and y'all are in sync for real.)

Word Count: 2.5k

Disclaimers: I do not own the rights to anything Marvel related, I am merely a nerd who hyperfixates a lot.

Warnings !: Nightmares, mentions of Bob’s drug usage, sleep paralysis, physical violence, slowwwwwwwww burn. 

When renovations finally finished on the Avengers tower, the building still had a sense of eeriness to it. Maybe it was the fact that you had been here before, years ago, when the original team was still around. You swore if you listened well enough, you could still hear the sounds of your friends, the people you once considered a team. Maybe even a family. 

Little did you know, you were not the only one haunted by the tower’s quiet halls. It had been a long day of moving things in, and despite being physically (and mentally) exhausted, you just couldn’t bring yourself to fall asleep. It was all so familiar, and yet it had none of the comfort nor familiarity that the compound had. 

You quietly walked over to the kitchen from your bedroom, making yourself a cup of herbal tea in hopes of feeling a sense of peace in the quiet night. You go through the motions, grabbing a mug and turning the electric kettle on, resting your chin in the palm of your hand, leaning against the counter top as the water boils. That’s when you heard it; the sound of whimpers, barely noticeable over the rumbling of the boiling water. At first you ignored it, but they progressively grew louder and deeper, like sobs. 

Once in the hallway, you can pin down exactly which room it’s coming from; Bob’s. Tentatively, you open the door. He’s thrashing around in bed, trapped in an unpleasant dream. You cross the room to gently put a hand on his head, the familiar thrums of something reckless and wild, something you are all too familiar with. 

Gently, you squeeze his shoulder, to try and get him out of his head. “Bob?” You whisper, eyes roaming over his face to see if it’s working. For a split second, you see his eyes rolling under his eyelids rapidly. You decide to shake him, your voice getting a little bit louder as you try to wake him from his nightmare. 

“Bob!” Your tone is a tad firmer, but it seems to do the trick as his eyes immediately shoot open, hands coming up to grab your throat. 

You heave and gasp, before using your powers to stop him, the lavender haze surrounding your hands to take him off you. As you regain your breath, you cough a bit, throat aching with the pure force that he put onto you. This seems to break Bob from his trance, as his eyes immediately soften. 

“I-I am so sorry! I didn’t- I was having a-” You shake your head. He shuts up immediately, expecting for you to chew him out the way he’s seen you do to Walker and Alexei a couple of times. He looks down at the floor, ready to be admonished like a child, but instead you speak quietly.

“Want some tea?” Your voice is a little bit gravelly from the pressure that had just been applied there, but you clear your throat and it already sounds better. Bob opens his mouth, then closes it, opting to nod wordlessly. You nod towards the door, and together, the both of you walk to the kitchen just in time for the kettle to finish boiling. You take it off of its power base and grab another mug from the cabinet, pouring you each a cup. 

The both of you sit in silence as you sip the tea. It’s not tense, nor is it particularly warm, but it is a truce, one of stability and comfort to end what was a long day. 

~ 

Bob isn’t really sure how to handle nightmares. In the night, the void infects his brain with horrific imagery, when nobody is around to help him. He tosses and turns, trying to find some rest but is only greeted by his mind playing his worst memories, reminding him of all his present anxieties and all the terrible things he’s done to the people who’ve only ever shown him kindness on some sort of sick and twisted loop. 

When he finally decides to give up on sleeping, he climbs out of bed, his pajamas sticking to his skin just like the guilt he feels for his useless existence. He doesn’t expect anyone to be awake, you all train early in the morning and go to sleep early in the night, but once he walks down the hallway, he’s surprised to see you. 

You’re curled up with a book, sitting cross legged on the couch, a blanket tossed over your lap. Before he can even consider going back to his room to wallow in self pity, you sense his presence immediately, head flicking up to make eye contact from across the room.

“You’re up.” You say simply. It’s a blatant observation.

“I- uh. Yeah. I am…” He blunders. Something about your presence is both comforting and terrifying. Maybe it’s because he’s seen you control other people with the flick of your hand, as if they were puppets on a string. But seeing you here, now, uninhibited by having to fight for your life and save the world, simply reading a book on the couch? It’s jarring. It reminds him that you, like him, are just human. 

“Had a bad dream, so…” You nod in understanding, closing the book and placing it on the coffee table. 

“Do you want to be alone, or..?” Bob shakes his head. 

“No. Stay.” He says before he can even think through his words. If you notice how much he tenses at the thought of being alone, you don’t mention it, simply beckoning him to sit on the couch beside you. He obliges, the space between you both feeling treacherous, fidgeting with his hands.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You ask gently. You’ve never been one to push, he thinks to himself. 

“It’s nothing you haven’t already heard before.” He looks down at his hands. Your face twists slightly as you stare at him, then you get up, grabbing the tv remote from its place on the stand.

“Then a distraction would probably be better, huh?” You turn on the tv, flipping through the channels until you eventually settle on some random nature documentary about birds in the rainforest. Not very engaging, but it’s steady. Quiet. Soothing. You move a bit closer, tossing the blanket over his lap as well as your own. He feels his spine slowly decompress and he melts into the couch already feeling incredibly more at ease with you beside him.

The documentary is enough to lull his hyperactive mind into a state of rest. As he drifts off, his body starts to slouch, his head coming down to rest on your shoulder. You freeze at first, unsure of what to do or if you should move him, but ultimately you do nothing. You stay. His presence is warm, despite the void that you know is in him. 

The next morning, Yelena is up first. She runs her hands through her blonde locks and then she stops, stumbling upon the sight of you and Bob on the couch. The tv is still on and playing some different documentary. The blanket you both are sharing has begun to slip off your laps. She tilts her head at the sight, her eyes filling with something fond before turning off the tv and leaving you two alone.

~

By the time you hit the two month mark of living in the tower, the two of you have established a routine for handling Bob’s nightmares. You’re an insomniac, he’s learned, so it’s always highly likely that you’re awake when he is awoken in the middle of the night. Depending on how bad the dream is, your guys’ routine changes; tea when he can’t really remember it, watching tv or reading him a book if he needs a distraction. He also gets special permission to go into your room. 

The nightmare wasn’t as bad today, but Bob couldn’t help but feel pissed off. He was tired, and yet every time he tried to sleep the void came back to him. He begrudgingly walks across the hallway to your room, knocking gently before walking in. 

Surprisingly, you are actually trying to sleep. You're tucked under the blankets and your head is facing the opposite wall of the door. He almost leaves when he notices, not wanting to bother you, but you turn your head and offer him a sleepy smile. His heart stutters in his chest and he finds himself walking over, just by looking at you.

“Come.” You lift up your duvet and scoot over a little, offering him solace in the warmth of your own bed. He blinks, hesitant, but eventually gives in, climbing into bed with an awkward grace that is unmistakably his. The two of you lay in silence for a little, your body angled facing him, before Bob speaks up.

“I’m so tired…” Despite your own exhaustion, you recognize the desperation in his tone. 

“…I could help you.” 

“How?”

You bring your hands up in between both of your heads, the purple haze surrounding your hands once again. 

“I can make you go to sleep? If that’s okay?” Bob hesitates. The idea of you being in his mind, willingly, fills his stomach with butterflies. You’ve already seen the void, and you’re still here. He trusts you more than he’d like to admit. With the nod of approval, your hands hover over his head. You close your eyes. 

Bob watches as the familiar lavender color drifts from your fingertips and surrounds his mind. At first, his hands instinctively grab at the sheets. He anticipates pain, but instead is greeted with the feeling of your hands, gentle as always, fingertips grazing his warm skin. His mind is then instantly flooded with something he can’t quite place.

Instead of the usual cold emptiness he feels from the void, your powers invade his brain in a warm light. It’s a stark difference from how he was feeling just a couple of seconds ago. You’ve completely surrounded his mind and body with an all encompassing spark, and for once, he feels at ease. You are so familiar. 

After muttering something he can’t quite catch, you take your hands off his forehead, his head nearly chasing it, just craving your touch. He’s left with a sense of content he’s never felt before. He feels a little bit hazy, reminding him of that feeling he got in the past when he was high on whatever he could get his hands on, only now it’s not accompanied by the paranoia; He just feels sleepy. 

You watch as his eyes droop, his body language completely different from how it had been just a mere couple of seconds earlier. Adjusting the blankets around you both, you move closer so that your head leans against his shoulder. 

“Sleep well, Bobby.” 

As he drifts off, he realizes that the nickname that his father had taunted him with all those years ago sounds just like a lullaby coming from you. 

~

Somehow, the day didn’t end when you went to sleep- Well, tried to. 

Despite your usual insomnia, you found yourself actually winding down tonight. Everything had been going well too; The mission you and the new avengers went on had gone smoothly, you got home early and were able to take the most luxurious shower of your life, Yelena had made you all dinner, and you stayed up having good conversations with the rest of the team with no fighting. By the end of the night, you had felt good enough to go to sleep. It was the making for the perfect end to an all around awesome day. 

Until it wasn’t.

When sleep finally overtook your body, you were met in the depths of your mind. It started off just like a dream would…until the colors became devoid of life, and faces of people began to blur. You could physically feel the terror of people’s minds you had hijacked in the past. Their fears are now yours. You know you’re asleep, and you know that what you’re feeling isn’t real, but you can not bring yourself to wake up. Your body is trapped under what feels like two tons worth of weight on your chest, and you swear you can see something, someone? Just watching you. 

You awaken in an uncomfortable sweat, your body shooting upright pretty much immediately after your sleep paralysis episode. Hastily, you toss the covers off of you, welcoming the bite of the cold air. 

It wasn’t real. It isn’t real.

You rub your fist into your sternum, it hurts, but you keep pressing harder and harder until you’re sure that the phantom weight is gone. That’s when you hear a soft knock on your door, followed by the quiet creak.

“Y/n?” Bob calls out from your doorway. When he takes in your state, he lets himself in the rest of the way. You won’t mind anyway. He doesn’t bother asking if you’re okay; he can tell just by looking at you. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask, voice weak and shaken from what you just woke up from. He walks closer and takes your hand away from your chest, and gently squeezes your wrist, before letting it fall back to your side. 

“Something felt…wrong.” He doesn’t know how to elaborate without feeling like a creep. He knew that something wasn’t right with you. He just had to come and check up on you. Your jaw tenses and you avoid his gaze. Rather than make tea or distract you, he sits on the edge of your bare bed, hesitating for a moment before opening his arms. A silent offer. 

Your body moves before your mind can protest the action, and you sit beside him, leaning into his embrace. The warmth of his body is immediately welcoming and you can’t help the way your body naturally relaxes, wrapping your own arms around him. He rests his chin on your head before speaking again.

“Can I ask what it was about?” His throat vibrates against your skull, and you dig your fingers into his cozy blue sweater even more. 

“Wasn’t just a nightmare. I could feel them.” You whisper. “The people I’ve hurt. Their fear. Like I was trapped in their minds while I was taking over them…” You shake your head and push into his chest slightly. He doesn't move an inch, just squeezes your body again in encouragement. 

“I couldn’t wake up. I tried.” 

“I’m sorry. It couldn’t have been pleasant.” You shrug in response, eyes heavy with exhaustion. He lets the silence settle before he helps to get your duvet back on your bed. He helps you get settled, making sure you’re comfortable. 

“Don’t go…” You mumble. Bob softens at the words, nodding. He’s not going anywhere. He crawls under the covers with you, making himself comfortable in your bed once again. Unlike usual, he is the one to close the space between you two. As you begin to fall asleep, he looks like he wants to say something- instead, he presses his forehead to yours. 

“Goodnight.” He whispers, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Goodnight, Bobby.” 

He doesn’t say it. He doesn’t need to. Not tonight. 

~

A/N: Rereading this made me realize how often I used semicolons…apologies everyone.

[akisteahouse]

Thinking about parenting with Heartslabyul…

Synopsis: in home economics, you get randomly assigned to a partner to raise a ‘child’ - a robot baby meant to simulate a real infant’s needs. Things definitely get… interesting, to say the least.

Riddle Rosehearts!

knowing how he was raised, Riddle isn’t exactly the best parent figure - speaking to children as if they were fully grown adults, either too quickly or too slowly.

adamantly refusing the thought of naming the kid at first, because “Naming the robot is a risk far too large for me to take. The number of seniors that have failed this assignment due to growing attached to their supposed child…I absolutely cannot let this drag Heartslabyul’s dorm ranking down!”

he gives in after you give him puppy dog eyes.

“Rose is… an acceptable name."

work division wise, you’re unfortunately tasked with most of the first-hand child rearing things - feeding her, changing diapers, rocking her until she stopped fussing…

though, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t do his fair share of work.

all expenses are charged to him, as well as the assembly of the cot(which he spent at least five minutes scrutinising to check if it was safe) and pretty much all of the cleaning of the dirty laundry(how can such a small thing produce so much grime?)

somewhere along the line, you two work out an agreement where you take turns taking care of Rose.

whenever Riddle's the one taking care of her, he possesses one of those infinite mom bags as well as a baby carrier.

the only downside of this arrangement is that berating and punishing students are harder when it's his turn, because Rose isn't exactly fond of him raising his voice.

somehow teaches a literal perfect simulation of a child to follow all 810 of the Queen’s rules??? Yeah you don't question it either, just give her her tea when the time is right.

absolutely DID NOT sniffle when he had to give Rose back. >:*(

an overall decent partner, if you're fine with your robot kid having the divorced kid treatment.

Trey Clover!

names your kid something stupid, like Pistachio, for shits and giggles, all while feigning innocence.

“Pistachio's a cute name, isn't it?”, in between bouts of laughter.

a great partner - as the Oldest Child, he's pretty well-versed in taking care of kids younger than him, after all.

if only little Pistachio wasn't an absolute menace.

a fussy eater, non-stop tantrum thrower, and the type of slippery kid as in stop staring at him for two seconds and suddenly he's hanging on a laundry line.

but hey, at least Trey seems used to it!

He absolutely WILL NOT do the divorced parent arrangement - claiming that co-parenting is way easier, so congrats, you're moving into his dorm for a while!

assembles the cot in less than ten minutes, without even needing the manual. the true MVP.

pretty okay with soothing Pistachio, even if he's in the midst of class, waking up at midnight to feed the little shit, talking to him while pushing his pram…

teaches Pistachio how to speak and is SUCH a smug bastard when he says his name before yours - jerk. >:(

pretty calm throughout the return process, kinda just glad his parenting days are over. For now >:))))

a great guy to be assigned with, just don't let him name anything in the future.

Cater Diamond!

searches up ‘cute baby names’ on Magicam the minute you let him choose the kid's name, ends up with Sunny.

is… weirdly willing to take care of a baby?!

like full on watching tutorials online on how to rock a fussing baby, how to change diapers, how to feed one… before falling down the internet rabbit hole that is ‘wow, these things die easily.’

IS still the bbg in the relationship, sorry pookie, you're gonna have to assemble the cot yourself <333

fashions a pretty nice baby sling out of some spare cloth, and is never seen not holding the child for the rest of the week.

not willing to post ANY photos of Sunny on Magicam, like at all.

