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ludicdoll · 1 year ago

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𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐋

kofun ☆

pairing: kofun x fem!reader

contents: reader has vision, softdom kofun, praising, massaging, eye contact, size kink, kofun being gentle with you

synopsis: kofun comes to see you after his training.

a/n: all i’ve been thinking about for the past week is season 2 episode 6 where kofun’s getting deoowwwnnnn with sibeth (gag i know) so i had to write this, also this is kinda ass and short but wtv

it’s dark out, the quiet wind breezing through your cracked windows. you were getting ready to go to bed, changing into your velvet worn out night gown. your whole body ached in discomfort from all the labor you had done earlier. you were out hunting and had ridden far to the outskirts of town for food. before you could climb into bed, you hear a loud knock outside the cabin. you lived quite distant from any near by towns, so you never expected anybody to show up to your cabin in the middle of the night. interested, you walk out your room and pad over to the window—peaking your head out. your face instantly lights up as soon as you see your boyfriend outside, arms crossed in front of his chest.

you quickly unlock the door, melting into his embrace when he reaches out to you. “hey princess.” he whispers in your ear. his hand strokes down your back, smiling into your neck. “you missed me?” he asks. you nod, opening the door and letting him in.

he kicks off his boots then removes his thick coat. you hold onto his pinkie, leading him past the kitchen and into your bedroom. your room is dimly lit with a lantern in the corner, a few candles off to the side. as the two of you sit on the edge of the mattress, you realize his calloused hand had a huge cut running across his palm. “oh my god,” you gasp, picking up his large hand and examining it closely. he lets out a chuckle, shaking his head in response. “i got cut during training.” he adds. you frown at him and brush his disheveled curls away from his face. “you’ve been training nonstop recently. aren’t you tired?”

kofun hums, staring down at your much smaller hand in his. “i’m okay baby,” he mumbles, but you can tell he isn’t because of the dark circles under his eyes, the way his voice was more monotone and dry, he hasn’t been keeping up with his appearance as well either. you ponder for a while before scooting back on the cot behind him. kofun turns, raising a brow. your hands find their way to his shoulders, slowly massaging his tense arms. “relax, you deserve this.” you say as you press a kiss on his cheek. you hear him sighing, leaning into your soft touch. you took your time, working out the tension and knots. you enjoyed these tender moments with him, he always gave you princess treatment and you wanted to give something back in return.

as you continued to work your way down his tall frame, you pull him closer down the bed, his back resting against the pillows. you crawl over to him, straddling his lap. kofun looked down at you, intrigued with what you were doing. your hands left his shoulders and settled onto your side. “you should relieve your stress,” you mutter as you unbutton his vest and shirt. he doesn’t protest—only watching silently when you continue to undress him. he then pulls off his trousers, planting kisses down your neck. you feel kofun’s hand slide under your dress and up to your waist—his erection rutting up against your clothed pussy.

“oh, fuck…” he breathes out as his hands travel up to your plump breasts. you pull on the waist band of his boxers, dragging them off his legs. you quickly follow after to take off your panties, moaning into his kisses. he pulls away from the kiss when your hand presses up against his chest to push him down into the plush of the mattress. he lays there, eyes wandering all over your body. “let me take care of you, kofun.” you speak softly. he whimpers in protest, but is kept down with you in his lap. you slip your dress over your head to expose your bare body. his eyes drop to your pussy, your breasts, then back up to make eye contact with you.

there’s a flame in his eyes, fueled with passion and love. you drop down to kiss him again, your hands pressed against his face. he grabs the back of your neck, deepening the kiss. it’s slow and gentle, his tongue sliding in your mouth with ease. his lips are plush and soft against yours. kofun lets out a trail of “mhm’s”, his dick still hard with anticipation.

a lewd string of saliva breaks when you pull away from his pink lips. your hand reaches down to his thick cock, a glob of precum spewing out on his thick tip. your hand runs up and down his dick, slightly edging him on. “ah—fuck, c’mon.” he whines. “i need to feel you, baby.”

you bite on your bottom lip, rubbing his tip against the entrance of your wet cunt. he moans at sudden feeling, lulling his head back into the pillows. slowly, you sink down onto his tip, letting his thick cock stretch you out. kofun instantly picks his head back up to watch his dick seeping into you. you whine when you feel the sharp pain in your stomach slowly turning into pleasure. when you finally adjust to his full length, you start rolling your hips—arching your back. you press your chest against his. you feel his arms snake around your waist, large hands gripping at your ass. kofun snaps his hips up, helping you ride him out roughly. after a while, he realizes your steady pace is slowing down from exhaustion. he had a much higher sex drive compared to you, and you hated that. kofun plunges deeper into your pussy, moving your hips up and down with his hands. your mind is cloudy with lust, vision blurry from tears forming in your eyes.

“mm, kofun—i can’t.. i can’t do it.” you cry out. he shakes his head, kissing your cheek and wiping a stray tear on your cheek. “yes you can, princess. you can do it,” he continues to fuck you dumb, groaning and praising sweet words into your ear. you straighten up from his chest, grabbing onto the overhead bar of the bed. as you bounce up and down on his thick girth, kofun takes your nipple in his mouth, sucking on the sensitive bud. the overwhelming sensation of his tongue on your tits and the relentless rhythm in his hips fuzzes your mind. his dick was splitting through your tight cunt, filling you to the brim. you try to suppress your moans, but fail miserably everytime. the curve of his dick continues to hit against your gummy walls mercilessly. “you’re doing so good f’me. that’s it baby, that’s it.” he chants below you.

his constant praises only ignites the fire in your core more and more. missing the absent feeling of his lips—you shift in his hold and take his tongue into your mouth, sucking on it. kofun’s pace is fast, but gentle. he was so much larger compared to you, and you loved it. your fingers work their way up to his curls, slightly tugging on them. his dick suddenly hits the sensitive back wall of your pussy causing you to let out a loud cry. you chant his name over and over, his fingers digging into your waist. “you like that?” he mutters as his fingers find their way to your swollen clit. he massages circles on the bud, chuckling when you start shaking in his arms.

kofun licks at your neck, a choked groan leaving his lungs. your hips starts to stutter against his cock when he quickens the pace against your clit. you sob and plead when he pounds into your pussy. he loved the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head, he loved seeing you hypnotized and blabbering about how much you needed him on his dick. your cunt squeezes, spamming and tightening around him, a white ring of cum at the base of his cock. the wet sounds of your pussy and skin slapping on skin fills the room—his praises and moans increasing in volume with each thrust. kofun stiffens when you tense up, indicating that he’s near his release. out of desperation, you pick up your hips and bounce frantically on him to chase your climax. “oh fuck! kofun, baby—i’m close.” you peer your head up to look at him for reassurance. he meets your eyes, his gaze softening in yours. “yea? you’re so fucking beautiful.” he growls into your skin, his grip on the back of your neck tightening.

suddenly, you feel an electric shock run through your body—releasing a euphoric feeling of pure bliss over yourself. and soon after, kofun comes with a strained moan, milking himself inside of you with a fuzzy warmth that makes you dig your nails into his shoulders. you softly bounce up and down in his lap, riding out the ecstasy. the small room is filled with panting and breathing. you lift up your hips, his thick cock slipping out of you with a pop. you groan at the absent ache between your legs, your pussy raw and dripping with fluids. you fall limp into his chest, nuzzling your face into his neck. kofun softly chuckles above you before planting a gentle kiss at the crown of your head. he runs his hand up and down the divot of your back to comfort you. “you did so well,” he says with adoration. you look up, humming in response before kissing his jaw.

he smiles at you, pulling the blanket up to cover your bare spine. “i love you so much.” his voice laced with devotion.

“i love you more.” you reply.

#kofun #kofun x reader #see2019 #see2019 x reader #archie madekwe #archie madekwe x reader #farleigh start x reader #farleigh #saltburn #kofun voss #kofun voss x reader

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kannady · 3 days ago

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ever, ever after

pairing: sylus x non-mc reader

summary: sylus didn't love you. how could he when she was around? but would he come look for you if you willingly step into EVER's boundaries?

word count: 3.8k

a/n: HOLY SHIT! i did not expect that many people to read the prev part and actually like it???? thank you so much to all you lovely people. seeing everyone excited for the next part just lit me on fire. hope you'll like this one. lemme know your thoughts!

read rest of the chapters here!

The mug shattered on the floor.

The sound was too loud in the silence of the lab, ceramic shards skittering across the frosted glass tiles. Coffee pooled dark and bitter, seeping into the panels. You stood there, frozen, fingers still curled around the ghost of the handle, your pulse a frantic drumbeat against your ribs.

Behind the observation window, Sylus didn’t move.

His crimson eyes stayed locked onto yours, unblinking, like a predator eyeing his prey. Even through the distortion of the reinforced glass, you could see the way his chest rose and fell. Too steady for a man strapped to a chair, electrodes burrowed into his skin, a veterinary-grade sedative no doubt pumping through his veins. His lips were parted just slightly, as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.

"Dr. (Y/N)?"

Mara’s voice cut through the ringing in your ears. You hadn’t even noticed her approach, but now she was right beside you, her gloved hand hovering near your elbow like she wasn’t sure if you’d bolt or collapse.

"What happened?"

Your tongue felt too thick in your mouth. "It.. Um.. It was too hot," you murmured, the lie slipping out before you could stop it. "I dropped it."

Mara’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t press. Around you, the other researchers had paused in their work, some staring openly, others pretending not to notice the way your hands trembled as you bent to pick up the broken pieces.

"Leave it." A senior researcher, Dr. Voss, dismissed you with a flick of his clipboard. "I’ve called for someone."

A cleaner arrived within minutes, silent and efficient, sweeping up the evidence of your momentary lapse. You barely registered their presence. Your entire body was wound tight, every nerve was burdened with the weight of Sylus’s gaze.

Someone handed you fresh lab glasses, gloves, and the file. Thick, heavy, the words SUBJECT M-7 stamped across the front in bold black letters. You took it mechanically, flipping through the pages without really seeing them.

Evol Classification: Energy Manipulation (Class VIII, potentially IX). Containment Protocols: Electromagnetic shackles. Sedation drip. Two cranial failsafe implants.

Your stomach twisted. A cold chill slithered down your spine.

You tilted your head, just a fraction, just enough, and there he was. Still watching. Still waiting.

What the hell are you doing here?

The question screamed inside your skull, a frantic, looping mantra.

How did they catch you?

Sylus didn’t get caught. Sylus was the trap. Right?

Why are you here?

Your fingers tightened around the file, the edges digging into your palms. Was this a trick? A doppelgänger? Some sick game EVER was playing to test your loyalty?