WILL make aesthetic Day in My Life vlogs of parenting her though, all while blurring out his precious baby's face.

doesn't really mind whatever arrangement you ask for, but preferably one where he doesn't let Sunny out of his sight, because look at her hands! They're so tiny!

adoring father #1, will impulsively buy way too many baby clothes for Sunny to the point where she'll be showing up in three different outfits a day.

grows absurdly attached to Sunny, has a full album in his phone dedicated to just photos of her.

full on near SOBBING on the day he has to return Sunny back to receive his grades.

can and will post a sad story on Magicam with his close friends list with purely just photos of Sunny with a cryptic message on top.

pretty good partner! you will have to deal with him showing up randomly to ask “Remember when Sunny -”

Ace Trappola!

another mf to name his kid after something dumb, if you let him.

thankfully, your child is not stuck with a horrendous name, after a back-and-forth bicker with Ace that goes on for far longer than it has to.

the two of you settle for Cherri, with an I, for no particular reason.

seems like a ‘agh, I hate my wife!’ Kinda guy, turns out to be a ‘happy wife, happy life,’ guy.

cocky mf who goes ‘psh, I don't need the manual’ before trying(and failing) to assemble the cot.

whines and complains about changing diapers or doing the laundry but does it anyway, will argue if you try to retract your statement and do the work instead.

another one that says he wants to do the divorced parents arrangement, folds to stay together instead. (Ace you're not slick.)

weirdly good at calming Cherri down??? just makes funny faces and tells awful jokes until she's giggling, before turning to you with a proud look on his face.

teaches Cherri how to play poker before teaching her how to talk.

‘You gotta prepare them early!’ He'd snickered. Before being wacked over the head seventy-two times. :)

WANTED to bring Cherri to basketball practice to show what a good parent he was (cough, cough, show off his cute little Cherri), but then remembered Floyd and was actually so concerned about him somehow squishing Cherri to death that he just left her in your hands instead.

another one who gets emotional when he has to give Cherri back.

“I am not crying! The classrooms just - hic! - dusty!”

a decent partner, just be prepared to be bickering with someone 24/7.

Deuce Spade!

is attached the minute he sees the kid, almost instantly tearing up.

probably names the kid after his first blastcycle or something, sorry Deuce. </3

the child is named Harley, and he is Deuce's pride and joy. (Well, at least for this week)

the second guy on this list to openly admit to not wanting the divorced parents arrangement! (Will gladly help you move your stuff in!)

another one who doesn't need the manual, and he really doesn't. assembles the cot pretty quickly.

absolutely whipped. need more diapers? okay, he'll run to Sam's shop and buy you some? Harley's fussing? give him a minute, and he'll be right there to help! Need a break? okay, he'll take Harley out for a stroll while you rest up!

adoring father #2

used to greet Harley by throwing him up in the air and catching him, before a concerned Cater walked up and told him that even a meter above the ground could cause brain damage, effectively scaring Deuce into holding Harley in general.

got probably the best behaved baby, with Harley being a literal angel - never fussing or crying, always giggly, okay with others holding him… Deuce couldn't be happier!

with Harley being so well behaved, both you and Deuce's schedule went as per usual - Deuce being able to go to class with a baby that never disrupted it, as well as to get the serotonin of looking at Harley's face during lessons.

cries when he has to return Harley. doesn't even try to hide it.

one of the best students to get paired with, though do expect to get emotionally crushed by the end of the week.

[karawatermelon]

Okay, but like, I guarantee most of you Purists have used ai.

I don't usually use it for myself, but my students do. Because it helps them. Because it's good at taking complex ideas and simplifying it for whatever level that kid is at (and don't come at me that I should be doing it. I work at a high school where the average reading level is the second grade in 70% of our kids. I've got a revolving set of 32 14-year-olds, a quarter of whom speak no English and a third who have impactful learning disabilities, who all need my help and supervision at all times. Fix that first and we'll talk.)

But even beyond that use, beyond any of it, if you've accessed any part of the web in the last 2 years you've used ai. It's built into websites, programs, internet browsers. It's used to generate content that isn't labeled as generative. It's shifting through a minefield of images and search results to pick which packaging of the same shit isn't ACTUAL shit. Half of an image search with ai filters are STILL ai- they just aren't described as such.

Yeah so maybe you're better than all of us, you've never touched ai. But I'm starting to doubt you've touched reality lately too.

"I know chatgpt is bad but you just don't really have any choice" you literally do. Don't use it. Have some moral backbone.

[shiningmystic]

What are People/'s first Impressions of you?

Pick a Flower 🌺

This reading is about strangers specifically but if you do have someone in mind you can try using this reading as well. I don't guarantee you all resonating with these piles because they are first impressions but go ahead see whats there.

I would like to apologize for how long this took. I tried to do something new and it just didn't work out so here is me throwing together a graphic of some flowers. If your interested in private readings they are always open :) hope this helps out whoever.

{{ KO-FI | Shmfeedback | About Me }}

Pile 1: 4 of cups, page of swords, 5 of wands, 10 of wands, justice, judgement (rx)

Your first impressions from strangers pile one is that you are aloof and distant. I see some of you have a resting bitch face, or just a stoic look when you are at rest and not thinking of much. People I think get the impression that you have a lot going on or a lot on your mind. Usually pile one I see people see what you put out meaning if you are happy one day then strangers first impression of you being a happy individual. You seem to be readable and likable in that way but you may not be aware of this trait you have.

I see a lot of first impressions of you being that you must be a hard worker and possibly someone who is not afraid to verbally speak their mind. This does not have to actually reflect who you are but this is what people assume from first impression. From the back of the deck energy I can see you actually being a softy and a lovey dreamer who likes day dreaming or worrying about others and well being.

Just be aware pile one that your mood can either make you shine or darken. wow that is some powerful stuff and can be used to your advantage.

Pile 2: Queen of pentacles, Queen of wands (rx), 9 of cups (rx), 10 of swords (rx), The hanged man, page of cups

For you my pile two, I see a mix of people here. Some strangers see you as reserved yet also intimidating person but remember, those are just first impressions. You hold this respectable energy like you command respect in some way even unintentionally, you hold some regal energy. I see that others see you as patient but I see some people dislike something about you physically which is why you are intimidating. Some people are intimidated by your beauty or even your eyes, they feel like you can see right through them.

Some people will be stuck on how you look and act being misaligned, like for example you wear bold colors but you don’t talk much. I see some of you are admired with the way you hold yourself which would make sense with this regal feeling. Something min the way that you stand or sit people just turn to you. Even with this misalignment some people’s first impressions of you are very pleasant and see you as a surprising yet fun person. You hold many layers to you, hold that uniqueness close.

Pile 3: knight of pentacles (rx), 3 of pentacles (rx), 9 of pentacles, 8 of pentacles, 4 of swords (rx), strength (rx)

People first impressions of you pile 3 are that you are an independent attractive individual who knows what they like. People see you as a leader in some ways and a hard worker in others. I see with this independent energy you give off and self reliant attitude people may feel like you don’t need them or their help. It’s weird how I see that it is the opposite, that you desire help but people assume with how you present yourself that you’re fine.

I can see that see that you are tired and closer friends catch you worrying about things often. I see anxiety and hyper activity in this pile. Image isn’t everything and that being able to be open for help is another. It’s OK to not feel confident sometimes and you will find the right people who will see past your resilience, strong persona and help you out anyway. Overall for you my sweet pile 3, the first impression you give most people is that you are reliant, confident, and down to earth.

Pile 4: Ace of cups (rx), page of wands, the devil (rx), nine of swords (rx), the magician, seven of swords

For the people who pick pile four wow I see complete opposite impressions and that’s pretty funny. I get the phrase “hot and cold” so maybe with strangers you don’t give much of an expression so people feel like you are a bit cold on first impression but you are usually seen as someone excitable and free. I can see creativity, maturity and child like wonder. I can see some people are attracted to you and enjoy when you are happy, you are infectious.

On the other end some impressions from strangers and others around you are interesting. People find you attractive but you also give them heart breaker vibes like you are just totally unavailable and you having all this power over every relationships intentionally or unintentionally that causes different reactions. Some just get repelled and leave, others are a slave to it and want to impress you in some way. You give people a wake up call as well with your bluntness, you have a lot of power over how you can come off to others, use this to your advantage!

Pile 5: The Hermit, five of cups, Ace of wands (rx), the world (rx), the devil (rx), seven of swords

For you who pick pile five I see peoples first impressions of you are that you are anxious, reserved, shy and constantly in and energy of containment, like people can feel you hold back sometimes on opinions or expressions; you are a reserved individual. For others you always have a calm face that makes them a bit uneasy unlike pile 1 where people felt like they could come off as intimidating, you guys are nervous and anxious.

I get that a lot of people find you “cute”, I see soft features in my minds eye (for a short explanation of what a minds eye is, it is the space in my brain where I can day dream and imagine) yet I also feel people just find you to be a mystery, a curious puzzle of sorts. You don’t give enough for people to really make a judgment so there are a lot of assumptions here. You do not show yourself to the world enough so the world projects their own egos and insecurities onto you so all these impressions may be wrong. I can see a beautiful person beneath the mystery ❤️

Pile 6: eight of swords, The devil, The world, knight of cups (rx), the fool (rx), The hierophant (rx)

For you my pile 6 I see you guys being goth, dark cloths, punk aesthetics or something even on the other end of the spectrum, colorful, fun unique. This is the pile that is judged by people on who they are and the way they look even if it’s only by their skin color, race or ethnicity, your presence seems to be extremely loud where ever you live or lived. People feel as though they have the right to judge you because your so outwardly you. On the other hand other people admire you for who you are and are curious about you on first impressions.

People’s first impressions are not to trust you, that you are a rebel of some type and someone who goes against the grain. These judgments are just peoples ignorance and the person you are is needed in the universe and space because everyone belongs here. Many people seem to see you on the surface but the gem you hold exists and the people closest to you will always cherish your love and beauty.

Pile 7: two of wands, five of cups, Death (rx), King of swords, Queen of pentacles, two of swords

For you my pile 7 I see people’s first impressions are usually pretty positive. You give off this energetic vibe, someone who is excited and ready for life but I see this contrasting energy where you are also softer and more down to earth. The death card reversed gives me someone who holds a lot of power over certain individuals and with the king of swords this also reaffirms peoples inferiority towards you which it’s kinda shocking. You might be a manager or boss, someone who takes on a lot and it impresses many.

You come off as sharp and know what you are talking about but you also hold a mystery and sarcasm; witty intelligent energy. Some people just can’t put their finger on you and they don’t know why, people’s first impressions are pretty straight forward. Many feel you are a little sad or bitter while others are turned off by your natural authority but that's what happens when your energy makes a statement, people will either love or hate it but it’s there and you make things work.

[tmpestuous]

the other side

summary: the avengers rescue their newest recruit from hydra: you.

pairing: bucky x (future)avenger!reader

warnings: canon level violence, mentions of torture by hydra all throughout, mentions of death/murder, nightmares, guilt, trauma, angst, but bucky is a sweetheart who the world doesn’t deserve

word count: 4.5k

a/n: going baaaack in time for this one with the start of phoenix’s journey with the avengers. i’ve had this unfinished for a while and have finally completed it (: there will be a second part to this, but this can definitely still be read as a standalone; i hope you enjoy <3 

phoenix & the winter soldier masterlist

Fuck.

The pounding in your head could equate to being repeatedly hit with a hammer. Only your reality was much worse.

The man currently smashing your head into the pavement was one you’d rarely seen. He seemed to be in control of the entire organization currently holding you captive, immediately ordering around operatives and seeing the employees fall to his will. 

He came once every other week. His name was unbeknownst to you, just like many things since the moment you’d stepped foot in this makeshift prison. The source of his anger was also a mystery, as you were dragged from your ‘room’ (if you could even call it that), shoved in that dreaded chair in front of dozens of people speaking in Russian, with an IV lodged in your arm and an irate man staring at you with disgust.

“Why have we not tried putting words in her brain yet?” The man spat at the operative to his left, seemingly a scientist.

“Unfortunately, none of our methods have worked. We do not have a record of how Dr. Zola managed to do so with our Soldat—”

“You mean to tell me we have no one as smart as a scientist from fucking 70 years ago?”

The scientist shook his head promptly. “I’m afraid not, sir.”

He grunted. “And the serum?”

“The enhancement serum was a success, but only on our current subject here. The others have not seemed to respond to it very well. She seems to be our strongest soldier. She is in top condition, save for an incident at the beginning of her treatment,” he rambled, the man looking at him as if he’d answered the question wrong. “The control serum is also effective, sir. We have currently extended its effectiveness to around seven hours, but we have not tested it in the field.”

“Why not?” The man spat once more, his tone filled with disgust.

“While attempting to suppress her memories, it seems that the serum wipes her memories almost entirely, which sometimes included our direct orders. We cannot send her out to the field if she cannot provide us with a mission report. She also resists when we attempt to subdue her—”

And that’s how you ended up snatched out of the chair, thrown on the floor, with your nose taking the brunt of the force from your head being smashed over and over.

“Not as fucking strong as they claim, hm?” The man snarled as he leaned over you, then swiftly stood up, ordering the men to get started on sending you on the field.

You met the chair yet again, your arm reintroduced to the IV, all while your head thumped like a heartbeat and blood rushed out of your nose. 

A plea sat on your tongue, though it never came out. And soon enough, that moment joined all of the other memories you were forced to lose.

There was no way for you to tell how long you’d been here, a repetitive cycle every time you woke up that you were utterly unaware of. It left you drained, not knowing who you were, where you were, anything.

You counted your luck when you were left alone for over a week. Starving for sure and a broken nose to add to it, but you’d choose it over waking up with a lack of recollection.

After the thirteenth day of solitude, soldiers would come in and take you back to the chair every day for a little over another week. They argued with the scientists about injecting you with the serum, claiming they needed you for a mission. 

“The феникс is needed for an operation,” they always said.

Somehow the scientists always convinced them otherwise, instead giving you hydration and vitamins to account for the lack of food in your system. One of them always looked at you with pain in his eyes, seemingly an apology for everything that’s happened. Not like you remembered much of it anyway.

Two days after that, you noticed that the same scientist was gone. Dead, you presumed. 

Six days later, some of the scientists had come in and taken your vitals again, your questions falling on deaf ears as they’d never come into your ‘room’ before. Once they’d finished, they silently gestured to the guards and exited. 

“On your feet,” one of them spat towards you, pulling you to stand by your wrists before tying them together. He and one other guard led you to a room with a group of girls, ages varying from teen to maybe middle-aged.

“Stay here, феникс,” a soldier said, untying the rope from your wrists, hearing that same nickname again. “We will come back for you. It’s a big day.”

A big day. Couldn’t mean anything positive for you. 

“Phoenix,” a slightly older woman said to you after the soldier left.

“What?” You questioned, your voice a lot more hoarse than you thought it’d be.

“That is what they call you. Us. But you are their favorite.”

You nodded, not exactly having much to say. The word sounded similar to its English translation, but you never thought much of it. The reason for the name was unknown to you, but knowing what Hydra was capable of, it probably meant no good. They’d call you it so often, you didn’t even know if they knew your name. The one piece of identity you at least were able to hold on to. It seemed so miniscule, but it kept you from losing yourself entirely.

After what seemed to be a few hours, the soldiers started to gather all of the girls and women in the room. From what you could hear, they were being dragged down the hall. Almost every one of them begged to be left alone, promises of good behavior to avoid whatever fate they were about to meet. The pleas fell out of reach of your hearing, silent as a door slammed far away. 

As the guards were finishing rounding everyone up, there was the sound of rapid gunfire from the opposite end of the floor.

“What the hell was that?” One of the guards asked, quickly turning around and aiming his rifle at the empty hallway.

“Doesn’t sound good,” another one muttered. “We need to hurry it up.”

You noticed they looked more than uncertain as you analyzed their expressions, both of them putting their guard up with their weapons. There were only two women left beside you, but the thought of taking all of you to wherever they needed to was now an afterthought.

They listened, and as you all heard a few more rounds of gunfire, they rushed out of the room. You quickly got up and grabbed the door before it could seal shut, looking out into the hallway as the guards turned the corner sharply. 

“Do you think someone is here to save us?” One of the women behind you asked softly. 

“I never get my hopes up,” the other woman responded. She was the one who translated for you earlier. “What do you think, феникс?”

You immediately turned back around to look at her, your foot in the doorway to keep the door open. “Don’t call me that,” you said, no clear tone of aggravation in your voice, but not a kind one either. Turning your attention back to the hallway, you listened for motion. “I can’t tell what’s going on, maybe we should move.”

“Are you crazy?” The first woman asked. You couldn’t see her expression, but something told you there was fear all over her face. “They’ll kill us. You’re the only one with any skill here.”

“I don’t know what skills I have to begin with.”

From what the scientists and guards had argued about, you knew they had trained you in combat. You weren’t confident about any moves you may have had in your repertoire without the help from the serum. It seemed as though it was second nature while under their control, but what good are you without it? There weren’t many signs telling you to take the risk of trying.

“What if it’s the Avengers?” The first woman spoke up again.

“The Avengers…” you said, the name sounding familiar.

“Earth’s mightiest heroes,” the second woman added. “Two or three of them have Hydra history.”

Racking your brain, you remembered the guards exclaiming about a mission with ‘the Avengers.’ A few pictures of people, but they were hyper focused on two. One with a shield, one with a metal arm. The one with the metal arm was the one they wanted—“needed” you to kill. 

They called him all sorts of names, but the one that stood out to you was soldat. Soldier. The only one you could somewhat make out. They’d referred to you as a soldier a few times, though you couldn’t feel far from it. You’d wondered if he had made it out, escaped. Something you’ve been dreaming of, longer than your memory allowed you to recall.

Your thoughts were cut off as you heard one of the guards making his way back, swiftly closing the door and sitting back on the floor.

The two women next to you shrunk inwards in fear, prompting you to look around for anything useful to arm yourself with. You trusted that you weren’t entirely useless, and the less people they harmed, the better the world was. Seeing an old, rusty crowbar, you reached and grabbed it, hiding it behind you as the guard opened the door and looked directly at you.

“Ready for your first real mission, феникс?” He said, a distressed look on his face. “Get up and follow me.” 

You did as told, still hiding the crowbar behind you. As he turned his back, you swung as hard as you could. After grimacing at the wound left in the man’s head as he dropped to the floor, you threw the crowbar aside, turning to the women still on the floor.

“Let’s go,” you ordered them softly, grabbing the guard’s rifle and handgun before exiting the room.

You handed the older woman the handgun before pointing the rifle, walking slowly to the intersection of the hallway. Peeking into the adjacent hallway, you saw nothing for a few heartbeats until a shield made its way down and back the hall parallel to your position.

Your hearing then picked up footsteps coming towards you from behind, the woman beside you turning and shooting a guard before he (or you) had the chance to retaliate. 

“Holy shit,” the youngest woman said. 

“Think we’ve got company,” you heard another woman say from down the hall. Was your hearing always this fucking detailed?

Looking back down the intersected hallway, you saw them. Captain America. Black Widow.The Avengers were actually here. Turning back quickly, you looked at the women again.

“Find the other girls,” you told them. “I’m gonna get us out of here.”

“And how should we find them? And how can we leave you by yourself?” The older woman asked, a concerned expression etched onto her face.

“I’m their favorite, you said it yourself,” you spoke softly rather than confidently. “Trust me on this one.”

They both nodded as they made their way down the corridor to your right, not before taking the fallen guard’s weapons as well.

There was a plan in the back of your mind, an escape. It was so close, but there was an inadmissible ache in your chest. Your freedom meant nothing if you left everyone else to suffer, to die. You couldn’t live with yourself if that were the case.

Once the women were gone, you moved to face them. Instinctively, you aimed your rifle, but neither of them moved into a defensive position. Their stares felt pitiful, but your grip on the rifle didn’t falter.

“We found her,” the redhead said, her hand on her ear. “Second floor, east wing.”

They were looking for you. Remaining somewhat unsure of their motives, you still didn’t drop your weapon, taking a step back each time they stepped toward you.

“We’re not gonna hurt you,” you heard the man say. Captain America. He looked a lot taller than in the pictures you were shown. “We’re here to help.”

“How are you gonna do that?” Your voice came out a lot shakier than intended.

“We’re gonna get you out of here,” the redhead spoke again, placing her hand on her chest. “I’m Natasha. This is Steve. Our friends Sam and Bucky are in the building too.”

They stepped toward you again, taking a few more when they realized you didn’t retreat. Lowering your rifle, you didn’t even realize you had tears in your eyes. “Just me?”

Their expressions turned into ones of confusion. 

“You said you found me,” you elaborated. “To whoever you were talking to. I’m not the only one here.”

“Who else is here?” Steve asked. “Did they test on other people?”

“Y-yeah, other girls,” you wiped your eyes before the tears fell. “I sent two of them to go find the rest—you really thought it was only me in here? Aren’t you guys supposed to be the smart ones?”

Natasha chuckled. “She’s got a point.”

“Our intel was incomplete,” Steve retorted. “What’s your name?” After responding, Steve nodded. “Okay, Y/N, let’s find the girls and get you all out of here. Where are the girls now?”

You led them down the corridor where you’d sent the other two women. A couple of Hydra agents had found you, Natasha and Steve standing in front of you immediately as the chaos ensued.

Fighting was a lot easier than you anticipated it to be, feeling like muscle memory almost, even if your moves weren’t perfect. You used the butt of the rifle to hit most of the guards, not wanting to kill anyone. Even if they deserved it. 

Your stamina was also clearly enhanced by whatever they injected into you. Steve and Natasha took note of it, sharing silent exchanges that they were unaware you had noticed. They still protected you by taking the brunt of the combat, your inexperience loud and clear from having your brain toyed with so often. 

It had been roughly 45 minutes of fighting off guards and inspecting rooms before finally finding the girls, only there was no chance of saving them.

The two women from earlier had found you again, accompanied by a man you found out was Sam as Natasha mentioned earlier. Tear-filled eyes, drenched cheeks, and rapid breaths. Rambles of death and blood and fear for their own lives, apologizing profusely as if they’d failed to save everyone.

“They’re all gone?” Your voice barely above a whisper. 

They nodded in shame, still crying with no signs of stopping. You looked toward the door as they said it was best not to see the destruction. Their hands gripped your shoulder in an attempt to stop you from going into the room, but you pushed through anyway. Bodies were scattered on the floor, some on top of each other. A single bullet hole in each of their heads, the crimson pool flooding beneath them making you feel sick.

“We have to go,” Sam said urgently to Natasha and Steve. “Got movement from out east, they called in backup. Bucky’s got the jet ready to go.”

Your feet felt like they were glued to the ground. You couldn’t look away from the massacre in front of you, studying it like an obligation. Thinking back to the guard telling you it was a ‘big day.’

They were going to kill all of them. All of them except you. They probably were gonna have you kill them yourself.

Steve pulled you out of your trance with a bit of force on his end, the tears falling down your face uncontrollably. The first memory you could keep that would haunt you forever. 

Walking to the jet as one of three women left, you also couldn’t stop crying. The other women were as distraught as you, but the guilt wasn’t the same. 

“But you are their favorite.”

You couldn’t get the words to stop repeating in your head, accompanied by the insolent migraine from tears mixed with dehydration. Their guilt came from surviving, and yours did, too. But you were always going to survive, while they got lucky. Hydra wanted you alive. Hydra wanted them dead with the rest of the girls. A shared survivor’s guilt separated by the politics of who was useful to their agenda.

Once you all made it to the jet, you saw him. He was unmistakable, leaving you to stop in your tracks while everyone continued. He made eye contact with you and sighed, almost like he knew of a possible conflict.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said, making the rest of the team turn around. 

“I know,” you said softly. You had no idea why you felt so small, but you also couldn’t bring yourself to move.

“You have nothing to worry about, Y/N,” Natasha said. “You’re safe. We’ll get the three of you back to our headquarters and find your families.” 

After a nod and a deep breath, you boarded the jet. You could feel Bucky’s eyes on you before he took a seat next to Sam.

You didn’t have it in your heart to say you weren’t sure if you had a family to go back to, but something about the look in Natasha’s eyes when she said it told you she knew already. 

Sitting back in your seat, you closed your eyes and counted your graces.

Feeling a hand on your shoulder, you woke up with a startle. Natasha looked down at you, a friendly smile on her face. You looked to see everyone leaving the jet, Bucky giving you a quick glance before heading out.

“We’re here,” Natasha pulled your attention back to her. 

After you stood, you followed Natasha off the jet. You saw the big ‘A’ for Avengers outside of the building, workers scattered around the hangar. Doctors tried to assess you, but Natasha assured them you were okay as she led you inside.

Taking you to a conference room, you sat at the big table. Natasha sat next to you.

“You saved those women, you know,” she set a file on the table, one you didn’t realize she had in her hands. “We were able to track down their loved ones. Couldn’t have done that without you.”

You decided to play with your fingers instead of saying anything. You didn’t feel like a savior or a hero; it was hard to feel such a way when so many others got killed. Those women had saved themselves, they could have gotten killed any moment after you’d sent them off. 

“We couldn’t find—”

“I know,” you cut her off, clearing your throat. “I don’t remember much of them but I know they’re gone.” 

Looking down, Natasha nodded without a word, opening the folder in front of her. “We’re giving you a choice. We do need to deprogram you from Hydra’s training, however long that might take. But afterwards… You can stay here, train, and join our team. If you don’t want to do that, we can help you rejoin civilian life.”

“You don’t have to make that choice now,” Bucky said as he walked into the room, placing a glass of water in front of you. You immediately took a sip. “You just got out of a horrible place, and this job isn’t easy. Take your time.”

“You could’ve let me finish, Barnes,” Natasha glared at him before looking at you once more. “Until we get everything figured out, you can stay here in the residential wing. Tony’s set up a room for you.”

“Tony?”

“Iron Man,” Natasha corrected. “Sorry, I forgot you don’t know all of us by name yet. You’ll meet everyone soon enough, though. Bucky will show you to your room and we’ll reconvene tomorrow. Okay?”

You nodded once. “Thank you.”

Natasha left the room and you finished drinking your water, looking at Bucky as he grabbed the glass for you, a friendly half-smile on his face. You’d wondered if they sent him for a reason, seeing as he was the one with the most Hydra history. He didn’t seem like a big conversationalist, which was comforting. There wasn’t much for you to say after all. Questions still ran through your mind, however, with wonders of finding out more about the man you were now following down the hall and across to another building on the land.

After entering and making a left, Bucky walked to the final door on the left side of the hallway, turning to look back at you.

“You’ll have everything you need in here,” he said as opened the door to your bedroom, letting you inside though he didn’t enter himself. “Nat left a ton of clothes she thinks will fit. The kitchen and the common area are down the hall and to the left; the fridge is fully stocked. Sam usually likes to do all the cooking when Wanda doesn’t beat him to it.”

You let out a chuckle. Bucky wasn’t even trying to be funny, but he was glad you weren’t feeling uncomfortable.

“Thank you,” you turned back to him. He was still standing in the doorway. “I, um… I don’t know how to repay you guys for all of this.”

Bucky shook his head. “No payment needed. I know what you’re going through.”

“I know,” you fiddled with your fingers, thinking that your suspicions may have been correct. “I’m sorry about earlier. On the jet. They told me a lot about you. I think I didn’t know how to react to actually… seeing you.”

He shook his head once more, offering you another half-smile. “No hard feelings. I’m around if you need me. Make yourself comfortable.”

He closed the door behind him after you nodded in response, leaving you alone.

You finally took in the environment around you. This was the first time you were alone since this morning, but it was a complete 180 from the situation you had found yourself in at the start of the day. 

A full bed, an en-suite bathroom, a TV, and a desk. You couldn’t remember a time you had your own room in this way. Where you were kept in Hydra couldn’t be considered a room at all after seeing this in front of you. 

It was a lot, perhaps too overwhelming to process all that transpired in the last 14 hours. But you allowed yourself to.

You were safe. You escaped. You were free. 

First, you decided to shower. You stayed in there so long that the water went cold, but you were so relieved about being clean that you felt like you needed to savor it. After the water was too cold to tolerate anymore, you got dressed, putting on a t-shirt and sweats. All the clothes smelled like they had just been washed and dried. 

You avoided every mirror, not wanting to look at yourself and whatever state you were in. You thought it was best to sleep, carefully getting under the covers. It felt nice to have an actual bed, but the mattress was too soft and uncomfortable. You could feel some of your muscles cramping up. Sighing to yourself, you settled on lying on the floor. Your exhaustion caught up to you quickly, falling into your first deep slumber in forever.

Your body was adjusted to not eating for prolonged periods of time, so hunger cues weren’t in store for you. Bucky assumed as much, knocking on your door to bring you a bowl of Sam’s famous gumbo when he hadn’t seen you come out for a few hours. Listening intently through your door, he picked up on your breathing, which sounded more erratic than rhythmic. Opening the door, he saw you lying on the floor, understanding why right away. He also saw tears on your face as your face contorted in fear.

Knowing all the signs of a nightmare, Bucky anxiously knelt down after setting the bowl on the desk in your room, shaking you gently. “Hey, Y/N,” he spoke softly. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

He repeated the words he’d heard so many times. His own nightmares weren’t as bad as they used to be, but he still got them often. Bucky comforted you, releasing the tension from your shoulders until your eyes shot open, your fists immediately up in defense.

“Woah, it’s me, hey,” Bucky spoke softly, grabbing your wrists tightly enough to stop you, but softly enough not to hurt you. He rubbed them with his thumbs, still trying to soothe you. “You’re okay, you were just having a nightmare. You’re not in any danger anymore. You’re safe.” 

You looked up at Bucky, your expression unreadable to him as you were still catching your breath. He let go of your wrists before you sat up, wiping the tears off your face.

“I’m sorry,” you said in the same small voice you gave him outside of the jet. It made Bucky’s chest ache.