But no. No, you knew those eyes. Knew the way they darkened when he was amused, knew the way they gleamed like fresh blood under sunlight. Knew the way they’d followed you, even when you thought you’d vanished completely.

He found you.

And now he was here, strapped to a chair in your lab, at your mercy, and the irony was so sharp it could have drawn blood.

You forced yourself to turn away, to focus on the vials in front of you. But your hands weren’t steady. The chemicals sloshed dangerously as you measured them out, your thoughts a hurricane of panic and disbelief.

Then Mara nudged you.

She leaned in, her voice a whisper against your ear. "Do you… know this guy or something?"

Your grip faltered. The vial slipped, just for a second, before you caught it, your breath hitching. "No," you said, too quickly. "Of course not. Why would you think that?"

Mara’s gaze flicked toward the window, then back to you. "I dunno. He keeps looking at you." A pause. "Like, only at you. He hasn’t looked anywhere else since you walked in."

Your heartbeat stuttered. You didn’t dare look again. But you could feel him.

The weight of his stare. The unspoken question in it. The accusation.

"Dr. (Y/N)?" Voss’s voice snapped you back. "We’re waiting on those samples."

You swallowed hard. "Right," you murmured. "Sorry."

But as you turned back to your work, your hands moving on autopilot, your mind was somewhere else entirely.

Somewhere with crimson eyes and a voice that still haunted your dreams.

Somewhere you’d sworn you’d never return.

And yet here he was.

***

The lab was silent now, the usual hum of machinery and murmured conversations long faded into the night. You sat alone, bathed in the sterile glow of your computer screen, fingers stiff from hours of typing reports you barely registered. When you finally looked up to stretch, your eyes immediately darted to the observation window, only to find it empty. The reinforced glass reflected back your own tired expression, the chair beyond it now vacant, restraints dangling uselessly from its arms. A cold shiver traced your spine as you realized he was gone.

Fumbling for the tablet, your fingers left smudges on the screen as you pulled up the subject logs. The blue text glared back at you: SUBJECT M-7: TRANSPORTED TO SECURE HOLDING. Scheduled for observations and procedures only.

Your breath left you in a slow, unsteady exhale. Of course they wouldn't keep him here overnight. EVER wasn't foolish enough to leave a Class VIII Evol subject unattended in a standard lab. But the realization did nothing to ease the tightness in your chest.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it.

What were you even doing?

Two years. Two full years you'd spent building this new life, carving out a place where no one knew your past, where you could finally breathe without calculating every word and gesture. And yet, the moment those crimson eyes had locked onto yours through the glass, it was as if no time had passed at all.

You were right back where you started. Heart racing, palms sweating, that familiar ache settling deep in your bones.

The worst part was the ridiculous, traitorous thought that had flashed through your mind when you first saw him. Did he come here for me?

The idea was laughable now. Sylus didn't chase. Sylus didn't get captured. If he was here, it was because he wanted to be. Part of some elaborate scheme you were never meant to understand until it was too late.

Unless…

Your fingers stilled on the keyboard as the alternative occurred to you. What if he hadn't come willingly? The thought sent an entirely different kind of chill through you. You knew what EVER did to high-value subjects. You'd seen the files, signed off on procedures that had kept you awake at night. If they had truly captured him…

Your gaze dropped to your phone lying beside the keyboard. Two years since you'd last heard their voices. Two years since you'd walked away without looking back. Did you even have the right to call them now? Would they answer? Would they care? Your thumb hovered over Luke's contact, the number you'd never deleted, no matter how many times you told yourself you were done with that life.

The call didn't connect. Just a robotic voice informing you the number was switched off.

Kieran's was the same. The hollow ache in your chest expanded, though you couldn't say whether it was from relief or disappointment. This was stupid. Completely, utterly stupid. He was the reason you'd left. The reason you'd spent nights staring at the ceiling, wondering if you'd ever be more than just another asset in his carefully calculated world.

And yet here you were, ready to throw away everything you'd built. Your career, your safety, your hard-won peace, all because of one look from those damned crimson eyes. You shoved the phone into your pocket with more force than necessary, pushing back from the desk so abruptly your chair nearly toppled.

No. You weren't doing this. You weren't that person anymore.

Except if this wasn't part of his plan. If he really was trapped here, at the mercy of the same organization you'd seen tear subjects apart molecule by molecule. Your fingers curled into fists, nails biting into your palms. Damn it. You were going to regret this.

The phone felt heavy in your hand as you stood frozen on the sidewalk outside your apartment building, your thumb hovering over Luke's contact for what must have been the twentieth time that night. The wind bit through your thin lab coat as you pressed call again, listening to the hollow ringing that seemed to echo in your bones. Two rings. Then silence. Just like before. Just like every other attempt you'd made since leaving the lab.

Kieran's number didn’t even connect. That infuriating automated voice informing you the number was unavailable, the robotic tone doing nothing to mask the panic rising in your chest.

You shoved the phone back into your pocket with trembling fingers, your breath fogging in the cold air as you finally turned toward your apartment building. The walk up the stairs felt endless, each step heavier than the last. Some foolish, traitorous part of you kept expecting to see him. To turn a corner and find Sylus leaning against your doorframe with that infuriating smirk, crimson eyes glinting in the dim hallway light as if this were all some elaborate game. The thought made your pulse stutter, equal parts dread and something else you refused to name twisting in your gut.

But of course, he wasn't there.

You'd seen him with your own eyes just hours earlier. Strapped to that chair in the lab, electrodes buried in his skin, his silver hair matted with sweat and blood near his temple. The image burned behind your eyelids every time you blinked.

Yet when your key finally clicked in the lock, you still hesitated, the door creaking open far too slowly as you peered inside like some frightened child checking for monsters.

The apartment was exactly as you'd left it, your half-finished coffee still sitting cold on the counter, the blanket you'd used last night draped haphazardly over the arm of the couch. Normal. Safe. Empty.

The breath left your lungs in a rush as you stepped inside, kicking off your heels with more force than necessary, watching them skid across the hardwood. You collapsed onto the couch without bothering to turn on the lights, the dim glow from the streetlights outside casting long shadows across the ceiling. The silence pressed in around you, heavy and suffocating.

What the hell were you doing?

Your fingers twitched toward your phone again before you could stop yourself. There was no one else to call. No one trustworthy, no one who wouldn't ask questions you couldn't answer. The realization settled like a stone in your stomach. Where were they? Luke and Kieran never turned their phones off. Never. Not unless something was very, very wrong.

The thought followed you into bed, clinging like a second skin as you tossed and turned beneath the sheets. When sleep finally came, it was fitful and haunted. Flashes of a too-familiar mansion, the scent of gun oil and expensive bourbon, the sound of her laughter ringing through the halls like wind chimes.

***

You woke with a gasp, your body drenched in cold sweat, the digital clock on your bedside table blinking 4:47 AM in harsh red numbers.

For one disorienting moment, you didn't know where you were. The dream still clung to you, the weight of his gaze making your skin prickle even now. You fumbled for your phone with numb fingers, your heart hammering against your ribs as you checked for missed calls.

Nothing. No messages. No signs that either of them had even seen your attempts to reach them.

The shower was ice-cold, the water biting at your skin until it was numb. You scrubbed at your arms until they were pink, as if you could wash away the memories, the doubt, the creeping sense that nothing had really changed at all. That no matter how far you ran or how well you hid, you were still tangled in the same web.

The morning passed in a blur of too-strong coffee and mechanical movements, brushing your teeth, pulling your hair back into a ponytail, buttoning your lab coat with fingers that refused to steady. Before you knew it, you were standing outside the lab doors, your hand frozen halfway to the access panel.

You didn't want to go in. Didn't want to see him again. Didn't want to know what they were doing to him. But the weight of your keycard in your pocket reminded you that you had no choice.

"Dr. (Y/N), authorization code Rose-9-White," you murmured, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears.

The locks disengaged with a hiss that seemed far too loud in the empty hallway. You stepped inside, your eyes immediately darting to the observation window before you could stop yourself, only to find it empty again. The chair stood vacant, the restraints hanging loose. Your stomach twisted.

Mara glanced up from her workstation, blinking at you over the rim of her glasses. "Oh, you didn't check the morning logs?" she asked, her fingers never pausing as they flew across her keyboard.

You forced your hands to stay still at your sides. "No. What happened?"

"We finished the preliminary assessments last night," she said, turning back to her screen. A few quick taps pulled up a file labeled SUBJECT M-7: PHASE TWO. "Today we're administering the first round of the Evol-transfer serum. We'll be monitoring his vitals closely, but we've got a stabilized backup dose prepped in case his system rejects it."

Your stomach dropped like a stone.

The words Evol-transfer serum echoed in your skull, each syllable sharper than the last. You knew exactly what that meant, you had helped design the protocols yourself. The process wasn't just painful, it was excruciating. Like having your very soul ripped out piece by piece. And if his body fought it? If the serum destabilized?

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms hard enough to leave crescent-shaped scars. The sterile air of the lab suddenly felt too thick, too warm, your lab coat constricting around your shoulders like a straitjacket. What had you gotten yourself into? More importantly, what had you allowed them to do to him?

What if you were standing on the wrong side of the glass this time?

The thought made you sicker than anything EVER could have dreamed up in their labs.

The sterile hum of the lab equipment filled your ears as you mechanically sorted through data files, your fingers moving across the holographic display with practiced efficiency despite the storm raging inside your chest. Thirty minutes had passed since Mara's revelation about the serum, thirty minutes of forcing yourself to focus on anything but the empty observation chamber and what was coming.

Then the doors hissed open, and your entire world narrowed to the sound of rolling wheels and the sharp, rhythmic beep of a heart monitor.

They brought him in, still strapped to that damned chair, his arms secured with reinforced electromagnetic cuffs, the electrodes embedded in his skin now surrounded by dried blood from yesterday's tests.

The medical team moved with clinical precision, adjusting IV lines and checking readouts, but you barely registered them. Your breath caught painfully in your throat as your pulse skyrocketed, the sudden rush of blood in your ears nearly drowning out all other sound. It felt like your heart might actually tear through your ribcage.

And then he looked up.

Those crimson eyes found yours instantly, as if he'd known exactly where you'd be standing. But unlike yesterday's hollow stare, today his lips curved into that infuriating, knowing smile. The same smug smirk that had haunted your dreams for two years, the one that said he'd already calculated every possible outcome and yours wasn't the winning move.

Your fingers spasmed around the tablet you were holding, the screen cracking slightly under the pressure before you forcibly turned away, shoulders rigid as you pretended to study a meaningless data stream.

Wait, no. The realization hit you like a bucket of ice water. This was your lab. Your workplace. Your life that you'd built painstakingly over two years of early mornings and late nights, of proving yourself again and again.