He barely knew you, but what Hydra did to people was something even he was unaware he could come back from. It felt like something worse than traumatizing, if that were even possible. He may not know much about your time there, as the information was little to none. Steve and Tony were still working on that. However, he knew more than anything that none of this could have been easy for you.

“You’ll never have anything to apologize for while you’re here,” he said sincerely, telling you the words he would tell a younger version of himself. “You’ve been through a lot, both mentally and physically. I’ve been there, and it’s not easy. But you’ll get better, day by day.”

All you did was look at him, a hint of gratitude in your eyes that only he would be able to make out. Instead of pushing you into a conversation, he got up and grabbed the bowl of gumbo with a spoon.

“I’m not sure if you’ll eat all of it, but I’m assuming you need to eat something,” he spoke lightly, his tone one of comfort as he passed you the bowl. 

Immediately digging in, it was like you had forgotten what it was like to eat. Bucky knew that feeling. He stayed with you until you ate about two-thirds of it, looking at him as he sat next to you on the floor, passing him the bowl with a look of guilt on your face.

“Sorry,” you shook your head. “It’s really good, I’m just kinda full.”

“Nothing to be ashamed about, I’m just glad you got something in your system. I’m sure everyone else will be too,” Bucky smiled at you, taking the bowl and standing. “Get some rest. Nat will probably wanna talk in the morning. My room’s right across the hall if you need me.”

“Will you be there?” You asked so softly, Bucky almost missed it.

“Tomorrow? Do you want me to be?” He asked, not wanting to assume. You nodded twice. “Okay, alright. I’ll be there.”

“Thank you,” you said, pulling your knees to your chest. “For everything.”

“Anytime,” he gave you one last smile before leaving the room.

Bucky knew you would be okay.

part two of this should come in the next few days… i’ve been obsessed with developing lore lately. i hope you enjoyed!

[starkeymeow]

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT part thirteen, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, continuation of enobaria talking to reader, heavy emotions, president sn*w

main masterlist | series ml | tag list | previous next

you can’t move much, still strapped down in some places, still healing in others, but you’re sure your body reacts anyway. something in your face must shift, because enobaria doesn’t speak right away. she’s watching you, arms folded tight around herself, like she’s cold even though this room is boiling.

you don't know what emotion you’re feeling. you don’t even think there’s a name for it.

you should be happy. you should be relieved.

rafe is alive.

you glance at enobaria, and she takes the look as permission to keep going.

“look, you don't have to say anything right now,” she starts. her voice is quieter than you remember. it’s less clipped, more like . . . like a person, and not a trainer or a warrior or a capitol cog. “i just— i thought someone should be the one to tell you. properly.”

you blink slowly. the lights above sting your eyes. your throat itches. there’s an ache in your arm where you think an iv is buried deep.

“you’ve been asleep a long time, kid. we weren’t sure you were gonna wake up.”

your mouth stays shut. you can’t even part your lips. they feel too dry. you just breathe through your nose.

“they kept you under, said your body needed to recover, and it did. barely. you were . . . torn up pretty bad. worse than i thought anyone could survive. honestly, they didn’t think you’d make it past the first night.”

her eyes are glassy.

“rafe?” is all you manage, and it doesn’t even sound like a word, more like a breath escaping.

she knows what you’re trying to say. she expected it honestly, so she nods. “he’s alive. in another room. been healing too. he’ll ask about you, once or twice. every damn day until they told him to stop talking.”

you swallow around the lump in your throat. you don’t know what you’re supposed to feel. your face twitches once, but you don’t know what expression it makes. something like guilt or maybe fear.

“they didn’t know what to do,” enobaria says, folding her hands in her lap now, leaning forward like in her seat. “no one expected it. you were too far gone, and he . . . i mean, he should’ve died with you. or before you. that’s how it’s supposed to work.”

you flinch.

“you were raised to believe the games were glory, right?” she says, almost gently now. “you win, you bring pride home. your district puts your face on posters. your name gets whispered like legend.”

you look at her, blank.

“that’s what they teach us. it’s what they taught me, too. but you know what they don’t teach?” she looks at you with guilt, almost like she doesn’t even want to be the one to tell you and make you face the harsh reality, “what happens after you win.”

your stomach twists from the way she’s behaving. you feel like scooting up higher on the hospital bed.

“you think the arena was bad?” she goes on, eyes fixed to the floor now like she’s ashamed of what she’s saying. “that was the easy part. this? what’s coming next? this is gonna be the real game for you.”

you’re breathing hard again.

“snow’s not happy,” she says finally. “you probably already guessed that. but it’s not even just snow. it’s the capitol, panem. no one knows what to do with you two.”

she starts to wring her hands in her lap. this is the first time you’ve seen her look nervous.

“two victors? it’s not just . . . rare, you know. it’s unacceptable. you changed something. and i mean, you didn’t even mean to, did you? you just wanted to keep him alive. or yourself. or both . . . but this isn’t what i meant by start a romance if things turn out for the worst.”

you close your eyes, just for a second. this obviously isn’t what you meant to do either.

“you kissed him.”

your eyes snap back open.

“and that—that—is what they’re going to use.”

you stare.

“it wasn’t even that romantic,” she says, frowning, almost a bitter smile. “you looked like you were both dying. which, i mean, you were. blood everywhere. but the camera caught it. just one kiss. just one moment. and that’s all they needed.”

she exhales.

“you know what a love story does in panem, y/n?”

you barely shake your head.

“it saves lives.”

your brow furrows.

“it gives them something to root for, something to cling to. because otherwise they’d have to see it for what it is: a system that lets kids tear each other apart and call it entertainment.”

you blink. she’s still going.

“so now they want you. both of you, all cleaned up, all shiny and tragic and perfect. they want a narrative. and you gave them one, without even trying. two victors, a surprise kiss, and a bond they can’t explain.”

you’re shaking. you only realize it now.

“you didn’t mean to rebel,” she says, voice quieter now. “but you did. and snow? he’s deciding what to do about it.”

you don’t ask what that means. you already know.

“he hasn’t asked for you yet,” she continues. “but he will. you’ll be called to meet him. maybe both of you, maybe just you. and whatever he says, you’re gonna listen. you’re gonna smile. you’re gonna play the part. because if you don’t—”

she doesn’t finish that part. she doesn’t need to.

you understand the risk, even if your brain doesn’t want to fully accept it yet.

you breathe out, shallow and strained. “so is rafe okay?”

her expression softens. she nods slowly. “you’ll see him soon. not yet. but soon.”

your eyebrows furrow. your lips part. “how soon?”

“depends on snow.”

depends on snow? what he says?

you don’t want to cry. you already have, maybe in your sleep, maybe when you were unconscious, maybe during the games. you don’t want to give them more.

“i’m sorry,” enobaria says, again.

you stare at her. you don’t know what to say. you don’t think there’s anything left to say, so you just lie there, still and aching and confused.

and for the first time since waking up, you want to go back to sleep.

when you meet president snow and you see rafe for the first time.

you’ve been told it’s the day. the day you’ll finally get to leave.

the day your body, still bruised and bound with healing flesh, gets to leave behind the antiseptic rooms and sealed windows. they tell you your family has been notified, that preparations are being made for your return, that soon you’ll be going home, back to district two, back to your worried parents.

when the nurse helps you out of your hospital gown and into a soft grey set of capitol-issued clothes, she brushes through your hair slowly, avoiding the scabbing at your temple.

you don’t speak much. your throat still feels like it’s full of blood sometimes. your body has stopped aching the way it used to, though your legs don’t hold you like they did before the games. everything inside you still feels raw but . . . dulled.

the nurse offers you a smile as she finishes, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear like you’re a child, and says something quiet you don’t quite register. you nod anyway, and she leaves.

the door closes.

you wait, hands folded, eyes on the window that doesn’t open. but when the door opens again, it’s not her that returns.

it’s peacekeepers.

not just one. but three.

your heart skips, not out of surprise. there’s been protocol, always guards posted, always quiet footsteps and mirrored glass. but this is different. they’re facing you, and they don’t speak.

you stare at them.

one of them gestures, not unkindly, just expectant. so it takes a second to move, but you do, slowly. you think at first they’re just escorting you down to the lobby to make sure you get on the train-ride home until you realize you’re in an entirely different wing of the building.

“where are we going?” you ask, voice quiet, barely used.

no answer. no need, apparently.

you walk. the hallway is unfamiliar, and that’s what makes the fear start creeping up again. the walls are too quiet and you swear the doors you pass look more sealed than open. you swallow, but the dryness in your mouth makes it harder to breathe.

you think of your parents, the promise of seeing them again, the idea of falling into their arms, or hearing your name spoken with warmth again. are they here, or?

you’re about to ask again, panic starting to swell, when the hallway bends, and you stop.

because up ahead, standing in front of a set of tall, dark doors, is someone you haven’t seen since the arena.

you don’t realize how tightly your chest is pulled until you see him and everything inside you lurches forward. your legs want to run before your brain even catches up. it’s instinct, it’s him and he really is alive. he’s real.

“rafe,” you breathe, like his name alone could close the distance.

his head turns slowly, and it takes only one look.

his posture doesn’t change, but his eyes meet yours and something behind them tightens. he lowers his chin just slightly, and shakes his head. sort of like a warning, and you feel it immediately. it’s like not here. not now.

you stop yourself as your lips press together.

you feel your face fall, just for a second, brows twitching in confusion. you want to ask why. you want to reach. but there are guards behind you, guards beside you, and rafe’s gaze tells you all you need to know.

you walk until you’re beside him, both of you facing the doors now.

you’re standing still, shoulder to shoulder with him but not touching, not speaking, not even breathing too loudly, because the peacekeepers are behind you like stone statues.

your eyes are just fixed on the wood. rafe’s head stays low, chin dipped like he’s glaring at the seam between the two doors. he looks carved out of stone, honestly unreadable and serious. you don’t dare look at him too long.

your chin is lifted slightly, but your fingers begin to tingle. they’ve done that on and off since you saw the peacekeepers. it’s like pins and needles, it’s anxiety. so you move your fingers just slightly, shifting them where they hang at your side.

then something brushes your hand. you almost flinch.

your first instinct is fear, it always is now, but then you recognize it. that warmth.

the kind that found you before the interviews, when you were being pushed into heels and corsets and coached to smile in front of thousands. that small, wordless gesture that had steadied your pulse when you needed it most. you remember how his fingers had ghosted across yours then, and how you’d leaned into it like it was the only real thing in the room.

now he does it again.

he moves slowly, subtle. it makes you hesitate. your hand hangs loose at your side, and you don’t dare turn your head, but you feel his knuckles brush yours again. it’s light, like a question or like a check-in. you don’t answer for a beat.

then slowly you move your fingers toward his, inch by inch. you feel him still, feel him hesitate the same way, feel him breathe through it.

your pinky bumps his, he doesn’t pull away, so you press again, and finally, finally, your hands find each other in the middle, barely touching at first, then his hand shifts open and yours slides into it like it was always meant to be there.

his palm is warm. your fingers tighten, and so do his.

the last time you felt his touch was when you thought you were aboit to die.

but this, it’s in a way to connect after the games. you want to think it’s rafe’s way of telling you it’s going to be okay, or maybe it has something to do with his thoughts from the arena. maybe a thank you? you aren’t sure actually if he’s appreciative that both of you are alive right now, at least to an extent.

but still, it’s comforting knowing he still wants to show this to you, despite everything. he’s just glad you’re okay.

you exhale just a little in a quiet, shuddered sigh as if you’ve been holding that breath for years. but rafe doesn’t move. he doesn’t even look at you. doesn’t wanna give anything away. he just breathes through his nose, spine straight, shoulder brushing yours.

the doors groan open.

your hands let go instantly, your fingers aching at the loss of his. your stomach flips at the sound of the hinges.

your eyes lift, and there he is.

sitting at the end of the room like a ghost in a throne, a single red rose gleaming at his chest, and that smile stretched thin across his face like it’s barely hiding the rot beneath.

president snow.

and he’s looking straight at you.

you glance sideways, and the peacekeeper closest to you jerks his chin forward, a silent command. your stomach turns.

your gaze flickers past him and lands on the table. a chair waits for you at the opposite end of snow, another one for rafe beside it.

your feet feel heavy, like they’re tethered to the floor, but you make yourself move and you sit.

a second later, rafe’s shadow shifts beside you. he’s slower, heavier in his steps. before he even reaches the table, you see the sharp tilt of his chin, the way his head turns ever so slightly toward the peacekeepers who flanked him in. there’s a glare in his eyes, but they don’t even blink at him.

he eventually turns and lowers himself into the seat beside you. no touch, no glance. but you can feel him. he’s tense.

your eyes finally lift.

president snow is already watching you. not rafe, but you. like he’s been waiting for you to look up. like he knew you’d try not to, but in the end, he always gets what he wants.

he doesn’t smile. but there’s something in his expression that just fucking chills you. there’s no warmth or welcome. more like interest maybe.

you swallow again, throat dry.

his fingers tap lightly against the armrest of his chair, knuckles ringless, nails neat. every movement is careful, precise. he’s not here to rant or rage. he’s not that kind of monster. no, snow studies his prey first.

“well,” he begins, voice low. he leans forward just slightly, folding his hands together atop the marble. “this isn’t quite how the story was supposed to end, is it?”

your hands are in your lap, fingers tangled, knotted tight. you don’t answer. neither does rafe. silence is safer. always.

snow lets the pause stretch a few seconds too long, like he enjoys watching you squirm.

“you believed, as victors, you’d be discharged back to your districts with some grand speech and a warm meal, a parade, a new house, a fresh start.”

his eyes harden.

“but that’s not what you earned.”

you blink, unsure if you heard him right. your eyebrows pull together, not quite angry, but confused.

snow turns his gaze fully to you now, and it pins you in place like a needle through silk. “you didn’t just win the games,” he says. “you rewrote them.”

your confusion only deepens. you feel your breath catch as he continues.

“your stunt in the finale,” he says, eyes flicking between the two of you, “has become more than just a tragic little act of desperation. the world saw something else. they saw love. devotion. defiance of death for the sake of another. it’s poetic. it’s dangerous . . . it’s useful.”

useful.

“and now,” he says, “that image must be maintained. not just for the sake of the capitol’s narrative, but for the stability of panem.”

you open your mouth, voice catching as you finally whisper, “what?” you stare at him like he’s speaking another language. “maintained?” you echo.

“from this moment on, the two of you will live in the public eye. you’ll smile at galas. you’ll sit side by side in interviews. you’ll hold hands, exchange sweet words, indulge in romantic gestures that reaffirm what the world already believes.”

he tilts his head slightly, like he’s giving you a gift. “you will be the capitol’s golden couple.”

you just . . . stare.

it doesn’t register at first. it sinks in slowly. it’s not like the plan itself is the worst thing in the world, it isn’t hell to pretend to be in love with someone like rafe. it’s just control.

you feel rafe shift beside you, not dramatically, just a subtle inhale through his nose. there’s another clench of his fist.

he finally speaks, and his voice is flat. “we already gave you what you wanted. we won.”

snow raises an eyebrow. “you won wrong.”

you swear the air in the room turns to ice.

“do you understand what your actions caused?” snow ask. “two victors walking out alive was not a triumph. it was a complication. and now i have to clean it up. i have to shape the outcome into something palatable. something inspiring.”

you don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until your chest tightens.

“and the only way i could do that was to turn your little . . . suicide pact . . . into a grand, star-crossed victory,” he says it with disgust. “a romance so moving that it eclipses the rule you broke.”

“we didn’t do it for a narrative,” you whisper, anger threading under your voice now. “we did it because we didn’t want to die.”

snow gives the softest nod. “and yet here you are. alive. which means, from now on, you’ll live exactly how i tell you to.”

you glance at rafe again, and he’s already looking at you. there’s something in his expression that wasn’t there before. it’s not just anger, not just fear. it’s the crushing, soul-deep exhaustion of someone realizing that no matter how hard they fought, the game never really ended.

you feel like crying, but you won’t. not in front of him.

“and if we don’t go along with it?” rafe says.

snow’s smile is thin, like a slit in paper. “then perhaps the next year’s victors will be told a different story. one about two ungrateful champions who couldn’t bear the weight of their own fame. a tragic ending, of course. the kind that keeps the people on edge.”

your stomach flips.

you know what he means. what he’s not saying.

he’s threatening your families.

he’s threatening your lives.

snow watches you both with vague interest, the pads of his fingers resting thoughtfully against his cheek, elbow perched on the arm of the chair. there’s something leisurely about him now, like a man who just finished winning a game of chess and is wondering if he should give you a second chance, just for fun.

then he speaks again.

“let’s see it.”

you blink, unsure if you misheard. snow’s gaze doesn’t waver.

“go on,” he says smoothly, his eyes trained on the two of you. “hold hands. right here. on the table.”

your stomach turns.

you’ve been fiddling with your fingers this entire time, pressing your thumbnail into your palm, rubbing the ridges of your knuckles to keep from shaking. your hands are clammy.

you glance at rafe but he’s already looking at you. and he doesn’t move, but you can see the hesitation in his eyes. he doesn’t want to do this either.

it’s just holding hands. that’s all. but suddenly it feels like the worst thing he could’ve asked of you.

your breath hitches as you tear your hand out of your lap and, despite the shame, you reach across the table and slide your fingers into rafe’s.

his hand closes around yours. he moves slow, reluctantly, but it’s solid.

you stare down at them—your hands, intertwined on the wood surface like a staged photo, and something in you curdles. it’s not rafe’s touch that makes your heart pound. it’s the context, the control, the fact that nothing you’ll do anymore feels like your own decision.

you don’t look up. you can’t. but snow forces you to.

“look at me,” he says. you do. your spine straightens like a string’s been yanked.

“i see potential in you both,” he says, lifting his chin like this has all been so very civilized. “that’s the only reason you were allowed to win. but that win is conditional. it always was.”

his eyes meet yours one last time.

“make it worth it.”

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @d-daxx @tsumudoll @ogcrashout @jjasmiineee @loverliner @ailimedae @belle101200 @hiimbrina @nomup @ayy1234567 @girxwrp @k4yr14 @amterasuu @theteenagementality @maggscr @hey-you22w @delilah22pbp @hayleynott @silkenthusiasts ++

[thekekita]

More details: It IS treatable, but it can be very discouraging, even hard to get referred to the right place. Yes, you can google the exercises, but it might not work half as well without a therapist who can assess you physically and give you a custom-built-to-you exercise regimen and muscle manipulation.

Pros: the therapy isn't scary! Nothing will make you feel more like a truck at the mechanic than having a therapist with their hand up your ladybits and ask "any plans for the weekend?", true, but the part that shocked me was how skilled the therapists are at (1) making sure it doesn't hurt and communicating well with you re: pain and discomfort levels, (2) adapting your treatment plan to your needs holistically, and (3) how well-trained they are in trauma-informed and consent-based care. It's very well done.

10/10 recommend. I can use a tampon now, guys!

Biggest drawback: it's expensive as balls because physiotherapy isn't cheap and you're going to a specialist. In my experience, if you're up front about your budget, they'll adapt to that, too, even if it's only one session with a long pile of individualized homework. If you can't afford it, definitely look up resources and exercises online, but try to see a physiotherapist at least once if you can.

Storytime: My postpartum pelvic floor physio has discovered the reasons for multiple chronic problems I'd been having for years; they didn't diagnose it, but they wrote down a script for me to tell my doctor, describing my symptoms and their physical findings during examinations, spoken in doctor-speak, laid out in the order that would show them what to test for, which then has put me on the right track for treatment! Not just the pelvic hypertonia--the other "hand-wave I diagnose thee with woman" turned out to be measurable, physiological things that my physiotherapist found.

Tl;dr: See a physiotherapist. Whether male or female, cis or trans, get your butt (and vagina and penis) over to a pelvic floor physio if you're in unexplained pelvic pain or other pelvic awkwardness. This should be taught in school as part of health class or something until it's boring and routine lol.

We all know what erectile dysfunction is but literally no one is ever taught what vaginismus is and it can cause people to feel extremely lost, broken, and cause people to take their own lives. Raise. Awareness.

[megalony]

Taking It Personal

This is a new Elliot Stabler imagine, I hope you will all enjoy it. Please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt @strawberry-canyon @bieberhoodforever @911fangirlie @hollandxxmix @jasmineee05 @creat1venat1onn @devilslittlehelper @darlingcharling-blog @bear8585 @nickie-amore @elliott-calls @person-005 @mbioooo0000 @amara-mars @shypy92 @nikfigueiredo @sabsthedoll

@elizaelaine

Main Masterlist

Summary: A suspect Elliot is investigating starts taking an interest in Elliot's wife, following her around to try and intimidate them. And Elliot doesn't like it.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When (Y/n) walked into the squad room, she was almost relieved when she saw that her husband's desk was empty.

It would be a lot easier to come here and do what she needed to do without being distracted by Elliot or indeed causing him a distraction when he was on the job. (Y/n) could come in, have a chat and leave without disrrupting her husband's work or that of his team.

Her hand tightened around her bag on her shoulder and she tried to block out the noises of the constant footsteps banging around, the slamming of drawers, the loud phone calls annd the clinking of cups and cultlery as people ate their dinners.

She danced her eyes around the busy station, thankful that no one seemed to have noticed her or paid any attention to her. Most of the squad knew that (Y/n) wouldn't be a victim or a witness coming in to give a statement or get advice. She was down here often enough to bring them results from the forensic lab where she worked and when she swung by to see Elliot or drop something off for him.

She bypassed the coffee station near the stairs and walked past Elliot's vacant desk which still held half a cup of stone cold coffee, long forgotten. And she lifted her head when she heard a door creak open to find Captain Cragen stood in the doorway to his office.

He had a calm smile on his features and he was clearly looking in her direction. It must have been clear that she needed some kind of help.

"Hi, are you looking for Elliot?" The Captain glanced his eyes around the squad room as if he was half expecting Elliot to waltz in and spot his wife straight away. But he knew Elliot and Olivia had gone out to do another interview with a victim and he wasn't sure when they would be back to the precinct.

"Um, I- I wanted to speak to you, if you have a minute." (Y/n) tried her best to smile and she tried not to fidget too much and give away the fact that she was nervous.

She didn't often have cause to come and speak to the Captain, she wasn't one of his officers under his command and forensics usually led her to the squad, not straight to Cragen. He heard the forensics through the grape vine rather than straight from the professional who noted them down.

And (Y/n) couldn't think of any other time where she had come down here specifically to see Cragen. Clearly he was having trouble recalling such a time too because a look of surprise flooded his face. But his eyes were kind nevertheless and he nodded, beckoning her in.

"Sure, come in the office." Whatever she wanted to talk about, he figured she wouldn't want to talk and broadcast it to the entire station.

(Y/n) followed him back into his office and nudged the door closed behind her. She smiled gratefully when he motioned to the chair opposite his desk and once she sat down, he did the same. She watched him rest his elbows on the desk so he was leant forward towards her and his hands clasped together as a look of concern flooded his eyes.

"Is everything okay?"

She suddenly had a great urge to laugh because part of her was telling herself that she shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be bothering the Captain when she knew he was a busy person and she certainly didn't want to cause issues for Elliot at work. But if she didn't talk to someone and something happened, it would only be her own fault.

With her bag on the floor by her feet, she began to drag her hands up and down her thighs in a vain attempt to calm down when her nerves were starting to go haywire again.

"I didn't know who to go to, a-and I don't want to worry Elliot, I might even be overreacting,"

"(Y/n), whatever it is, I'm sure you're not overreacting and I'm sure I can help in some way."

Chances were that she wasn't overreacting and (Y/n) knew that, but she still felt uneasy and a bit silly for being here. And she knew she should be talking to Elliot about this, but she didn't want to panic him. He was a worrier and always so protective over his family which was an amazing trait in him, but rather than worrying him (Y/n) thought talking to Cragen might help.

"I thought I was being paranoid, but someone's been following me." She couldn't look up as she spoke, she couldn't meet his eyes in case he smiled or laughed or thought she was being silly.

But (Y/n) knew she was seeing this person a lot more than a mere coincidence. He was almost everywhere she went and she never saw him veer off in a different direction or meet up with someone or do something ordinary. He just seemed to hang around wherever she was and walk behind her and go along the same streets as (Y/n) did like he was on a mission to watch every move she made. It wasn't normal.

She saw the way Cragen took a deep breath and nodded like he was trying to mull it over and think of the best way to approach this. He straightened up in his chair but kept his hands clasped in front of him as he finally spoke.

"Do you know who it is?"

(Y/n) rolled her lips together and shook her head. "I don't know him… but he knows my name- at least, he knows my last name."

Cragen's expression changed and his demanour changed almost immediately. His hands unravelled and pressed down into the desk as he looked away for a moment.

Now he knew why she had come to talk to him.

If this person was stalking her and he knew her last name, chances were it was someone Elliot knew. This could be someone trying to intimidate Elliot or a perp trying to get back at him and if that was the case then Cragen needed to know who it was and make sure it stopped. They didn't need someone with a vendetta against Elliot trying to harm his family and causing problems.

And (Y/n) knew that she couldn't keep this to herself, especially if it was someone involved with the team or under their watch. If she didn't tell anyone and something happened then she would have herself to blame.

(Y/n) reached her hand out to card her fingers through her hair, doing her best to try and remain calm and prevent herself from slipping into panic. She was safe here. She was in a precinct full of police and she knew he wouldn't have followed her here, that would have been too dangerous. At least for the time being she could calm down and being here for as long as possible might discourage him if he had indeed followed her here as well.

"I caught him following me the other day, so I waited at a crowded bus stop. When he passed me, he smiled and said Mrs Stabler. It's been over a week now and I wouldn't have bothered you, but- but he was outside the lab building when I left yesterday."

She watched Cragen's expression change and his fingers began to drum on the desk.

This person knew where she worked, and he knew her name. It seemed likely to infer that he was following her because she was married to Elliot. (Y/n) worked in forensics, no one knew what kind of work she did and no person charged with a crime would know who specifically ran tests on them. This had to be either some creep who was trying to get close to her or someone trying to get back at Elliot.

(Y/n) had almost cried when she came out of work yesterday and realised that same man she had been spotting nearby all week was stood outside. He had been slouched against the wall with his arms folded over his chest. He looked like he had been waiting there a while but his face lit up when he had seen (Y/n) leave. He had clearly been watching out for her.

As if a light bulb had gone off above her head, (Y/n) reached down and rummaged through her bag by her feet. When she found what she was looking for, she held it out towards Cragen until he took it from her.

He tried his best to steel his expression, but that tiny flicker of recognition on his face and the dilation in his pupils was enough of a giveaway that he recognised the photo. He knew the man (Y/n) had snapped a photo of yesterday when she saw him. She wasn't taking any chances, if he was following her to work she needed a picture to show to someone to find out what he was doing and what he wanted.

"Do you know him? Is he a suspect?" (Y/n) leaned closer, letting eagerness wash over her as she tried to get him to tell her who it was. Why he was following her. What this was all about.

"You leave this with me, (Y/n). I'll put a stop to it I promise, but if you see him anywhere near you just come back and tell me."

(Y/n) felt a great urge to sit and demand she be told who it was, but in the great scheme of things, maybe it was better if she didn't get involved. Knowing who he was wouldn't make it any easier and that wouldn't help (Y/n) if she decided to go and tell him to stop what he was doing.

It would be easier for (Y/n) to try and keep out of this situation and hope that Cragen- and the team- could put a stop to this before it got out of hand.

"Thank you." (Y/n) smiled gratefully and looped her bag on her shoulder. She could go home feeling a bit more at ease, knowing that this might just get under control now and that she shouldn't be followed around for much longer.

She took two steps out of Cragen's office before she paused, rooted to the spot when she looked ahead of her.

Elliot was at his desk.

He had come back in the short time that she had been talking to Cragen. Elliot was just shrugging off his jacket which he slipped over the back of his desk chair. And he began to unbutton his sleeves and roll them up to his elbows, but surprise flooded his face when he glanced ahead of him and realised his wife was here.

He didn't know she would be stopping by, although he couldn't fathom why she would be here to talk to Cragen of all people.

A dazed, confused sort of smile appeared on Elliot's face and one hand moved to his hip while he watched (Y/n) thank Cragen before she aimed towards Elliot. The closer she got, the more Elliot realised she looked a bit uneasy. Her fingers were itching around the handle on her shoulder, her eyes kept flitting from one side to the other and she was biting down on her lower lip so much that she was starting to draw blood.

When she got within reach, Elliot stretched an arm out and clamped his hand down on her hip. His thumb began to glide over her hip and he tilted his head to kiss her temple while his other hand cupped the back of her neck.

"Hey baby, everything okay?"

(Y/n) managed a smile at his words and she leaned forward into his chest, reaching out to hold onto his biceps as she nodded against him. "Yeah, yeah just work."

Elliot could feel his smile starting to fade. He wasn't so sure (Y/n) was here for work, she had never come to see Cragen before about anything to do with her work. And he knew each different expression and twitch and mannerism about her, he knew she was nervous right now.

And when he looked ahead of him and noticed Cragen was standing in the doorway to his office with his hands in his trouser pockets and his eyes focused solely on Elliot, he felt a cold shiver run down his spine. Something was wrong here.

"Elliot, in here."

(Y/n) felt the way Elliot's chest tensed when he breathed deeply and his arms tightened around her for a few seconds like he was debating going against Cragen's invite into his office. But he seemed to think better of it when he sighed into (Y/n)'s temple and gave her hip a squeeze.

He muttered "Don't go anywhere," against (Y/n)'s temple which he kissed longingly before he unravelled from her and weaved around her.

He shared a quick glance with Olivia who was on her way to the coffee machine but she rose a brow when she saw Cragen's expression. Had Elliot done something wrong? Had he pissed the Captain off at some point? What had he been speaking to (Y/n) about?

Elliot's hands flexed at his sides as he headed into the office where he was used to being scolded for something or being given bad news. He was never invited into the Captain's office for a good reason. Even when he was being told they had someone assigned to a case from a different unit or when they were getting more help for a case or new information. Nothing was ever good when he came in here.