He didn't get to waltz in here and ruin everything with one damn look. Squaring your shoulders, you inhaled deeply through your nose, the sharp scent of antiseptic helping ground you as you turned back to your workstation with renewed determination.

The next hour passed in a blur of hyper-focused activity. You moved between stations with uncharacteristic efficiency, running calculations faster than the system could typically process them, catching errors in the serum compound ratios that had slipped past three other researchers. Even Dr. Voss, the senior researcher whose narcissistic tendencies made him universally avoided, paused by your station with something resembling approval in his cold gaze. "Impressive work today, Dr. (Y/N)," he remarked, the rare praise making several nearby heads turn. "Your focus is... exceptional."

You barely registered the compliment, your entire being focused on the presence thirty feet away behind the observation glass. Every nerve in your body was aware of him, of the way his breathing changed minutely when someone approached with a new instrument, of the faint tension in his jawline that no one else would notice. You'd spent too many years studying those microexpressions, learning to read what he'd never say aloud.

"Alright," Voss's voice snapped you back to the present. "Now go and get the serum prepared. We'll begin phase one administration in five minutes."

The words sent a jolt of ice down your spine. Your feet carried you to the refrigeration unit on autopilot, your hands moving to retrieve the small vial of glowing blue liquid that represented months of your team's work. The serum felt unnaturally cold through your gloves, its faint luminescence pulsing almost like a living thing. You stood frozen for several heartbeats, staring at the vial as conflicting impulses warred in your chest.

Voss had to physically step into your line of sight before you reacted, his impatient "Well?" making you startle. When you still didn't move, he strode forward and practically snatched the serum from your grip, his sharp features twisting in displeasure. "Unusual hesitation from you today," he remarked coolly before turning away.

But you weren't looking at Voss. Your gaze had snapped back to the observation window, to the man strapped in that chair. And for just a fraction of a second, so brief you might have imagined it, you could have sworn something flickered across Sylus's face. Not anger. Not pain. But disappointment?

The possibility sent an entirely different kind of ache through your chest, one you refused to examine too closely.

As the medical team prepared to administer the serum, you forced yourself to turn back to your workstation, your fingers flying across the controls to pull up his vital signs on your private screen. Every beep of the heart monitor, every fluctuation in brain activity would be recorded here. You told yourself it was professional curiosity. That you were simply monitoring a high-risk procedure. But when the first drops of serum entered his IV line and his body arched against the restraints with a silent scream, your nails dug into your palms hard enough to draw blood.

And when his eyes, those damned crimson eyes, found yours through the glass once more, blazing with pain and something dangerously close to betrayal, you realized with dawning horror that you might have just made the biggest mistake of your life.

The serum's effects were worse than you'd imagined.

Each scream that tore from Sylus's throat felt like a blade twisting between your ribs. You'd never seen him like this, never heard him make a sound of pain, let alone this raw, ragged agony. His body strained against the restraints, muscles corded tight, veins standing out in beneath sweat-slicked skin.

The monitors screamed alongside him, his heart rate spiking dangerously high as the serum worked its way through his system, attacking his Evol at the cellular level.

You stood frozen at your workstation, fingers clenched around the edge of the desk so hard your knuckles turned white. Every instinct in your body screamed at you to do something, to stop this, to rip the IV from his arm, to fix what you'd helped create.

But you couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't tear your eyes away from the way his head finally dropped forward, his body going limp as the worst of the pain subsided into shuddering tremors.

That serum was designed to rip it out of him entirely, to transfer it to someone else. And by the time the process was complete, he'd be dead.

Your stomach lurched. You'd known this. You'd helped develop this. But seeing it happen to him…

Your vision blurred.

Around you, the lab continued as if nothing were wrong. Researchers murmured notes to each other, adjusting dials, recording data. No one else seemed to hear the way his breath came in short, pained gasps. No one else flinched when his fingers twitched against the restraints like he was still trying to fight.

This couldn't be happening.

Sylus didn't lose. Sylus didn't scream.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to look back at your screen, at the readings that confirmed what you already knew. His Evol levels were dropping. Fast.

A few hours later, the lab emptied for lunch.

Mara lingered by your station, nudging your shoulder. "Come on, let's go. You've been staring at that screen for ages."

You shook your head, not trusting your voice. "You go. I need to finish this report. I'll catch up in a minute." She hesitated, then shrugged. "Suit yourself. But if you take too long, I'm eating your share of the dumplings."

The second the door hissed shut behind her, your head snapped up. The lab was empty. Almost.

Your gaze darted to the security camera in the corner, its red light blinking steadily. You should have cared. Should have hesitated. But right now, you didn't give a damn.

"Fuck it," you muttered under your breath. You'd come up with a lie later.

In three quick strides, you were at the observation window. Sylus was slumped forward, his head hanging low, silver hair obscuring his face. You couldn't tell if he was unconscious.

You pressed your palm against the glass.

"Sylus."

No response.

Your chest tightened. You tapped the glass sharply, once, twice.

"Sylus, look at me."

For a heartbeat, nothing.

Then, slowly, agonizingly, he lifted his head.

His crimson eyes were duller than you'd ever seen them, his pupils blown wide with pain, but they locked onto yours with terrifying focus.

And then, he smirked.

That damn, infuriating smirk, even now. Even like this.

Your breath left you in a rush.

"You idiot," you hissed, your voice barely above a whisper. "What the hell are you doing here?"

His lips parted like he might answer. But then the lab door hissed open behind you.

You whirled around.

Dr. Voss stood in the doorway, his cold eyes flicking from you to Sylus and back again.

"Dr. (Y/N)," he said slowly. "Care to explain why you're talking to the subject?"

Lemme know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

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star-dust-no-name · 13 days ago

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My Father is Telamon!!!

ᯓ✦

TW: Mentions of gore,failed family and lots of angst

IN WHICH: Telamon (Shedletsky) fails to protect his own child

Shedletsky x Child reader (platonic only)

Mentions of BrightEyes and 1x1x1x1 too!

ᯓ✦

You were abandoned

And then found by BrightEyes

Or as you soon called her

Your mother

Your father was Telamon

A rather important and high ranking member of Roblox

He was known for his cold behavior towards anyone who wasn’t his wife

Not caring for exploiters or hackers as he would whip his ban hammer out and struck them down with one swing

And yet when he saw you

His heart melted and reformed

As you became older with your mother going missing your father had abandoned his position of a once high and glory position most would dream of to take care of you

He went by Shedletsky now

Yet as the days went by and no matter how much time he spent with you and his endless attempts to find his wife he couldn’t ignore it

His hatred

It was growing

It was too much

It was corrupting him

So he made a living manifestation of it

It was only supposed to be a mountain of code that expressed his hatred so he could keep on moving

So he could keep on playing pretend swords with you

Yet that code reformed

Into a child

In a way you could say 1x1x1x1 was your younger sibling

When you found him in a locked away cage in the middle of your exploration of the forest behind your house in a cave

You soon swore to him that you would take down whatever meanie trapped him there

You would visit him every day that you could when your father was too wrapped up in finding your mother to notice you slipping away

You would sneak in snacks and sugary drinks

You would laugh with them

Until

Shedletsky had found him

You brought him to 1x4 thinking that your father could free your friend

But when 1x1x1x1 saw him

He hated him

Told you he was the person who trapped him

Then everything spiraled

He banned 1x1x1x1 to the banlands

All while you cried and begged for him not to

And then that night when he tucked you in for bed promising that 1x4 just went to sleep in the dreamlands

You knew better

ᯓ✦

Shedletsky had cried himself to death basically

Not only was his wife missing but so was his child

And soon he went back to a shoulder to cry on

His best friend

Builderman

He drowned himself in missions

Returning to not his former position but as a weaker position alongside his friend

He thought it could drown his emotions yet on one mission…

He disappeared

ᯓ✦

A laugh echoed throughout Planet Voss as Shedletsky tried to run away clutching his bleeding wound that was being infected by corrupted code

And then…

That’s when he truly stopped for the first time in his life to think to himself and realize the emotions he kept down for so long as he looked up

Where did he go wrong?

You were there

Now grown up laughing as corrupted code had spread throughout

Your younger sibling standing behind laughing and drawing his sword

The Spectre had changed you

Warped your mind and memory to its liking

Made it so that Telamon and BrightEyes were just people of the past that you had forgotten

Made it so that Shedletsky was the only person you remembered before being forsakened

Made it so that Shedletsky had abandoned you alongside your younger sibling fighting to fend for yourself while you both suffered and eventually being banned by him

Wasn’t he supposed to be a father who cared for you?

Wasn’t he supposed to protect you?

To love you?

K I L L H I M

ᯓ✦

So as Shedletsky looked up he accepted his fate he knew he couldn’t escape this fate

Looks like you found him hiding!

Whatever it wasn’t like your creator ever bothered to play hide and seek with you and your younger sibling when you were younger

One day he would regain his position as Telamon

In order to escape

In order to uncorrupt your code as well as 1x1x1x1’s code

In order to find his wife again

In order to be happy again

In order to play house again

Where he would be the father, his wife would be the mother, you would be the older protective sibling and your younger sibling would constantly bicker with you

He would save you

HE WILL SAVE YOU

HE WILL PROTECT YOU

HE WILL LOVE AND PROTECT YOU JUST LIKE HE SHOULD HAVE DONE ALL THOSE YEARS AGO

ᯓ✦

Some headcanons^^

໒꒱ Just how the Spectre warped your mind when you first forsaken into the hell I would imagine that like when the Spectre was bored and becoming dull with the rounds he would give you your memories back completely

໒꒱ It never fails to entertain the Spectre as you would immediately bundle yourself up and cry when you were chosen as the killer

໒꒱ And each time you would cry in your fathers chest scared about your corrupted code crying about how you missed your mother, crying about how everything hurts, crying about how you wanted to go back home, to play swords with him and afterwards he would buy fried chicken as you both play hide and seek and then he would tuck you into bed so you could repeat it all over again

໒꒱ It hurts him to see his child again that’s why he would always mess around and joke (while secretly using both med kits that he had on him and his friend chicken just so that he had more time to talk to you again)

໒꒱ But of course every time he would eventually slowly die because of your corrupted code or if he managed to live he would watch as you slipped away crying and begging for him not to leave as you were both separated again

໒꒱ It never failed to make him cry and cry wishing for you to be free

໒꒱ And every time it would hurt even more when in the next round you were back to your corrupted self forgetting all that had happened

໒꒱ Again and again

໒꒱ While you gained your memories you would talk to 1x1x1x1 again since he was the only person you knew in a cabin full of strangers that looked weird

໒꒱ 1x1x1x1 always remembered those moments with you, he could never forget, it’s why when you went back to your corrupted self it hurt his heart a little bit when the only thing you would talk about was defeating Shedletsky

໒꒱ Don’t get her wrong she likes to kill Shedletsky but it hurts when it would be the only thing you would talk to them about, any other time you weren’t planning together on how to destroy Shedletsky you would ignore him

໒꒱ Pretending he was just an ally you could use (Destroying all your feelings inside that wanted to play with 1x1x1x1 like you were a child again)

໒꒱ No what’s important right now is destroying Shedletsky

໒꒱ And then you and your sibling could play all you wanted while the world itself would collapse due to the corrupted code

໒꒱ Sometimes when 1x1x1x1 misses you badly he will play with C00LKidd just so that it could bring up good memories again

໒꒱ She always tries her best to get your attention and praise when your in your corrupted form

໒꒱ Ranging from making you very burnt food

Is something burning??? you asked as you coughed while Jason tried to waft away the burning smell outside while 1x1x1x1 struggled to put out the flames of the now very burnt eggs

He was banned from the kitchen after that

But it didn’t stop him from still trying to cook for you

໒꒱ To handmade gifts

I made you something!

1x1x1x1 exclaimed as they showed you a handmade ring made from twisted leaves he found outside the cabin

Oh thanks…

You said as you grabbed the ring and as soon as he was out of vision you would secretly place it inside a box filled of his gifts for you and hide it secretly under your bed

You had to be strong for him

You can’t be weak

໒꒱ When the killers first found out you were 1x1x1x1’s older sibling they were surprised and less surprised when you turned out to be like 1x1x1x1 who would act cold and distant to others

໒꒱ Father like child I guess you could say

ᯓ✦

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heyitspapayaontop · 21 days ago

Text

Second Sector

Request: anon !

Pairing: Dad!Lando Norris x Driver!Son!Reader

Themes: Angst

Warnings: car crash, injury description (nothing graphic), near death/mentions of it, medical mentions

Summary: after y/n suffered a terrifying crash at the Red Bull ring, Lando has to figure out what to do. Calming his son/ (More himself though.) And working on helping him heal.

A/N: no names of actual current f4 drivers were said bc its in the near-ish future and reader is apt 14, do some math if you'd like but don't think tm act it!! there will be a part two to this specific one, but I couldn't finish it atm, this is as far as my motivation can go sorry! enjoy!

Saturday at the Red Bull Ring.

The Red Bull Ring—man, it’s gorgeous in that “might kill you if you blink” kind of way. All those rolling green hills and sneaky dips, blind corners just waiting to ruin someone’s afternoon. It’s the sort of place that keeps everyone’s nerves jangling, mechanics and dads alike.

Lando Norris stood there on the pit wall, arms tight across his chest, McLaren hoodie on, but he wasn't looking at the scenery. Not even glancing at the track, really. His eyes were glued to Car #17. His kid.

Y/N had been on it all weekend. Quick as hell in practice. Didn’t flinch in the rain. Nailed qualifying. But something felt off this morning. Not just the car—him, too. Different edge.

“Still got the Red Bull kid rattling around in your head?” Lando threw it out there, eyes still locked on the timing screen.

Y/N’s voice came over the radio, dry as toast. “No.”

Yeah, right. Lando knew a fib from his kid a mile off.

Friday – The Day Before

FP2 was a mess.

Turn 3—classic. Y/N dived for the inside. Elias Voss, the Red Bull Academy’s newest wonderboy, tried to hang it round the outside. Neither of them lifted. So, naturally, Y/N’s front wing went bye-bye, and Voss got a face full of gravel.

Cue drama. Voss’s team was fuming. “Reckless!” “Entitled!” All the greatest hits.

Stewards called it just a racing thing, but the paddock loved to gossip.

“Bet Norris thinks he’s untouchable now.”

“Silver spoon, gets away with anything.”

Y/N heard every word. Pretended he didn’t.

Back to Saturday

Lap 14.

Everything goes sideways.

Happens in a blink, as usual.

Voss is right there again, lining him up into Turn 3. Déjà vu.

Lando leans in, practically chewing his nails. “Don’t fight it too hard,” he mutters. “Let him screw up.”

But Y/N? He’s not backing out.

Tires touch. That sound—metal, rubber, chaos. Smoke. Debris everywhere.

Car #17 launches, spins, smacks the barriers so hard you could feel it in your teeth. Even the engineers stagger back, pale.

The whole world just… stops.

“Red flag. Red flag. Medical team dispatched.”

Lando’s off like a shot. Doesn’t care about credentials or radios or anyone yelling at him. He’s running, pure dad mode.

The Wreck

Marshals’ve already swarmed the mess. Wheel over here. Halo’s got a nasty crack. The car’s twisted in ways it shouldn’t be.

Lando shoves through the crowd and finds him.

Y/N’s slumped over, helmet askew, not moving.

“Y/N!” Lando drops, knees on tarmac. “Hey, buddy, c’mon. Open your eyes, look at me.”

Medic grabs him, pulls him back. “We need space, possible spinal.”

Lando stumbles away, can’t breathe, just staring at the kid in the mangled car.

Time crawls.

Then—was that a twitch? A noise? Yeah. Y/N’s alive.

Hospital – Graz University Clinic

Broken arm, cracked ribs, concussion, bruises everywhere, a bit of a spinal scare—but he’s gonna make it.

He’s out cold, though.

Lando sits there, holding his son’s hand, mumbling stuff he should’ve said ages ago.

“You don’t have to prove a damn thing. Not to them. Not to me. Especially not to me.”

Wipes his eyes, trying to play it cool.

“You’re already everything I hoped you’d be.”

Sunday Night

Y/N wakes up just as the sun’s ducking out.

Eyes flutter, sharp breath, groan.

Lando’s right there.

“Hey, hey. I got you, I’m here.”

Y/N blinks up, groggy. “Did I crash?”

Lando nods, smiling through tears. “Oh yeah. Massive one. Gave your old man a few grey hairs.”

“Voss?”

“He’s fine. You will be too. Just not today.”

Y/N glances at his cast, then his chest, and his face kind of crumples.

“I thought I was better than that. I thought I could—”

“Stop.” Lando’s suddenly all business. “You don’t get to do that. Not when you’re the one in the hospital bed.”

Silence.

Finally: “I was scared.”

Lando squeezes his hand. “Me too. But you’re here. That’s what counts.”

Three Weeks Later – Home

Recovery sucks.

Y/N’s hating every minute. The quiet, the ache, the way every tiny thing feels like screwing up.

But Lando’s there. Every physio, every stretch, every crap night when the pain comes roaring back.

He never says it, but Y/N knows:

I’d take the crash for you if I could.

But this time, all he can do is stick around and help him through it.

One Month Later – Back at the Track

No racing yet. Just walking the paddock, getting his bearings.

People look. Whisper.

Voss walks by, eyes flickering, maybe a little sorry.

Y/N stares him down. Doesn’t even flinch.

Lando, hiding behind his shades, grins.

“You scared the hell outta me, you know.”

Y/N bumps him with his shoulder. “You already said that.”

“Still true.”

They stand there together in the shadow of the Red Bull Ring—the same place that broke him, and the same place he’s back again.

Not a ghost.

A survivor.

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onlyforsebastianstan · 22 days ago

Text

The New Girl (Angst to Fluff Version)

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: When a solo mission goes disastrously wrong, you return to the SHIELD compound battered and bleeding, only to face the sting of misunderstanding. Consumed by jealousy over Bucky Barnes’ apparent closeness with a new agent, Clara Voss, you’d distanced yourself. Your withdrawal is mistaken for disinterest, and when you’re injured protecting a civilian. As you fight to recover, Bucky’s raw confession of love unravels the truth, paving the way for healing and a promise of no more silence.

⚠️ Warnings: → Heavy emotional angst → Jealousy and self-doubt → Non-graphic mission-related injury (gunshot wounds) → Hospital recovery scenes → Emotional neglect / misunderstanding → Slow trust rebuilding → Guilt and regret → Mild depictions of pain and medical treatment

The gym echoed with the rhythmic thud of fists against a punching bag, the only sound breaking the midnight silence at the Avengers Compound. You and Bucky Barnes were the only ones there, as usual, your late-night training sessions a ritual born of shared insomnia and unspoken trust. Sweat glistened on your brow as you landed a solid kick, the bag swaying under your force. Bucky stood nearby, holding the bag steady, his blue eyes tracking your every move.

“Nice form,” he said, voice low, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But you’re dropping your guard on the follow-through.”

You huffed, brushing a stray hair from your face. “Always the critic, Barnes.”

“Always looking out for you,” he countered, his tone softer, almost intimate. His metal hand steadied the bag, and for a moment, his fingers brushed yours as you adjusted your stance. The contact sent a jolt through you, a reminder of the feelings you’d been harboring for months.

You’d joined SHIELD a year ago, and Bucky had been your anchor from the start. Late-night talks about your pasts—his haunted by Hydra, yours by personal losses—had forged a bond you thought was unbreakable. He’d listen as you confessed your fears, his presence steady and warm. You’d seen him smile, truly smile, only with you, and those moments fueled your hope that he felt the same. But Bucky was a fortress, his emotions locked behind walls you couldn’t breach.

“Wanna spar?” you asked, needing to shake off the tension in your chest.

He raised an eyebrow, stepping onto the mat. “You sure? I’m not going easy on you.”

“Bring it, old man.”

The sparring was intense, a dance of calculated strikes and dodges. Bucky was fast, but you were scrappy, slipping under his guard to land a playful tap on his chest. He grabbed your wrist, pulling you close, his breath warm against your cheek. “Gotcha,” he murmured, eyes locking with yours. Your heart stuttered, but before you could respond, he released you, stepping back with a guarded expression.

“Call it a night?” he asked, voice rough.

You nodded, swallowing your disappointment. “Yeah. Night, Buck.”

As you left the gym, you replayed that moment, his touch, his gaze. You were falling for him, hard, and the hope that he might feel the same kept you tethered to him.

The next morning, the briefing room buzzed with new energy. Clara Voss, the new agent, walked in with a confident stride, her dark hair in a neat ponytail, her smile warm and disarming. She shook hands with the team, her charm effortless. When she reached you, her eyes lit up.

“You’re the one who runs circles around Barnes in training,” she said, grinning. “I heard you took down three guys solo last mission. Teach me your secrets?”

You blinked, caught off guard by her enthusiasm. “Uh, just practice, I guess. Welcome to the team.”

“Thanks!” she said, her laugh bright. “This place is intense, but you seem like you’ve got it figured out. Coffee later? I need tips on surviving SHIELD’s chaos.”

Her kindness was so genuine, you couldn’t help but nod. “Sure, sounds good.”