But he tried his best to look calm and remain as professional as possible. He closed the door behind him without needing to be told, and he fidgeted from foot to foot as he stood at the side of the desk. He never sat down when he came in here.

"Something wrong Cap?" His expression remained stoic but he held his breath when Cragen looked down for a moment like he was trying to find the right words to say.

Cragen put his hands in his pockets and stood behind his desk, not bothering to sit down this time because this wasn't a formal kind of chat and he had a feeling Elliot wasn't going to take this news well.

"The Watson case, as if now you're no longer assigned to it. Munch will take over from you, focus on your other cases."

Surprise flooded Elliot's face and for a moment, the briefest hint of a smile pulled at his lips before he shook his head and moved his hands to his hips. What had he done to warrant this? Why was he being removed from the case when he hadn't done anything wrong? They weren't even at the trial stage of this case yet, they had so much work left to do.

"Excuse me?"

"You're off."

This time Elliot did laugh and he turned away from his Captain, moving one hand to rub at his freshly shaven jaw before he shook his head and turned right back to face him.

That wasn't fair. This was his case. Elliot knew these victims, he had a good relationship with them and they trusted him. How unfair would it be to make them have to trust someone else and get used to answering questions with Munch and having him prep them for trial rather than with Elliot who had been there since the first attack.

It made no sense to take him off the case now at such a crucial point when nothing had gone wrong thus far, and no complaints had been put in against Elliot.

"Why? I know the victims, you think Aleisha's gonna trust someone else to get her through an arrest and a trial? This is my case, we have Watson one inch from an arrest-"

He could feel his anger rising inside of him like he was boiling over and his hands clenched into fists at his sides as his agitation grew.

"And Watson is following your wife." Reaching out, Cragen grabbed the picture from his desk and thrust it out towards Elliot. "He's taking it personal. Now if we have to arrest him for stalking and then you're the arresting officer for these rapes he's going to say you're targeting him. You're off the case Elliot, for your family's sake."

All of the rage bubbling up inside of Elliot simmered down immediately like he had been doused in cold water.

His hands started to tremble as he looked down at the picture in his hands, staring at the scrunched up features of Arthur Watson, their prime suspect for three rapes and assault.

(Y/n) had taken his picture. He had been following her around for long enough that she had taken a picture and come to talk to Cragen about it. She was worrying, and yet she hadn't told Elliot about this.

And there was nothing he could do. He couldn't be the one to go and talk to Watson about this because it would be seen as inappropriate. He couldn't stay on the case because if he did then Watson would continue to get angry and riled up at him and he would try and continue to follow (Y/n). He might become brazen and try to talk to her or even go as far as to hurt her and try to make her another one of his victims.

Elliot had to revert back to some of his other cases or desk duty until this case was over and done with. He couldn't arrest or interview Watson, he couldn't go near him or do anything in case they had to press charges against him for what he was trying to do to (Y/n). And the charges would only stand if there was no impropriety on Elliot's part.

He barely felt himself shaking his head before he turned and swung the door open and burst out into the squad room. The photo in his hand clenched tight into his fist and his eyes set on his wife who was perched on his desk with her hands tangled nervously in front of her.

Trepidation flooded (Y/n)'s veins when she watched Elliot aiming her way with an expression like thunder and lightening rolled into one.

She was about to slide off the desk where she had been sat chatting to Olivia at her own desk but (Y/n) didn't get chance when Elliot bolstered over to her. He stood directly in front of her, nudging her knees until he could worm his way in between them.

(Y/n) dragged her eyes up and down his frame, nervously watching for any signs that he was angry with her because it was clear he had been told what had happened and that he knew the person stalking her.

Her nerves ignited and her heart jumped when Elliot's hand curled around her thigh while his other hand held out the scrunched photo she had taken which was now littered in creases. Showing just how harshly Elliot had scrunched it into his palm.

"How long has he been following you?"

(Y/n) didn't bother looking at the photo and she was glad when Elliot went to put it down on the desk beside her. Clearly neither of them wanted to look at that creep and give him the time of day.

"A week or so." She bit down on her lip when she watched Elliot sigh and hang his head forward as both hands moved to grip her thighs like he was using her to hold himself up.

She felt like she couldn't breathe when his head angled up and she felt his lips against the side of her neck.

"You should have told me. Has he talked to you, tried anything at all-"

"No, no, I swear. He- he just follows me, calling me Mrs Stabler… is he one of your perps?" (Y/n) didn't want Elliot to worry or think something bad had happened. This was why she had gone to Cragen, she didn't want to panic Elliot.

"Yeah, well not anymore. Cragen took me off the case so we can warn him to stay away from you. But if you see him again you have to tell me."

(Y/n) found herself nodding before Elliot even finished speaking, but her jaw went slack and her stomach fuelled with adrenaline when one of Elliot's hands moved from her thigh. She could scarcely breathe when he grazed his fingers along her chin and tilted her head back so she was looking up at him. They were so close that their noses were touching and his lips were close enough to touch.

"Promise me."

"I promise."

***

"There you go." Reaching out, (Y/n) gently handed over the pale blue watering can that was barely the size of both her hands held together.

She held out the watering can that was shaped like an elephant and watched as Jack carefully took it from her and proceeded to turn around and begin watering the plants. They didn't have many plants and flowers in the front garden, but they had enough to make it look homely and speckled with colour.

Jack's favourites were the white roses beside the front door, but he had already watered those, so now he was aiming for the daffodils.

Seeing that he was happy and focused, (Y/n) turned and moved across to the other side of the garden to water the few pansies they had growing beside the fence. It was nice that the sun was coming out and that they could come out into the garden and do a little work now. The back garden would be next where they had a few more flowers and little trees growing.

(Y/n) began to hum to herself and nodded her head along to the song playing in her mind and she almost drifted off into her own world. Right until she heard Jack trotting over to her.

The four year old tugged on her sleeve and started to lean against her leg like he thought she was a leaning post.

"Mummy, who's that?"

"Hm?" (Y/n) took a moment to look around, wondering who on Earth Jack had spotted out in the street that looked empty to her.

She knew Elliot wouldn't have come outside, he didn't like gardening and he was fixing something upstairs anyway. It always took him a while to do DIY, he liked to think he was an expert, but he wasn't the greatest at fixing things. That never stopped him though.

She scanned around for a second while her hand moved down to ruffle Jack's hair. But once she looked to the left, she realised who he had spotted.

"No one. He's not a friend, honey, finish watering the plants then we can go inside."

She gave him a little nudge to edge him back towards the daffodils he was watering. They needed to finish up and head inside and hope that Watson would walk past. He couldn't be here and he knew it.

Olivia and Cragen had told him that he couldn't be following (Y/n) or Elliot around and that if he went near them again, he would be arrested and a restraining order would be put in place. Not to mention he would soon be taken to trial as he was the main suspect in the case that had now been handed over to Munch.

Bending forward, (Y/n) watered the last of the plants before she moved and set her own watering can down in front of the bay window. Her hands moved to plant down on her hips and she narrowed her eyes as she stared ahead at Watson.

He had gotten closer. He was now leaning against the fence rather than hanging back a few feet away or slowly walking down the street. He was standing right in front of their home. This had to be some kind of intimidation. Maybe he thought hanging around and trying to frighten them would somehow get Elliot to try and make his charges disappear.

Well intimidation wasn't going to work, it was only going to rile them both up and make a stronger case against Watson. He was digging his own grave here.

When he continued to stare at her, (Y/n) sighed and took a few daring steps closer to the fence. She stayed a good foot away so he couldn't try and reach out for her, not that she thought he would. Every time he had followed her, he had never tried to grab her or hit her or make a move. All he did was greet her in passing and then follow her like a shadow.

But this was different. He had come to their house, he was here purposely either to frighten them or to try and talk or hurt them. This wasn't a coincidence and he couldn't be doing this.

"What do you want?" The tone of her voice gave away that she was in no mood to mess around or play games. He had to either say what he had come for or disappear.

A sickening grin spread across his features as he stepped forward until he was leaning against the front gate with both hands curled around the fence posts in front of him. He inclined forward until he was practically leering over the gate, causing (Y/n) to take a step back.

But when she saw his hand reach over and try to undo the lock on the gate, she reached out and slapped his hand away.

No way was he trying to come inside their garden or get into their home. They had kids here. Jack was here and the twins were upstairs, Watson wasn't getting anywhere near them.

"You shouldn't be here. Leave." Her words seemed to have no effect as if Watson was deaf and he simply stared at her with that horrid grin and his hands tapping against the fence.

Taking another step back, (Y/n) turned around and quickly moved over towards Jack who had finished watering the plants now. He was stood with his head angled to one side, confusion written across his face and fear sparking in his eyes.

"Inside, now. Go get your dad please."

It was clear that Jack didn't understand what was going on but he didn't need to be told twice. He scuttled up the path and through the front door, scanning near the living room before he remembered his dad had been trying to fix something upstairs.

He trotted up the stairs, panic gnawing at his chest as he hurried and turned at the top of the stairs, flinging himself around the banister where he almost collided with the step ladders.

There was Elliot, stood on the top step with a screwdriver clasped between his lips and the light fitting in his hand that he was trying to screw back in place now that he had fixed the dodgy wire.

Elliot snapped his head down, his brows furrowing when he felt the steps shudder and he looked to see Jack stood there, too afraid to try and climb up one step. His hands reached out and he grabbed onto Elliot's leg, giving his trousers a sharp tug to gain his attention.

"Careful bud, what's up?" He took the screwdriver from between his lips and began screwing the fitting back in place, although he kept glancing down to see what his boy was doing and what he wanted.

"Mummy said to get you… someone at the front gate."

A frown etched onto Elliot's features and he strained his arms a bit higher to get the last screw held in place. Once the screw began turning, Elliot looked down at Jack, who he now noticed looked panicked as he continued to cling to Elliot's trouser leg.

"Who is it?"

Jack shrugged and looked up at Elliot with those big round eyes full of panic. "Don't know, strange man."

Reaching his hand up, Elliot bashed the light covering back in place over the screws before he clambered down from the steps. He leaned down and slid his hands beneath Jack's arms, scooping him up from the floor in one swift motion and he held him against his chest as he turned towards the stairs.

"Okay, I'll see who it is, you go watch tv for me." Once he was downstairs, Elliot gently set Jack down to his feet and nudged him towards the living room. He didn't want him staying outside and watching in case it was who Elliot thought it was that had turned up.

God, he hoped not.

He could see the uncertainty in Jack's eyes, but once Elliot nodded at him and gave him a gentle nudge in the right direction, the four year old trudged into the living room.

Elliot barely got over the threshold of the front door before his blood ran cold when he looked dead ahead of him.

It was exactly who he thought it would be on their front. Watson. The man that had been warned to stay away or bear the consequences. The man that should be locked inside a prison cell by now if he didn't get such low bail. Either he had followed them home one day or he had a source to find out such information. Elliot knew it wouldn't be hard to find his address, he saw perps find out more secured information on a regular basis at work.

But the fact that he was bold enough to come here showed how unhinged Watson was and how intimidated he felt by Elliot to try and frighten his family like this.

Shudders crawled throughout (Y/n)'s skin when she watched Watson try and open the gate again. The moment he undid the lock and tried to push the gate forward, (Y/n) stepped closer and slammed it shut.

A small wave of satisfaction rolled through her when Watson hissed as the wooden gate slammed into his hand and bashed against his fingers.

"Move it or lose it." (Y/n) hissed as she gave the gate another whack to indicate that if he tried stepping onto their property, he would get hurt one way or another.

"You think you frighten me?"

No. No, (Y/n) didn't think she was intimidating enough to frighten an unhinged assailant like Watson, but she hoped that Elliot just might be.

She gasped when Watson suddenly reached out and clamped his hand down around her wrist tight enough to dig his nails into her skin. She could feel her fingertips going numb and shooting pains radiated through her wrist when he roughly twisted it to one side and yanked on her arm, pulling her against the fence.

But his touch wasn't on her for long before a familiar hand settled on her shoulder and a certain chest merged against her back.

She felt Elliot curving around her like a blanket, his chest pressing down against her while his right arm moved around her so he could reach out and grab Watson. He yanked on his hand until he had no choice but to let go of (Y/n) and once she was released, she felt Elliot swiftly turning her to the side so she was behind him.

Her hand moved to his shoulder despite the ache radiating through her wrist but Elliot turned to look at her over his shoulder. "Go inside."

She didn't want to. It didn't seem like such a good idea to leave Elliot out here with someone he could quite happily beat to a pulp. But she didn't want Jack coming out here and seeing a fight or thinking someone was going to get hurt.

Her hand squeezed Elliot's shoulder before she retreated to the doorway, not bothering to close the door because she wanted to keep an eye on them and what either of them might do next.

Once she was inside, Elliot finally let go of Watson, thrusting his arm back at him and giving him a shove off of the gate.

But he surprised Watson with his next move. Elliot opened the gate. He let it swing wide open like an invitation, and he took a step to the side so there was a clear gap for Watson to walk into the garden.

It would have seemed like a friendly invitation if it weren't for the way that Elliot looked right now. Stood there with broad, tense shoulders that were straining against his shirt, and hands that were now clenched into fists at his sides. His eyes were narrowed and his lips were tightly pressed together, showing how his jaw was clicking and shifting from side to side like he was desperately trying to hold back his rage.

"Come on." Elliot almost spat as his lips curved into an open-mouthed grin and he waved his hand to motion for Watson to walk onto the path. But the other man frowned, looking between the path and Elliot like he was expecting some kind of boobytrap to appear.

"Take another step. Go on, step over the threshold." Elliot began to tap his fingers against his hip as he goaded Watson to move, but it was clear he was confusing and starting to worry him.

He wasn't fighting back like Watson clearly wanted. He wasn't shouting or raging or trying to hit him or push him away from his home. he wasn't threatening to call the police or go and get his gun to wave in Watson's face to make him back away. All the enraged reactions Watson was trying to goad out of him weren't happening, and it was confusing.

Watson narrowed his eyes and looked Elliot up and down as if he suspected he was going to suddenly lash out and hit him out of the blue, but Elliot didn't move.

"Step onto my property, because then I have cause to detain you and use force to get you away from my family."

Once again, Elliot pointed to the path before his hands started to flex and twitch like he was starting to find it hard to remain calm and in control. And his smile was starting to slip into a menacing glare.

He wanted Watson to move onto his property because then Elliot had all the rights and reasonings he needed. He would be able to hit Watson- within reason- and he could detain him, pin him down, call for back up and get them to arrest him for trespassing with menacing intentions.

If Watson just took one more step then Elliot had every right he needed because he would be defending his family and stopping someone from damaging or entering his property without invitation.

His words seemed to sober up Watson because his expression changed into a grimace with his upper lip curled in distaste and he took a step back as if to ensure that he wasn't too close to the threshold. He wanted to annoy and intimidate Elliot and (Y/n), he wanted to frighten them, not be threatened and detained.

"You've frightened my kid and harrassed my wife. Now I suggest you walk away before I change my mind and call my Captain to come down here and arrest you. What'll it be?"

Elliot almost hoped that Watson would try and hit him or make a break for it by running through the garden to get to the house. He was itching for an opportunity to hit him, to throw him to the ground and call for back up to come and get him arrested.

But Watson turned around and backed off. He clearly realised that he wasn't going to get away with anything today and his chances were much better if he left.

He did reach out and slam his heel into the fence, causing vibrations to shudder through the fence right down to Elliot, but he didn't care.

Elliot stayed right where he was, watching with his hands on his hips as Watson disappeared down the street and finally turned the corner, out of sight. He stayed there for another minute or so, just to make sure that the creep wouldn't turn the corner again and come rushing back for another round.

A grunt left Elliot's lips and he slammed the gate shut and clicked the lock back into place so no one else would try and invite themselves onto their property. He rolled his neck from side to side and huffed as he aimed back towards the house.

He was still going to have to call Cragen and tell him that Watson had been by the house, that he knew where they lived.

The sooner Watson went to trial and got sentenced, the better it would be for all of them. Especially Elliot's family.

[uniquexusposts]

The one-off | Carlos Sainz Jr. x reader

Summary: She’s not from the world of F1, she’s a sunshine-soft emergency medical specialist used to cracked ribs and bloody football pitches. But when a one-time case calls her into the paddock, she ends up face-to-face with the man she once loved and left behind. Carlos drives for Williams now. She’s just here to fix a shoulder. It’s clinical. Temporary. Professional. So why does it feel like everything unfinished between them is waiting just under the surface?

The paddock buzzes with nerves and noise, full of sleek bodies and sharper egos. It’s like walking into the belly of a machine that’s forgotten how to breathe.

Y/n steps out of the taxi, the sun pressing down hard on her shoulders, and adjusts the strap of her med bag. She smiles politely at the security guard who stood next to the gate, a smile that’s met with confusion. She scanned her pass and walked through. Her bright energy doesn’t quite match the paddock’s stiff professionalism. She doesn’t mind.

She’s used to being the odd one out.

Her badge reads: Dr. Y/N Y/L/N – Emergency Medical Specialist Temporary Access – Williams Racing

Field hockey, football, high-contact chaos; that’s her usual beat. Fast-paced games, cracked ribs, adrenaline surges, bloodied faces. She thrives in the mess. Her reputation has grown not because she’s loud, but because she’s always calm when everyone else panics. Kind to the athletes. Brutal with the rehab.

F1 wasn’t supposed to be on the list. It never has been.

But a call came three days ago.

"It’s urgent. One-time case. Discretion preferred. The driver requested someone with your record."

She didn’t ask which driver.

But now she knows.

She read the file that morning and felt the breath catch in her chest, even if her face never changed.

Carlos Sainz. She hadn’t heard that name out loud in almost two years.

The Williams motorhome is sleek and sterile, like someone tried to design a hotel lobby for robots. She’s led through a glass corridor by a young staffer who speaks fast and avoids eye contact.

"You’ll have the physio suite for the hour," he says, flustered. "Carlos will be in shortly. Let me know if you need... uh... water, towels, whatever."

"Thanks, I’m all good," Y/n says brightly, flashing him a warm smile.

He blinks like he doesn’t quite know what to do with that. She gets that reaction a lot. People expect someone harder. Sharper. Someone who barks orders.

They don’t expect her, sunshine voice, soft features, heart-shaped face. They don’t expect the shift that happens the second she starts working.

She enters the room, alone now, and exhales quietly. Clean table. Blank walls. Only a small Williams logo on the cabinet. She sets up fast, gloves, oils, pressure tools, ice packs, all lined up in practiced rhythm. Her fingers move automatically, but her thoughts are slower.

Carlos.

She hasn’t seen him since Madrid, some rooftop birthday, some too-warm July night where his laugh carried over the crowd like it still belonged to her.

She left before he saw her.

She had meant to forget him.

The door clicks open behind her, soft and deliberate.

She doesn’t turn.

She doesn’t have to.

"Didn’t expect you," Carlos says quietly, his voice lower than she remembers but just as steady.

Y/n adjusts the table height like it’s the most important thing in the world. "Didn’t expect you to be at Williams."

"I needed a change."

She nods once. "So did I."

Finally, she turns. And there he is, leaning against the door like he owns the oxygen in the room. Polo shirt hugging his frame, jaw sharper, hair longer than she remembers. There’s a new tiredness in his face, hidden behind his usual calm.

He blinks once when he sees her properly. "You look-"

"Don’t." She cuts him off, gentle but firm. "Shirt off. Lie face down."

A flash of amusement tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Still bossy."

"Still injured."

He obeys without protest, pulling his shirt over his head and settling on the table with the practiced ease of someone who’s done this a hundred times.

But not with her. Not like this.

"Why you?" he asks, voice muffled by the cushion under his cheek.

Y/n pulls on her gloves. "I’m called in for emergencies. Fast recovery. High pressure. You know. All the things you attract."

"You usually do football."

"And field hockey. And dislocated shoulders at 3am in random cities." She starts pressing gently along the edge of his spine. "This is a one-time thing."

A beat. Then: "Is it?"

She doesn’t answer.

Instead, her hands shift , from soft to surgical, mapping his shoulder like she’s reading a story in the tension. She finds the problem immediately: strain, deep in the rotator cuff, masked by compensation along the upper trap and back.

"You’ve been protecting this too long," she says gently. "Probably since your last crash."

Carlos hums. "Didn’t want to sit out."

"You’ll sit out if this tears."

"You always talked like that," he mutters, half amused. "Soft voice, scary hands."

Y/N smiles faintly. "You used to like that."

Silence.

She applies deeper pressure, focused and precise. Her energy softens between movements but tightens on contact, he flinches once when she hits a knot, but he doesn’t make a sound.

"You’re quiet," she says, half-teasing.

"Trying not to curse," he mutters into the table.

"That’s new."

Carlos huffs a breath of laughter, low and rough. It almost makes her lose rhythm.

"You always remembered how to hurt me."

Her hands pause.

Only for a second.

He says nothing.

She finishes the session in silence, professional to the end. When she steps back and peels off the gloves, her whole body feels like it’s buzzing, not from the work, but from everything unsaid.

Carlos sits up slowly, bare chest rising with each breath. He moves carefully, not because of the pain, but like he’s searching for words he doesn’t want to waste.

"You’re still the best," he says finally.

"And you’re still reckless," she replies, reaching for the ice pack.

Their fingers brush for a second.

He looks at her, really looks at her, like maybe he’s searching for the version of her that once stayed up all night on balconies and laughed at his terrible Spanish pick-up lines.

But Y/n only smiles, kind and tired and distant.

"Apply this tonight. Stretch tomorrow. Don’t be a hero."

Carlos stands slowly, polo draped over one arm. "I didn’t ask for you, by the way."

"I didn’t come for you."

Another silence.

But it feels different now. Not heavy, just unfinished.

At the door, he turns. "You ever think about Madrid?"

She tilts her head. "Only when I need a reason to say no."

He winces. Laughs once, under his breath. "Still sunshine with a bite."

And then he’s gone.

The door clicks shut behind him, and Y/n finally lets her shoulders drop.

She sits on the edge of the table, ice pack pressed to her own wrist where she’d overworked it from the pressure, and stares at the empty wall.

It was supposed to be clinical. Quick. Efficient.

But it wasn’t.

Not with him.

Not with Carlos.

And the worst part?

It didn’t feel over.

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @crashingwavesofeuphoria @maryvibess @ironmaiden1313 @sltwins @heart-trees @npcmia @llando4norris

[thedaddycomplex]

You know how all of these companies are cutting staff and letting AI do a lot of the work? Well, it doesn't exactly pan out, like, ever.

I, for one, keep getting texts from an "AI assistant" where I get my car serviced about an upcoming appointment I never made. And when it asks if it should connect me with a service person to deal with the issue, I point out it's an issue the goddamn AI created, so it can fix it its motherfucking self. It's a fun little dance we do about once a week.

Anywho, the venerated Chicago Sun-Times published an insert with an article on summer reading suggestions. This article was created using AI and many of the books suggested simply don't exist.

*sad trombone noise*

Some will argue that this was for a seasonal insert and not exactly officially part of the actual paper. In fact, the Chicago Sun-Times did just that...

But, see up there at the top of the page?...

...Sure makes it look like an exactly official part of the actual paper.

And sure, this could be just a harmless and embarrassing lesson for the self-proclaimed "Hardest Working Paper in America" (and the other papers that picked up the article and also ran it — oops!), but it does speak to a much larger, much more serious, much more complicated problem.

A huge swath of the country simply don't trust the news anymore. It's a problem that has many sources, a few of which are:

The Trump administration's repeated use of the phrase "fake news" whenever there's a hard question or critical article

The very fucked up fact that billionaires own most of the news outlets in the country and are killing stories about Trump as they line up to suck his deformed little knob

The sad truth that these outlets are more and more turning to AI for some of the heavy lifting, a tool that has been proved easily manipulated and horribly flawed again and again and again

Why should you care?

I've said this before and I'll say it again: Journalism Saves Democracy.

Journalism is the only profession mentioned in the U.S. Constitution for a reason. It's supposed to keep power in check and inform the public. That's why people call it the Fourth Estate.

Now, one silly reading list won't topple journalism. But, it's one more mistake, one more small reason to be dubious of the Chicago Sun-Times, and one more thing that supports "fake news" claims — all because some rich guy decided to save some money by firing staff and handed the keys over to AI.

And it comes at a time when we've never needed the Fourth Estate more.

[k-aemi]

hii! how r u? hope you're doing well! can i request this: i know it mighttt sounds weird but i just thought of it🥹 can u do stepbro!rin and he's like a sick pervert for his lil step sis? and her lil step sis is like sick and told him her throat hurts so much and rin makes sure to help her, feeding her soup and helping her abt everything but she'll just complain how hurt her throat is and he'll tell him that maybe she needs smth warm and thick to swallow then he'll make her give him head, saying 'it'll help her throat' thanks!

itoshi rin ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ it’ll all be over soon.

face fucking, rough, stepcest, innocent reader.

a/n: hope it is good! again sorry for not posting a lot but i try! i will do more requests soon!!!!

brother!rin just loves how youre so helpless being sick and all. but you're suffering and your throat hurts so much, you could barely even speak a word, of course he'll help you get better.

"nii chan...throat hurts..." you'd whine pathetically as little tears peeked from the corner of your eyes. your voice became groggy and hard to understand. due to weather change, your condition just worsened and soon you just woke up with a cold with your throat hurting.

"ill make some soup." he soothes your warm forehead with those big hands of his. trying to soothe some of the pain if it even helped. he told himself he hated seeing you in pain—but deep down, something twisted in him relished the sight of you vulnerable. it was thrilling for him to say at least.

but, even when he tries his best to make the most delicious soup ever for you, it doesn't help with your sore throat at all :(

"rin-nii..! still hurts! nothing helps..." you cried, sniffling because you seriously had no tolerance when it came to sickness, it just got so bad to the point you're a whining mess.

he only stirs the broth with a soft and slow circular motion, he doesnt know how to help with your condition. but don't worry though! doctor itoshi thought of the perfect solution to help fix your sore throat.

he'd rub your thighs in a endearing way, squishing the soft flesh occasionally. "'mouto, there's a medicine for you. but its very difficult to get. you need to help me okay?" he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

you nod eagerly, just anything to cure that sore throat of yours. your eyes full of plead and rin feels sick. sick that he's lying to you just for his own pleasure, but who knows, maybe it will work.

you stare in awe, seeing rin-nii's intimidating cock that springs to life as it smacks your cheek. you don't really know what he's going to do, but it's going to help your sore throat and sickness! :D

a faint blush crept onto his cheek, feeling the way your breath hit his cock, twitching in contact. he can't contain his excitement any longer, sucking in his bottom lip.

"put your pretty lips on here. then the medicine will come out 'mouto." he rests his hand on your head, tangling his fingers in your locks. you feel pretty nervous about this, your hands laid on his inner thigh.

"you sure rin-nii? will it help..?" your teary eyes look up at him from your position and he loves it. "yes. promise." he says sternly and your lips slightly make contact with his pink tip, which he sucks in a breath.

"take all of it. that way the medicine can come faster." he grips your scalp, forcing some of his cock inside of your mouth, you were already struggling to take the tip. trying to get the whole thing was going to be difficult, but you really wanted to get rid of your sore throat as quick as possible.

drool drips down the corner of your lips, coughing from the intrusion of rins cock. he takes in sight of your pretty lips on his cock, mouth hanging slightly, seeing the way you bobbed your head and the excessive amount of saliva that was covered all over.

he couldn't help but grip your head tighter, involuntary thrusting his hips upwards at you, making you gag. "sorry...sorry." he chants but he continued to force your cock down till your nose hit his pelvis. you whimper and whine, tears streaming down your cheeks.

your hands clawed his inner thigh, a hiss falls from his lips, but the pleasure subsided that pain, feeling so replenished just having his little 'mouto suck his cock in front of him.

this feels so wrong. youre sick and hes over here making you suck on his cock. he's that pathetic. the way your teary eyes eyed up at him made him lose it. without any warning, he comes undone inside your throat with a choked moan.

the thick seed makes its way down your throat, it tasted so bitter yet sweet at the same time. you swallow it all, not like you had a choice either way.

you release off his cock with a cough as rin tries to recover his breathing.

"still hurt rin-nii.." you sniffled, rubbing your tears that went dry on your cheeks. he only rubbed your cheek with the back of his hand, he felt sick and twisted doing all this, but he can't help but love you so much.

"one more time. promise 'mouto, it'll work."

I MEANT TO POST THIS LAST NIGHT BUT I FELL ASLEEP HAHAH

tags ✎: @rinrinniebaby @theirlimerence 

[twlgholts]

always kind of was, j.b.

chapter nine, things you don’t say

— jacob black x f. reader

a/n: holy long chapter its like double the length of other ones oops! but we almost done so stay tuned…

taglist: @asillysimp @grimlinn @eneywey @shinobuily @ravisinghs-wife @mjustag1rl @mae-gi-writes @agustdeeyaa @itsfromaboyband-blog

prev. series masterlist! next.

Death is imminent. Most don’t get the luxury of reaching the end of their life naturally–peacefully. Most don’t die knowing their life was well-lived, well-loved.

You, however, were going to take that luxury away from Jacob Black.

Thirty-five hours, forty-two minutes, eight seconds. That’s how long it had been since you last saw him, since that night. You hadn’t texted, but neither had he.

To be fair, he knew you needed more space than he did. Jacob always seemed to know that about you–how when your emotions boiled over, you needed quiet. Stillness. Time alone to cool off so you could speak your mind without every word carrying too much heat, especially ones you didn’t mean.

And he was right.

Which only pissed you off more.

Because if he understood you that well–understood what you needed, how you worked, how you shut down–then why did he keep you under the dark, like you hadn’t spent your entire lives knowing each other inside-out?