You wanted to dislike her, but she made it impossible. During the briefing, she leaned over to whisper, “Your aim’s unreal, saw your range scores. Mind giving me a pointer?” Later, in the cafeteria, she slid a tray of your favorite cookies toward you. “Heard you like these. My treat.” Her smile was so warm, you felt guilty for the knot of envy forming in your chest.

Then you saw her with Bucky.

In the gym, they sparred, Clara dodging his punches with grace, her laughter ringing out. Bucky grinned, your grin, the one that made your heart skip. Later, at the coffee cart, she nudged his arm, handing him a cup. “Black, no sugar, right? Figured you’re a purist.” He took it, smiling in a way that twisted your gut. When you overheard her invite him to a team outing at a bar “Come on, Barnes, you can’t say no to wings and beer!” and he said, “I’m in,” your world tilted.

You stood frozen, your coffee growing cold, as her laughter echoed. He’s choosing her. But even as jealousy surged, you couldn’t hate Clara. She’d been nothing but kind, and that made it worse.

The next day, Clara found you in the locker room, tying your boots. “Hey,” she said, sitting beside you. “I’m struggling with knife throws. You’re a pro, any chance you could show me after training? I owe you one.”

Her earnestness made you pause. “Yeah, sure,” you said, forcing a smile. “No big deal.”

“You’re the best,” she said, squeezing your arm. “Seriously, I’m so glad you’re on the team. Makes this place feel less intimidating.”

You nodded, your throat tight. Why does she have to be so nice? Her kindness clawed at you, making your jealousy feel petty, but you couldn’t shake the image of her with Bucky.

You started pulling away. Training sessions with Bucky stopped; you claimed scheduling conflicts. When he texted, you replied with one-word answers. You volunteered for solo missions, anything to avoid seeing him with Clara. Your thoughts spiraled, every memory of his touches, his smiles, now felt like a lie. You compared yourself to Clara, her effortless charm, her beauty, and felt lacking. The heartbreak numbed you, and you buried it under work.

Bucky noticed. He’d catch your eye in briefings, but you’d look away. He tried to talk, knocking on your door one night. “You okay?” he asked through the wood.

“Fine,” you called back, voice flat. “Just tired.”

“You sure? You’ve been… distant.”

You didn’t answer, and he left. His frustration grew, evident in the tight set of his jaw during team meetings. You thought he was annoyed at your coldness, but to Bucky, it felt like you were shutting him out, like he’d lost something vital.

The breaking point came when you volunteered for a high-risk mission in Sokovia, infiltrating a Hydra remnant base. It was reckless, but you needed the escape. Bucky caught you in the hangar as you prepped your gear.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, voice low but sharp. “This is a suicide run.”

“It’s my job,” you snapped, zipping your bag. “Someone’s gotta do it.”

“Why you? Why alone?” His eyes searched yours, desperate. “You’ve been running yourself ragged, avoiding everyone. Avoiding me.”

You scoffed, the hurt bubbling up. “Maybe I just need space, Bucky. Not everything’s about you.”

His face hardened. “If you don’t care anymore, then go. But don’t expect me to chase you when you’re throwing yourself into danger.”

The words cut deep, confirming your worst fears—he didn’t care. You turned away, tears stinging. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

You left for Sokovia, heart heavy, convinced you’d misread every moment between you.

The Hydra base was a frozen fortress, concrete and steel buried in snow. Intel was wrong, guards swarmed, radios crackling. You moved silently, planting trackers, breath visible in the cold. Natasha’s voice buzzed in your comms, guiding you, but your focus was razor-sharp.

In a server room, you uploaded data to SHIELD’s servers when a civilian technician stumbled in, terrified. “Please, don’t hurt me,” he whispered.

“Stay down,” you hissed, pulling him behind a crate. A sniper’s scope glinted above. You dove, shielding him, but the bullet tore through your side. Pain seared, blood soaking your suit. You fired back, dropping the sniper with a chest shot.

“Agent down!” you rasped into your comms, clutching your wound. Guards closed in, boots echoing. You fought, each move agony, knives flashing, bullets flying. A second shot grazed your shoulder, and you stumbled, vision blurring. You barricaded the technician behind crates, holding off enemies until backup arrived.

Natasha and Sam stormed in, clearing the room. “Stay with me,” Natasha said, pressing your wound, voice urgent. “Medevac’s coming.”

You tried to nod, but darkness took you.

At the compound, Bucky was in the comms room, reviewing mission logs, when Natasha’s voice crackled through. “Agent down. Critical.”

His heart stopped. “Who?” he demanded, voice shaking.

“Y/n,” Natasha said, her tone grim.

Bucky sprinted to the hangar, his mind a storm of panic. This is my fault. I let her go. Your fight replayed—his harsh words, your hurt expression. He’d pushed you away, and now you might be gone. He paced the hangar, his boots scuffing the concrete, his hands clenched so tight his knuckles whitened. Please be okay.

Sam found him, his face tense. “She’s tough, Buck. She’ll make it.”

Bucky shook his head, his voice hoarse. “I told her to go. I said I wouldn’t come after her.”

Sam gripped his shoulder. “You didn’t know. She’s a fighter.”

Clara appeared, her expression soft. “Bucky, you need water or something. You’re shaking.”

“Not leaving,” he said, eyes fixed on the hangar doors. “Not until she’s here.”

She nodded, sitting nearby. “She’s strong. And she loves you, you know. I saw it every time she looked at you.”

Bucky’s throat tightened. “I didn’t tell her how I feel. I screwed up.”

“You’ll get the chance,” Clara said, her voice kind. “She’s not giving up.”

The quinjet’s roar filled the hangar. Bucky froze as medics rushed out, wheeling you on a stretcher. You were pale, unconscious, blood staining the bandages around your torso. Monitors beeped, urgent and relentless. Bucky followed, his heart pounding, as they moved you to the medbay.

He stood outside the glass doors, watching the medics work. Your face was still, tubes snaking from your arms. He pressed his hand to the glass, his metal arm trembling. Please don’t leave me. Steve and Natasha joined him, their faces grim, but Bucky barely registered their words. His world was you—the faint rise of your chest, the only sign you were alive.

Hours dragged on. Bucky sank to the floor outside the medbay, his back against the wall, staring at nothing. Clara brought him coffee, her touch gentle as she set it beside him. “She’s gonna pull through,” she said. “You two have something real.”

He nodded, staring at nothing, mind locked on you. When the doctors allowed visitors, he was at your side, taking your hand, careful not to disturb the IV. You were still out, breathing shallow. He leaned close, voice breaking.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I should’ve stopped you. I can’t lose you.”

You drifted in a haze, his voice an anchor. Your eyes fluttered open, the medbay’s light harsh. Bucky was there, face haggard, eyes red.

“Hey,” you croaked, throat raw.

His head snapped up, relief flooding him. “You’re awake.” He squeezed your hand, warm. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“I heard you,” you said, voice weak. “Talking. I… I was so jealous, Bucky, of Clara. You were so happy with her, laughing, smiling. I thought I’d lost you. That I wasn’t enough.”

Bucky’s eyes widened, pain flashing across his face. “You thought—God, no. You’re everything. I was never happy with her like that. Clara was helping me plan something for you, to tell you I love you. I’ve loved you for so long, but I was too scared to say it. Thought you’d see my past, my broken pieces, and walk away. I’m sorry I made you feel less.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks. “I love you too. I was so stupid, letting jealousy eat me up. I should’ve told you.”

He brushed your tears away, thumb gentle. “We’re both idiots. No more hiding.”

“Okay,” you whispered, heart lighter.

Recovery was slow, but Bucky was there every day. He brought chocolate-covered pretzels, sour gummies, and read The Hobbit aloud, his voice soothing. You talked about your fears, your dreams, the future you wanted.

Clara visited, her smile hesitant. “You scared us,” she said, sitting by your bed. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks, Clara,” you said, guilt softening your voice. “And… I’m sorry for being distant. You’ve been nothing but kind.”

She waved it off, her eyes warm. “No hard feelings. You and Bucky belong together. Anyone can see that.”

You smiled, warmth spreading. “You’re a good friend.”

Weeks later, you sat by the recovery room window, the sunset painting the sky. Bucky handed you an envelope, his expression nervous. “I was gonna give you this before everything went wrong.”

You opened it, finding a letter in his neat handwriting. It detailed every moment he’d fallen for you—your laugh, your courage, the way you made him feel whole. At the bottom, he’d written, I love you. I’m yours, if you’ll have me.

Tears blurred your vision. “It’s perfect.”

He smiled, leaning in. “I meant it.” His lips brushed yours, soft and tentative, a promise. “No more hesitation.”

You nodded, your fingers laced with his, the sunset warm against your skin. “No more hesitation.”

Fluff Version of "The New Girl" >>> Here

See my other stories here >>> Masterlist <<<

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes #bucky x you #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky angst #the avengers #james barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes one shot #bucky jealous

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lightning-wyvern · 5 months ago

Note

Luigi mangione helping you with homework headcanons

ouuu

~ study buddy Luigi Mangione

luigi mangione x gn!reader | fluff, headcanon | cw school, homework, physical affection, kissing, physical touch, minor cursing, mentions of cutting (food), reader + luigi are dating but no reader gender is mentioned

(open) luigi mangione taglist @glitteryslothhhh @poohkie90

conservative red voters do not interact; if you don't like luigi then scroll. you will regret sending me a hate ask, let alone anonymous.

i feel like before you and he started studying together and later started dating, he would have been such a big enemy of homework, that shit would hate to see luigi coming

bcs he would rather do anything else than do homework. but then when you and him become a couple, all of a sudden he's excited to go hunker down with you in your apartment/dorm and do some fucking homework.

he would often bring along a bowl of freshly cut watermelon, canteloupe, honeydew, apples and whatever other fruit(s) you ask him to include, because he knew that once you got focused on your work you would have difficulty stopping to feed yourself when the time came

he would also bring along bottled water every single night that you and he had "study dates." i honestly think he would constantly choose voss spring water simply because of the glass bottles and large quantity of water.

luigi would totally bring along a book about a completely unrelated subject that he knew you liked, so that you had a choice to continue consuming new information to some extent during brain breaks!

he'd scoot up next to you and kiss your cheek at random points to startle you a little bit, teasing you when you jumped a little because "you were focused on your wooooork"

but he knew you just really enjoyed the little kisses :)

luigi knows you get overwhelmed easily sometimes, so he buys a giant stuffed bear and brings it along every time you plan a study night with him, just in case you need it!

i feel like luigi would have a bit of trouble not imploding if you ask him for help with paper robotics homework, let alone with actually building a motherfucking robot. you'd have to tell him "luigi, calm down" a little too often or he would probably let himself implode

i feel like since he's good with robotics he would be really good at advanced algebra and maybe even calculus? and he would be more than happy to give you simple but detailed breakdowns of each equation you get stuck on

anything involving speeches: i feel like luigi would mostly just let you write drafts of them yourself and then encourage you to give a drafted version of your speeches, and he would give you some pretty helpful tips and pointers.

involving essays: he would kind of write it with you? he might have you add him to the document and let him toss in little punctual and grammatical edits here and there as you wrote. if the essay was on a subject he liked and/or knew a lot about, he would most definitely be giving you little fun facts to throw in here and there as well :)

i just think he'd be kind of like twilight sparkle or sunburst from mlp...

luigi mangione is a Very Smart Man <3

if you have any other ideas or headcanons lemme know!