He knew you wouldn’t reach out first. You weren’t the kind of person who broke the silence until you were ready, and he knew that. You knew that he knew that. Which made it all worse because even if he knew you needed space, even if he understood it down to a science, a part of you still wished he’d done the opposite anyway. You wanted him to prove you wrong, to show up at your doorstep soaked and breathless and say, screw space, I care too much to stay away.

But he didn’t.

And maybe there was no right move he could’ve made. Maybe there was no winning. Maybe this whole situation was designed to screw you both up.

When Jacob felt things, he felt them with everything in him. He was stubborn. He loved hard and fast, but he always, always, put others before himself. That’s why it felt natural for him to throw his life into danger without blinking–because protecting Forks from real monsters gave him purpose. It distracted him from thinking too hard about stuff that really scared him.

Like feelings.

Like you.

Everything had happened too fast. The shifting, the imprinting, the supernatural chaos. One second he was just a kid worrying about homework, dreaming about a girl who moved away. The next, he had fur, paws, responsibilities, and a cosmic bond telling him the person who kept him grounded was now the axis his entire universe spun around.

You didn’t do anything wrong and it wasn’t something you said. You just existed, and somehow your existence alone became the thing Jacob needed to survive.

When you left, he told himself the crush would die quietly. And it did–kind of. It fizzled out, but not really. Never really. He buried it, shoved it down with both hands, and then you came back and suddenly it was like he didn’t need air, or food, or sleep. Just you.

You being near him rewired everything. The progress he’d made–the person he was trying to become–froze. Halted like his growth hit a red light and never got the green again.

He never wanted to hurt you. Not ever. He wanted to do the opposite, to protect you and preserve your peace by keeping you from the heavy, tangled mess of what he was now. The last thing he wanted was to trap you in something you never asked for.

And the worst part? He knew you’d understand because you always did. You’d listen and nod and hold space for him the way no one else could.

That made it scarier.

Because if you understood, then it’d be real. It would mean accepting what he was, what you were to him, and what that might do to you.

Not seeing you sucked. But knowing you were hurting because of him? That made his skin crawl, his chest ache. He could feel it–literally–because of the damn imprint, the cosmic tie that tethered his every heartbeat to yours.

And lately, with patrols getting more intense, with rogue vampires creeping through the tree line again, Jacob’s already limited time had shrunk even more. Which meant pushing you further out. Which meant more guilt. More regret. More thoughts circling like vultures.

And everyone noticed.

“You look like crap,” Embry told him one afternoon, smirking around a half-eaten granola bar as Jacob slouched deeper into the worn couch in Emily’s living room.

Jacob didn’t bother answering. His arms were crossed, hair a mess, dark circles etched under his eyes like bruises.

Quil threw down a reverse card during their lazy Uno game and raised an eyebrow. “Seriously, man. You’re gonna implode. Or imprint-sulk yourself into an aneurysm.”

“I’m fine,” Jacob muttered.

“Liar,” Embry replied immediately, not even looking up from his cards.

“You’re not sleeping. You’re screwing up on patrols. You let a tree root punk you last night. A root, Jake.” Quil gestured toward the bandage around Jacob’s thumb. “That’s embarrassing for all of us.”

Jacob sighed through his nose. “Yeah. I know.”

There was a pause.

Then Quil leaned back and said, “Look. I’m saying this because I love you, bro. But you’re being a total idiot. A certified, capital ‘I’ idiot. You know it. We know it. Probably even the trees know it at this point.”

“Great pep talk,” Jacob replied, sarcastic.

“I’m not done,” Quil said. “You don’t even have to tell her the wolf stuff yet. Honestly, I wouldn’t. She’s already trying to figure out why you’re acting like this moody-loner-slash protector hybrid. You’re already giving off major Angel-from-Buffy vibes. Don’t make it worse by dumping a werewolf-shaped bomb on her.”

Embry snorted. “For real. If you disappear dramatically one more time, she’s gonna start journaling about you in cursive.”

Jacob cracked a reluctant smile but didn’t say anything. Then, without looking up, he tossed his last card onto the pile. “Uno out.”

Quil blinked. “Wait–seriously?”

Jacob just leaned back against the couch, looking up at the ceiling, eyes dull. “Doesn’t mean I’m winning at life.”

Embry let out a low whistle. “Damn. That was darker than expected.”

“Talk to her,” Quil said again, more serious now. “You don’t have to say everything, just something. Something real, honest, because not saying anything? That’s what’s killing you.”

Jacob was sad, but so were you. 

Not just sad. Confused. Conflicted. Hurt. Stuck somewhere between rage and ache and it all sat heavy in your chest like a weight you couldn’t breathe under.

You were drinking a glass of orange juice and staring at the fridge like it had answers. Maybe if you looked hard enough, the swirling storm inside your brain might settle.

“You’re looking at the fridge like red laser beams are gonna shoot out of your eyes and evaporate it,” your dad said, stepping into the kitchen with that familiar dry tone, breaking the silence like a crack of thunder. He clocked your slumped posture and pinched brows instantly.

You let out a small, humorless laugh. “Yeah. Practicing for my victim.”

He walked over and rubbed your shoulders, then kissed the side of your head in that comforting, fatherly way he always did. “Black? Don’t do that to my boy.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m just so annoyed. Like why is he acting like a freak and being so secretive? I’m not asking for the government’s confidential top-secrets. I just want him to be honest.”

“I was just like him,” your dad says, smiling as he opened the cabinet and pulled out a mug. “Young. Rebellious. Mysterious. It didn’t help when I fell in love.”

You raised a brow and perched up a little, staring at him like he’d said something criminal. “With Mom? You? Mysterious?”

He smiles with pride written all over his face.

“Mom said you used to call her five times a day and show up to her work ‘accidentally’ like, three times a week.”

He nodded solemnly. “That was me being mysterious.”

You laughed, for real this time.

“I once tried to impress her by dancing backwards down the hallway in rollerblades while holding a boombox in high school. Hit a locker, flipped over, broke my wrist, passed out, hospitalized. She was sitting next to me when I woke up. That’s when I knew she was the one.”

You blinked. “You never told me that version.”

“Because I looked like an idiot,” he replied, sipping his coffee. “But an idiot in love.”

“So what’s that got to do with Jacob acting like an emotionally repressed cryptid?”

He chuckled, deep and loud from his belly. “Everything. You kids think love is clean. It’s not. Sometimes it’s stupid and messy and makes you act like a weirdo who stares at a fridge. But if you don’t deal with it head-on, it eats you alive.”

You stared into your juice, feeling heat crawl up the back of your neck.

“Just… don’t wait too long,” he advises, heading for the hallway. “I’d like a warm thank you in your wedding speech, not a cold one on your deathbed. Go talk to him before your temper rips him apart.”

Your dad disappears down the hallway, leaving behind the faint scent of coffee. You take another sip of your orange juice and just sit there, watching the condensation slide down the glass, listening to the silence settle in the house like fog. Your thoughts churn quietly beneath the surface–heavy, sharp, loud, impossible to name. You look down at your hands and they’re still, but everything inside you is not.

You don’t know how much time passes. Maybe a few minutes. Maybe an hour. But eventually, after thirty-seven hours, twelve minutes, and fifty-six seconds of silence and distance, you throw on (his) hoodie, grab your keys, and drive.

The road is muscle memory. You’ve taken this route so many times, it’s etched into your bones. You pass the place where Jacob taught you how to skate, where he pushed you too fast down a hill and nearly gave you a concussion. Where he laughed so hard he fell over with you.

Eventually, you’re on the reservation, the ocean wind shifting in through the cracked window, and the ache in your chest building like pressure before a storm.

You park in front of a small, red wooden house that always looked too much like a barn. A little weathered by time, but standing.

You barely knock before the door opens.

Jacob looks tired, his hair messy like he had just woken up, his chest rising and falling concerningly fast. He looks at you like he wasn’t expecting you but was hoping you’d come anyway. But you don’t give him a chance to speak.

You step forward and just let it all out.

“Do you know how much it hurt not knowing what the hell was going on with you? I felt like I was screaming into a void and you just stood there watching. Do you know what it feels like to have someone look at you like you’re everything one second and then like you’re a stranger the next? Like they’re holding behind some thick wall and you’re not allowed through, no matter how hard you pound on it?”

You don’t even notice your hands are shaking until you grab at the sleeves of the hoodie.

“I came here thinking things would be different–or maybe just the same in the ways that mattered. But you’re not talking to me, Jacob. Not really. You show up, you bail, you look at me like I’m the answer to a question you won’t even ask. And I’m trying. God, I’m trying to be patient and soft and understanding, but I’m not a mind reader. I don’t want to be. I want you to trust me enough to say something. Anything.”

He’s still. Watching you. Breathing heavy.

You keep going, voice cracking just slightly now.

“Because this isn’t fair. I know you’re going through something, I see it. But it feels like you’re grieving something I don’t even know about, like there’s this shadow over you and you won’t let me near it. You shut me out and I feel like I’m just waiting for the version of you I used to know to come back. But maybe that version is gone. And if he is, at least say that. Is that too much to ask for? Too selfish?”

There’s a moment of silence. He doesn’t move.

Then he steps aside and lets you in.

You follow him into the warmth of the house, your heartbeat still thudding, your throat dry. He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a long breath before finally looking at you again.

“I can’t tell you,” he says, voice low but steady. “And before you get mad again–just listen. I want to be honest with you, more than anything, but there’s this part of me I didn’t ask for. Something that’s not entirely mine to explain. And I don’t even understand it yet.”

He swallows, his eyes are shining too, but he blinks quickly.

“It’s been eating me alive since before you came back. Every time I look at you, there’s this war inside me wanting to protect you and wanting to keep you as far from me as possible, and I don’t know how to handle that. I don’t even fully know what I am right now, let alone how to share that with someone else.”

He finally steps closer. “And I know you’re hurt. I hate myself for hurting you, but I’m hurting too, and I don’t have the words or the tools to fix this yet. I just need more time. I promise I’ll tell you–everything. But right now, if I did, I’d only be handing you a burden that I’m still trying to carry myself and I can’t do that to you.”

You breathe in slowly, heart thudding against you ribs.

“Nothing about you is a burden to me, Jacob,” you whisper. “I love and care about every inch of your soul. You know that, right?”

“I do,” he says quietly, “And that’s what terrifies me. Why do you seem to love and understand me more than I do myself? Just let me figure this out first. Let me become the person who deserves that kind of love. Then I’ll tell you. I swear.”

You stare at him for a long moment. Then you nod once, slow.

“Okay, I trust you. Don’t go breaking it, Jake.”

“I won’t,” he replies almost immediately. “I swear I won’t.”

“You’re not kicking me out now, are you?” you ask, voice soft.

“No,” he says, voice low, like the word had been waiting in his chest this whole time. “Stay. Please. Stay.”

There’s something raw in the way he says it–not desperate, exactly. Just sincere, like he’s finally admitting that he needs something.

You stop, half-turned toward the door, and look at him.

“Okay,” you say softly.

You drop your keys on the table, toe off your shoes, and glance around the room like it’s unfamiliar, even though you’ve been here a hundred times before. Everything feels a little warped, like the air’s heavier now, slower. Jacob stays quiet, eyes following you with that same unreadable look. Part guilt. Part relief. Mostly something deeper–something wounded and tender.

You shift your weight, then glance down at your phone. “Crap. I forgot my charger.”

His voice is steadier now, a little warmer. “Top drawer on my desk. Might still be that old one you left.”

You nod, grateful for something simple, and head toward his room.

His room smells like him–that mix of pine and clean laundry and something warm you can’t quite name. Possibly familiarity. You flick on the light and go to the desk.

You open the drawer and pause.

The overhead light flickers softly, catching on the edge of something crinkled and colorful nestled between loose batteries and old screws.

Starburst wrappers.

Dozens of them.

Some smoothed flat, others crumpled into little cubes like they’d been stuffed into a pocket in a hurry. Pink, orange, red–every color, every flavor. You pick one up, your fingers still recognizing the texture, the weight of it. A soft breath escapes you before you can help it.

Jacob’s voice floats in from the hallway. “You find it?”

You don’t answer right away. You’re still staring into the drawer, holding a piece of your shared history between your fingers.

He steps into his room. “Hey, you okay?”

You hold up the wrapper without turning around. “You kept these?”

A pause. You can feel him stop in the doorway behind you.

Then, quieter: “What do you mean?”

You look back at him, your expression a mixture of incredulous and something tender. You shift back slightly so he can see inside the drawer. His eyes land on it–on the sea of familiar colors–and something in his face changes. Softens.

He walks forward slowly. “I forgot I still had those.”

You raise a brow. “Did you, though?”

Jacob scratches the back of his neck again, half a smile playing at his lips. “Okay. Maybe I knew. But only because I never wanted to throw them out.”

You turn toward him, arms folded loosely, a pink wrapper still in your hand. “Why?”

He looks down at the drawer, then back up at you with a sort of quiet vulnerability. “Because they were yours. Ours. I don’t know. I guess… I held onto them because they reminded me of a time when things made sense. When getting a kiss from you only cost a few pieces of candy.”

You scoff lightly. “You were constantly broke.”

“I know.” He smiles. “But you still patched me up anyway. Even when I didn’t deserve it.”

You shake your head, stepping closer. “You’re such a sentimental idiot.”

“I’m aware.”

He meets your eyes, and something heavier settles between you. A beat of silence. A shared knowing. You search his face for something—an answer, maybe. Or a reason why you’re still here, why your heart still aches when it comes to him.

“I missed this,” you say, your voice quieter now. “Us. Before everything got complicated. But I’m glad we talked.”

Jacob nods, almost solemn. “Me too.”

You inhale slowly, chest tight with the things you haven’t said. Then he reaches out and pulls you in gently, his arms wrapping around your waist like they were made to. You fold into him without resistance. The hug is soft at first, then stronger. He tucks his chin over your shoulder, and you stay that way–for a long, quiet moment. No words. Just breath, warmth, and the ache of being known too well.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. His hands are still resting on your arms. “Let me make everything up to you.”

You tilt your head, suspicious. “How?”

“Tomorrow,” he says, but certain. “Be free at six.”

You blink. “You’re giving me a time but not a plan? Again?”

His smile tugs to the side, sheepish. “I swear I won’t drag you hiking this time. Not without warning or verbal consent, at least.”

“Hmm,” you pretend to mull it over. “But I’m expecting, like, a five-course apology.”

He raises a brow. “You’re getting a pack of Starbursts and my sparkling company. Anyone else would be fighting for that.”

You snort, despite yourself. “Modest, aren’t we?”

“I’ve been told it’s one of my more annoying qualities.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile’s already taken over. “Guess I’ll allow it.”

He leans in a little, playful but tentative. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod, softer now. “I’ll be there.”

He grins. “I’ll take what I can get.”

There’s a beat. Just the quiet hum of the room and the distance between you shrinking a little more.

You tilt your head. “We’re okay?”

Jacob meets your gaze, steady and warm. “We’re okay if you’re okay.”

You nod, voice just above a whisper. “Then we’re okay.”

And you don’t need to say anything else. Because right now, in his hoodie, in his room, in this moment—you are.