#~ | posting #《 asksksk 🤪#~ rhykar #《 rhy writes ♡#luigi mangione #luigi mangione headcanons #luigi mangione imagines #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione x yn #luigi mangione fanfic #deny defend depose

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luxthestrange · 1 year ago

Text

Beastars Incorrect Quotes#33 No scratchies

Once the gang graduated, Legoshi, Jack, and the dormitory buddies go out to hang out in a bar...

Jack: I don't like drinking with Y/n

Legos: Why?

Jacl: I talk bad about myself, and they think I'm a stranger badmouthing their friend...They threatened to kick my ass...

Collot: That's not so bad-

Jack:-with a broken bottle that they broke on the table right there and then...I was fighting for my life

Collot:...

Miguno:...

Durham:...

Voss:...Is it wrong to say thats kinda hot?-

Legos:...The last time I talked bad about myself, they took away my..."scratchies" privileges-

The gang*Gasps in horror at Legoshi's comment*!?!

Jack:...they can do that?

#beastars #beastars x reader #beastars x y/n #beastars x human reader #beastars x human y/n #beastars jack x reader #beastars jack x y/n #beastars legoshi #legoshi x reader #legoshi x human reader #legoshi x human y/n #legoshi x y/n #beastars collot #beastars voss #beastars miguno #beastars durham #beastars incorrect quotes #incorrect quotes

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silverstar70 · 16 days ago

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Taglist

Hey! I'm making a taglist for my writing.

If you don't wanna miss new stories of your favorite character, feel free to join the taglist at the link below or DM me!

I'm grateful to every single one of you who read my stories. I appreciate your support; it means a lot.

Click here for the link!

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gotranting · 8 days ago

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So...Kith'rak Voss.

...how are we feeling about him? Is this a hear me out?

I'm just saying, that it would be a shame to miss all the Tav x Voss fanfic potential.

That's all.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate tav #kith'rak voss #kith'rak voss x reader #kith'rak voss x tav #githyanki #bg3 githyanki #it doesn't take much really #just label the character as unromanceable and you have me

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superbassbuck · 13 days ago

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Making Out for America

Chapter 3: In Order to Form a More Perfect Union

masterlist || one || two || three || four || five

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x America's Sweetheart!fem!reader

Mentions: 18+, enemies to lovers, slow burn, set during thunderbults*, sexual tension, forced proximity, arranged marriage, panic attacks, mental health issues, angst (lots of it), no y/n

Word Count: 5.6k

gif by unearthlydust || dividers by cafekitsune

Bucky had already picked you up from your place, and now the two of you sat in the backseat of his sleek black car, his driver weaving through D.C traffic as he took you both to Valentina’s gala. You’re making it a mental note that from now on, any time you’re with Bucky, you’re wearing a dress that fits you comfortably.

And most importantly, safe. You want to make sure to avoid any repeat incidents.

You were looking out the window, watching the lights of the city drive by in a slight golden and white blur. Ever since he picked you up, you two hadn’t said a word to each other—aside from the brief moment when you slid in beside him and he muttered a quiet, barely audible, “Looks good,” all without making eye contact. You came to the conclusion that Bucky was absolutely terrible at giving compliments, or just making conversation in general.

He’d said the same thing to you during dinner yesterday. Just a simple “looks good,” like it was a standard observation.

Still, a compliment was a compliment. Beggars can’t be choosers.

Normally, by now, you’d be the one trying to break the silence. You would be the one asking questions, poking at his mood, trying to make the whole fake-fiancée thing less awkward. But after last night’s dinner, you were done chasing conversation.

If he wanted to talk, he’d have to initiate it.

And to your surprise, he does.

Bucky cleared his throat, eyes still fixed on the window. “You looking forward to tonight?”

“I am,” you said indifferently, not bothering to turn his way. “Doesn’t happen often, you know. Getting invited to a gala hosted by Valentina De Fontaine. Kind of a big deal.”

He hums in acknowledgement, and then the silence comes back.

You’ve had your fair share of galas here and there. But never one hosted by someone as influential as Valentina De Fontaine. And definitely never accompanied with a partner. On the outside, you kept yourself calm and collected, playing it cool. But on the inside, your nerves were quietly eating away at you.

Not that you’d ever let that show, especially not in front of Bucky.

“By the way, I’ve got something for you,” Bucky says, breaking the silence.

He reaches into the pocket of his slacks and pulls out a small red velvet box. With a soft click , he pops it open, revealing a stunning diamond ring nestled snugly inside.

“Voss told me to give it to you early,” he says, holding the box toward you. “Figured it’d help sell the whole thing if you wore it tonight.”

Your eyes widen at the sight of the ring, your hand instinctively reaching to grab the box.

After dinner last night, you had sent Bucky a brief one sentence text describing the style of ring you liked along with the size, to which he left on read. You remember scoffing at that, because how dare he ask you for your desired ring just to blow you off?

But as your eyes take in the ring in front of you, you can’t help but stare at it in awe.

It was exactly what you asked for.

Exactly what you would’ve wanted… if this whole thing was real.

Before you can say anything, Bucky gently takes the box back, taking the ring out and holding it up. “May I?”

You hesitate, unsure what to make of the sudden softness, but you nod anyway.

With his gloved hand, he takes yours and slips the ring onto your finger. You slowly pull your hand back, holding it up in the light and watching it sparkle as the streetlights flash past the car windows. The smile that creeps onto your face is uncontrollable, and for a brief second, it feels real.

Too real.

It’s beautiful. And somehow bittersweet all at the same time.

“Do you like it?” he asks, pulling your attention back to him.

You sit a little straighter and glance his way. “I do,” you say, eyes flicking back to the diamond as you wiggle your fingers. “It’s beautiful.”

“Good,” Bucky nods, satisfied. Then he shifts further away from you. “Just make sure you wear it at the photoshoot next week. Voss wants the ring front and center to make it look convincing.”

And just like that, the illusion shatters. The dreams of love, of something genuine, vanishes in the air. This was still just a role. Just business. Like everything else in your life.

Your smile fades just a little bit. “I know,” you muttered quietly, dropping your hand into your lap and turning your gaze back out the window.

You both stare out at your respective windows for a moment in silence. Then your gaze slowly drifts, catching Bucky’s reflection in the glass. He’s already looking at you, watching you through the mirror. Your eyes meet through the thin pane.

Neither of you looks away.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, eyes still locked with yours in the reflection.

You let out a shaky exhale and nod with a soft, “Mhm.”

Then, he turns his body to face you again. His left hand slowly reaches for you, but he stops short and drops it halfway. He swallows, his eyes narrowed down at you.

“I never get used to nights like this,” he admits, his voice coming out softer than you expected. “I hate them. But it’s part of the job.”

Slowly, you turn to face him. The softness that came out of his voice just now threw you off guard. Was this his attempt at being vulnerable?

“I get it. I feel the same way.”

He’s already looking out his window again, but his left hand, still covered by the glove, was still resting in the small space between you two.

“You should take off the glove,” you point down at it.

He doesn’t turn, just lets out a small exhale that could pass as a laugh. “This again?”

You shrug, keeping your tone neutral. “Just saying. It looks uncomfortable.”

You’re not going to bother pushing it further. You didn’t want to get into all the sappy “embrace it” talk all over again—especially knowing how it got you nowhere last time.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even turn to you again. He continues looking out the window as if you hadn’t said anything. You give him one glance, trying to read his expression before pulling away completely. He looks concentrated—like his mind was occupied elsewhere. With a sigh, you turn and look back out your own window.

The rest of the drive to Valentina’s gala was pure silence from here.

When you finally arrive at the gala, the car slows to a stop beneath the bright outdoor lights of the building. Without saying a word, Bucky peels off his glove and tosses it onto the seat.

He glances at you. “Stay there,” is all he says before getting out of the car and shutting the door with a thud . The driver starts to move, but Bucky raises a hand, signaling him to stay put. A moment later, your door opens. He’s standing there, his flesh hand extended toward you.

“How kind of you,” you say half-jokingly as you grab his hand, getting out of the car.

“Gotta make it look convincing, right?” he says as he helps you out.

There were already a few reporters gathered around the building, snapping pictures of anyone important coming in and out. Thankfully, security’s tight and you also have your own super soldier next to you. So if any reporters or paparazzi get too close, you would have someone to protect you.

Or so you hoped.

Bucky would definitely protect you, right?

You loop your arm through his like it’s second nature, both of you forcing tight smiles. You were getting flashbanged every second, and it was to be expected. This was your first public appearance together, and the press was ready.

Voss had already laid the groundwork with a press release earlier in the day, hinting at the “developing romance” between the charming American Sweetheart and the reformed Congressman. But it’s this very moment, the visual of you both arriving hand-in-hand, with a ring on your finger, that will seal the story.

Inside, the grand marble-floored lobby is already filled with conversation. Champagne on trays were being offered around, and there was light classical music playing. You had to suck in a breath, feeling your shoulders stiffen as you took in the room around you.

Bucky doesn't say much as he guides you through the room, your arm still looped around his left arm while he rests his flesh hand on yours. Although he looks calm and collected on the outside, there’s a slight tension in his grip.

“Smile,” he mutters to you out of the corner of his mouth, nodding to a nearby photographer who clearly recognized him.

“I am smiling,” you bite back through gritted teeth, you force a toothy smile.

Before he says anything else, Bucky gives your hand a gentle squeeze as you both approach an elegant woman in a sleek black off-shoulder dress with her dark and silver hair done in neat curls. You don’t need an introduction to know that this is—

“Valentina,” Bucky greets with a respectful nod.

“Ah,” she says with a bright smile, but there’s something else behind her eyes. “Congressman Barnes!”

Her eyes flick to you.

“I know you,” they narrow slightly, dissecting you right before your eyes. “America’s Sweetheart, as they say. Now you’re Congressman Barnes’ fiancée! I’ve read so much about you.”

There’s something about the way she’s speaking and checking you out that makes you feel strange. But maybe it’s just the nerves.

You extend your hand politely, your smile uptight. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Ms. De Fontaine.”

Valentina smiles. “And she didn’t leave the ‘De’ out,” she threw a playful wink at Bucky. “I like this one, Congressman. I can tell she didn’t need much training for the part.”

And although she’s smiling and speaking in a sugary sweet voice, you don’t miss the sharp tone in her words. That was definitely a diss, clear as day. But the whole point of showing up tonight was to make you and Bucky look good.

So for now, you just smile brighter and hold back your tongue.

But Bucky doesn’t let it slide. His grip on your hand tightens. Not enough to hurt, but enough to say I heard that too .

“She didn’t need training,” Bucky says firmly. “Because she’s not acting. She’s exactly who she says she is. That’s why I’m proud to be marrying her.”

You blink up at him, caught off guard by the unexpected defense . How ironic , you thought to yourself. Considering last night he said you were nothing what the public made you out to be.

“Well,” she replies sweetly, her smile never leaving her face, “natural or not, it’s impressive. Almost believable. Could almost forget it’s all just…” She waves a lazy hand between you two. “For show.”

This time, Bucky smiles.

But it’s not a genuine one. It’s not warm or friendly. It’s the kind of smile that clearly reads: You’re full of shit.

“Well, if anyone knows about putting on a show, it’s you, Valentina.”

The jab towards Valentina was subtle, but even you could sense the tension between the both of them.

Her eyes flicker to yours cautiously, then back to Bucky. Her voice drops lower, making sure no one around hears. “Careful, Congressman. We’re all on the same team here.”

His smile sharpens. “Are we?”

She stands up straighter, and you can see her hold onto her champagne glass tighter. Her smile drops a bit, but then she redoubles her efforts and the smile comes back even brighter, as if nothing happened.

She raises her glass to Bucky. “Enjoy your evening, Congressman.” Then to you. “It was nice meeting you.” And just like that, she walks off and disappears into the crowd.

You wait until she’s out of earshot before leaning toward Bucky with a whisper. “Okay, what the hell was that?”

“Nothing,” he replied casually, as if you were just imagining the whole exchange.

You huff. “I know our marriage is fake, and I shouldn’t be butting in your business, but at least give me some context clues here.”

He shakes his head, jaw still clenched. “You don’t need to worry about it.”

“Oh, come on. Is this about her almost getting impeached?” Then your eyes widen as realization hits. “Wait… is that why she’s throwing this gala? She’s trying to draw attention away from that sketchy Sentry project she—”

“Stay here,” Bucky interrupts abruptly, his voice low as his gaze locks onto someone across the room.

You follow his eyes and spot a woman near Valentina, holding a tablet. Probably her assistant.

“I’ve got something to handle,” he says.

Before you can ask anything else, he gives your hand that was still looped around his arm a brief pat before he slips away into the crowd, leaving you standing alone in the middle of the lobby in disbelief. You were supposed to be putting on a romantic front, attending this event hand-in-hand like a happy couple. And now he’s ditching you in the first ten minutes?

You sigh. Oh well. Who are you to interfere with a Congressman’s business?

Despite Bucky telling you to stay put, you’re just about to turn away to make yourself busy when a sharply dressed man steps into your line of vision, holding out a glass of champagne to you.

“Mrs. Barnes?” he asks politely.

You accept the glass with a stiff smile.

“Not Mrs. Barnes just yet,” you say with a slight chuckle before taking a generous sip.

The ring on your finger catches the light, sparkling in that fancy way it was meant to, and the man in front of you catches it.

“That’s quite the ring,” he says, gesturing with his glass. “Barnes has good taste. May I?”

You grin. This was the perfect opportunity to flaunt your “perfect engagement.” You switch the glass to your right hand and extend your left, and the man—whose name you still don’t know—takes it gently, lifting it closer to inspect.

He lets out a low whistle, moving your hand from side to side so that the diamond reflects at every possible angle under the chandelier light. “Gorgeous.”

You smile. “It is.”

“Must be a handful, keeping up with someone like Barnes.”

You tilt your head slightly. “Sorry?”

He lets go of your hand, flashing a smooth grin. “Well, he’s already left you standing here alone.”

“Not necessarily. I’m just giving him a minute.”

“Sure,” he says, swirling the drink in his hand. “He’s a busy man it seems. Always somewhere else, isn’t he? Must be exhausting trying to look like the doting bride-to-be while your fiancée is off doing who knows what.”

Your eyebrow twitches in annoyance. This guy was all good looks and charming smiles, but man, he was an asshole.

“You’re very observant for someone who doesn’t know us,” you take another sip. “Let me guess—journalist?”

He clicks his tongue and points a finger at you. “There it is. Smart and pretty.”

You already want to throw your drink in his face.

His eyes scan the room briefly, then return to you. “You’re doing great, by the way. Really convincing, the way you smile like you actually enjoy being dragged into political theater. It’s really impressive.”

You keep your smile even, but something about his tone makes your shoulders stiffen.

“Dragged?” you repeat.

He leans in closer to you, his voice going quieter. “Come on. We both know this is staged. The engagement. The appearance. The hand-holding. It’s all part of the show.”

You look up at him with furrowed brows. Was it really that obvious? First it was Valentina that called out the bullshit, now it was this guy? If he was able to read you this easily, you can only imagine the shit he’d say in columns if you don’t play this carefully.

“I’m not sure what you mean—”

“Oh please, Mrs. Barnes ,” he says with a sarcastic bite. “Let’s be real. I’ve been watching you two since you walked in. He doesn’t even look at you.”

That might be true, but you’re not going to give this guy something to write about and make you look like a fool.

“He looks at me just fine,” you say, trying to keep your cool. “Maybe you’re just not as observant as you think you are.”

The man lifts a brow. “If you say so. I’m just saying, for someone with America’s Sweetheart on his arm, the Congressman doesn’t exactly seem thrilled. Now, if it were me—”

Before he could finish, a strong and large hand slides around your waist, holding you firm against a broad chest. Your breath catches in your throat, and you already know who it is before you even look up.

“Everything alright here, sweetheart?” Bucky’s stern voice interrupts.

You glance up at him, and he’s not looking at you. His expression is calm, but you can feel the tension in the hand that’s resting around your waist. His cold blue eyes are also glaring this man down, like he could kill him on the spot with just his stare alone.

"Just stopped by to say hi,” the man’s eyes flicker to Bucky’s metal hand on your waist, then back to his face. Despite being glared down, he isn't letting up. “Not wearing the glove tonight, Congressman?”

Bucky’s jaw clenches.

“Bold move, Congressman,” the man continues. “Not worried you’ll scare someone off?”

Bucky stiffens beside you. You start to feel the way his once confident fingers begin to retreat, like he’s suddenly unsure and insecure of his own touch. Before he can pull away completely, you reach down without hesitation and lace your fingers through his. Your hand was small and cold against the vibranium, yet you hold it like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You tilt your head and flash the man a sweet smile.

“Why would he hide it?” you ask in an innocent voice. “It has such a beautiful design,” you start to trace the golden patterns with your fingers. “And it’s a good thing I don’t scare easily.”

You feel Bucky shudder next to you. His eyes soften when he looks down at you. He parts his mouth, like he’s going to say something, but instead he just gives you a tightlipped smile and a faint nod.

The man just looks at you both in disbelief, like this wasn’t the outcome he was expecting.

“I–I see…” he stammers. “Congratulations on your engagement.” He adds, raising his champagne glass before turning on his heel and finally walking away.

The moment he disappears into the crowd, you exhale and begin to loosen your fingers from Bucky’s.

But before you can even let go, his grip tightens ever so slightly.

“Thanks,” he mumbled quietly.

You glance up at him, offering a genuine warm smile this time. “Don’t thank me. He was a dick anyway.”

And then Bucky lets out a laugh. A real, hearty, laugh.

The rest of the evening was passing by with more pictures and meaningless small talk. To your surprise, Bucky didn’t let go of your hand once. Not during the toasts, the pictures, or even as Valentina passed by again with her passive-aggressive smile.

And you didn’t pull away.

By the time you both made it back to the car, your heels were killing you and your stomach was rumbling. The tiny crab cakes they were passing around were great, but definitely not enough. You’d kill for a greasy slice of pizza right about now. Too bad George wasn’t driving, because you would’ve bribed him to stop.

Bucky glanced over at you. He still had that tired facial expression but his voice was surprisingly soft. “You hungry?”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the question. “A little,” you admit. “Why?”

He shifts in his seat, sitting up a little straighter. You can see the hesitation in his body language before he speaks again.

“We could… head back to my place,” he says, clearing his throat and turning to look out the window. “I can make something. If you want.”

Now that threw you off guard. You knew that by becoming his wife, you’d eventually have to see his place or possibly even move in together at some point. But the fact that he willingly invited you to his place first caught you in a loop.

You must’ve paused for too long, because he starts backpedaling immediately.

“I mean, only if you want to. We don’t have to. I just thought maybe—”

“No,” you cut him off with a smile. “I would love to have dinner at your place, sweetheart .” You tease, leaning in closer to get a reaction out of him.

“Jesus Christ,” he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what possessed me to call you that.”

You chuckle. “Oh, don’t backpedal now. I think it’s cute, sweetheart.”

He mutters something under his breath and turns away, but you can see the faint blush on his cheeks even in the dim backseat light.

When the car finally pulls up to his place, Bucky steps out first and offers you his hand. You take it, letting him help you out, and glance up at the house. It’s exactly what you would’ve imagined for him. It was modest, charming, and surprisingly domestic. A two-story house with red bricks, some greenery creeping up the side, and a front yard full of well-kept flowers that surprisingly looks to be handled with care.

His driver takes off once you’re both at the front steps, leaving you two in the quiet dark neighborhood.

Bucky unlocks the door and pushes it open for you. “After you,” he says quietly.

You step inside and take in the space. The house smells faintly of cedar wood and clean, like fresh laundry. “I like your home,” you smile to yourself. “It’s very… homey.”

“Homey?” He raises a brow. “And I thought I was bad with compliments.”

You roll your eyes and start slipping off your coat, hanging it neatly on the wall rack. “You still are.”

He lets out a playful scoff, already unbuttoning his tuxedo jacket. “Yeah, well, I’m making myself comfortable. You should too.” He gestures toward the living room. "Have a seat."

Before you can tease him again, he’s halfway up the stairs, shedding his jacket and undoing his cuffs as he goes. You catch a glimpse of his back, broad and tense under the fine dress shirt, before he disappears around the corner.

You suck in a shaky breath and start making your way toward the living room. You’re not sure why, but something about being surrounded by all things Bucky sends a strange nervous flutter through your chest. Since he’s out of view, you start taking in your surroundings quietly, letting your eyes wander in search of the little things that feel like him.

The walls are decorated with picture frames, most of them with him and Sam, sometimes surrounded by Sam’s family. You spot a couple of vintage black-and-white photos tucked among the newer ones, showing a much younger Bucky with Steve. It was heartwarming.

Then, your eyes land on a framed picture of a white cat.

It looks so professionally taken, the cat in the picture was wearing a fancy pink dress, and she looked like absolute royalty. You snort. Why would Bucky have a picture of a random cat in his house?

You step closer, squinting at the bottom of the gold-trimmed frame, where an inscription reads, “My princess, Alpine.”

Meow!

You jump slightly and whip your head around at the sound. Just a few feet away, a white cat with crystal blue eyes is watching you curiously. She tilts her head, tail swishing side to side.

Meow!

You smile brightly and instinctively kneel down, holding a gentle hand out—an invitation for her to come to you.

“Hi there, baby…” you coo gently. “C’mere.”

She licks her nose and slowly blinks before she starts padding her way over to you. She hesitates right before she reaches your hand, then she starts sniffing you curiously. And right now, it’s taking everything in you to fight back the cute aggression.

She eventually gives in and starts rubbing her head against your palm, inviting you in for pats.

“Oh, you’re a good girl, aren't you?” you say in a soft baby voice, gently stroking her soft fur. “You must be Princess Alpine, is that right?”

She purrs against you.

Your smile widens. “What a precious little thing you are.”

Meow!

“I bet your dad spoils you rotten, doesn’t he?”

Bucky stops in his tracks when he sees you and Alpine together. His gaze lingers on you, and your eyes rise to meet his. He’s changed out of his tux, now wearing a fitted white tank top with a white button-up thrown on top, sleeves rolled to his forearms. The buttons are undone, and you caught the chain of his dog tags tucked beneath his shirt.

Casual looks good on him.

“I see you’ve met Alpine,” he says, nodding toward Alpine while casually adjusting his cuffs.

You force yourself to look away. Because if you don’t, you’re certain you’ll get caught staring. “Yeah—uh, I didn’t know you owned a cat.”

He huffs as he makes his way into the kitchen. “More like she owns me,” he says, and you can’t tell if he’s joking or not. He whips out a cooking book and sets it down on the table with a thud .

There’s something about the whole image that tugs at your chest a little. Seeing Bucky here, comfortable, stripped of all the stiff layers and formality, flipping through a cookbook while his princess of a cat curls up near your feet… it’s a version of him you didn’t expect at all.

It makes your heartbeat a little faster.

You watch him for a moment, eyes trailing from his broad chest that’s hiding under his clothes, the way his brows furrowed in concentration. He looks like he’s about to whip up something gourmet, something carefully thought out—

“What do you think about chili dogs?” he asks, dead serious.

You stare at him. “Chili dogs?”

He nods, still dead serious.

You glance down at Alpine. She blinks at you. Then you look back at him.

“That… sounds good,” you say with a small laugh, adjusting the cat in your arms as you pick her up. “I’m not picky.”

“Good,” he says, satisfied, before reaching into the fridge and pulling out a pre-packaged cup of chili.

Your brow raises. “You needed a cookbook on how to use pre-packaged chili?”

He pauses, gives you the sassiest side-eye known to man, and proceeds to peel the plastic off the cup while reaching for a pack of hot dog buns from the pantry.

You giggle at his reaction, meeting him at the kitchen island and sitting down on the barstool, plopping Alpine down in your lap.

Bucky glances over at you both, a small smile tugging on his lips as he busies himself with the chili dogs. “I’m surprised she’s so fond of you,” he points out. “She usually hisses at every person she meets.”

“Maybe she thinks I’m royalty,” you tease, petting her soft fur. “Isn’t that right, princess Alpine?”

Meow!

"Because you are one.” He says simply, dumping chili dogs clumsily in a hot dog bun.

You glance up at him, arching a brow. You can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or genuine. Maybe both.

He catches your expression and shrugs, still focused on the food. “America’s Princess, or whatever the headlines are calling you these days.” He clarifies.

You groan dramatically and return your attention to Alpine. “It's sweetheart, and don’t remind me.”

“Not a fan of the title?” he asks as he hands you a plate.

You gently lift Alpine off your lap, setting her down beside the stool. She stretches, flicks her tail, and trots off to the windowsill to groom herself.

“It’s not that I hate the nickname, exactly…” you begin, lifting up the chili dog. “I just hate what comes with it.”

Bucky looks at you, listening.

“It’s this whole persona people think I’m supposed to have,” you continue. “I’m always supposed to be perfect and punctual, graceful and smiling. Say all the right things, wear the right dress. It’s exhausting. But I do it because it’s my job, and I do it for my dad.”

Bucky lifts his own chili dog, takes a bite, and then mid-chew, he asks “What happened to your dad, anyway?”

He asked it so bluntly, which threw you off guard. Not necessarily because he was being unsympathetic, but people around you always walked around eggshells when the topic of your dad arises. But Bucky doesn’t tiptoe.

“I take it you haven’t read a single article about me,” you tease playfully, taking a bite.

“I mean,” he motions to all the folders and booklets littering around the kitchen. “I barely read the stuff I’m supposed to read as a Congressman,” he says with a guilty smile.

You let out a soft laugh, but it doesn't quite reach your eyes. There’s a pause of silence between you two. Bucky watches you, like he’s patiently waiting for you to explain the story. You set your food down and cleared your throat.

“He was a vet,” you begin quietly. “Deployed for most of my childhood. He served overseas for years. They said he died during a covert joint mission in Eastern Europe. Some sort of sweep-and-secure operation.”

You glance up briefly to see Bucky’s reaction so far, and he watches you carefully, a silent prompt for you to continue.

“They were told the building was clear,” you continue. “But something went wrong. There was an explosion. Not an accident, they said the place had been rigged. Maybe a trap. Some speculated it was an abandoned Hydra facility…” you trail off, furrowing your brows. “But there was never any real proof, it was all just rumors. We don’t even know who or what caused it.”

A heavy pause settles between you. You’re used to this part. The awkward silence that follows when people don’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says softly.

You offer a small yet reassuring smile. “You don’t need to be. That’s why I do everything I do. The speeches, the appearances, the fundraisers. I carry it for him and for the other soldiers who never got to come home.”

Bucky’s posture stiffens. He forces a tight-lipped smile, and he won’t meet your eyes now. Bringing up your dad was never easy for you, but you decided to change the subject.

Trying to ease the mood, you pick your chili dog back up and take an overexaggerated bite. “Mmm,” you moan with a mouthful of chili. “This is delicious. You gotta lend me that cookbook so that I can make delicious pre-packaged chili dogs like this when I get home.”

His eyes flicker to you, like he was snapped out of a trance and forces a shaky chuckle. “Don’t push your luck.”

He lifts his own chili dog to take a bite, but before it gets to his mouth, the bun collapses and chili spills all over his crisp white shirt and down his vibranium arm.

Your eyes go wide and you stop mid-chew, trying to suppress your laughter, but a snort comes out before you could stop it.

“Goddammit,” Bucky groans, glaring down at himself.

He mumbles grumpily under his breath as he removes his white button up, tossing it to the side. You reach over to offer him a napkin, but instead, he casually detaches his vibranium arm and walks over to the dishwasher.

You stare in shock. “Wait—hold on. That’s… dishwasher safe?”

Bucky runs a hand through his hair, now standing there in nothing but a fitted white tank and one arm. He shoots you a look. “Don’t start.”

“Okay, I won’t. Not tonight, at least.” You tease with a grin, trying to hold back a laugh. “Maybe some other time, though.”

You finish up your chili dog and look up at the clock that’s just above the kitchen behind Bucky. Your eyes go wide when you see it’s already a little past midnight.

“Speaking of time, I should go–”

“No,” Bucky interrupts suddenly. “You should stay the night.”

You raise a brow, caught completely off guard. He’s inviting you to stay the night?

“What?”

He leans against the counter, arms folded. “If anyone spots you leaving now, it’ll look sketchy. Like you’re sneaking out after a late-night hookup.”

You look at him in disbelief, and almost offended. “A hookup?” you cross your arms. “There aren’t reporters camped outside your place, Bucky. Especially not at this hour.”

“Just playing it safe,” he says simply, still avoiding eye contact yet his face is flushed. “Wouldn’t want my fiancée to get caught sneaking out in the middle of the night. Looks bad, and word spreads fast.”

You hesitate, eyeing him carefully. As much as you hate to admit it, he kind of has a point, especially after the way people were tracking your every move at the gala. Still, the idea of spending the night here has your nerves stirring. Does he even have a guest room? Or are you crashing on the couch?

He says it so casually, like it’s no big deal. And maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s just practical.

Or maybe he just doesn’t want you to go.

back || next

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky x you #congressman barnes #congressman bucky #bucky angst #thunderbolts fanfic #marvel fanfic #the winter soldier #james buchanan barnes #making out for america

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sabrinajenre96 · 2 months ago

Text

"Elastic Waistbands and Emotional Landmines"

Pairing: Conrad Hawkins x Pregnant!Resident!Reader

Setting: Chastain Memorial Hospital

Chastain was buzzing with its usual symphony of beeping monitors, hurried footsteps, and slightly terrified interns. For Y/N Hawkins, it was a pretty normal day: rounds with Conrad, managing an intern who seemed to think WebMD counted as a second opinion, and dealing with her ever-growing cravings for anything salty and crunchy. Oh—and carrying a very active, bladder-punishing six-month-old fetus that liked to kick every time she paused to breathe.

Everything was fine. That is, until VIP guests arrived. Specialists. Researchers. “Prestigious partnerships,” Bell had said with his politician smile.

What Bell didn’t mention? One of them was Y/N’s ex.

And not just any ex. The ex. The one who dumped her right before med school interviews. The one who once told her he needed someone "less ambitious." The one now swaggering into Chastain like he owned the place, shaking hands, and—of course—locking eyes with her like no time had passed.

Immediately, Y/N turned on her heel and walked in the other direction.

---

The rest of the day was... chaotic. She avoided every meeting he was in, ducked into stairwells, fake-paged herself. Interns began whispering. Bell raised an eyebrow. Pravesh side-eyed her choice to eat three different vending machine snacks before noon. And Conrad—oh, he noticed.

Especially since Y/N started stress eating on top of her pregnancy cravings.

“Sweetheart, are you eating... barbecue chips dipped in pickles?” Conrad asked at one point, glancing at her plate with caution.

“Don’t question the genius,” she snapped through a mouthful.

Nic was the first to corner her in the staff lounge.

“You’re spiraling,” Nic said softly, arms crossed, concern all over her face.

Y/N sighed, hand on her bump. “One of the VIP guests is my ex.”

Nic blinked. “That guy?”

“Yes. The one with the smug face and the voice like a nasal TED Talk. He keeps trying to talk to me. And Conrad is having some testosterone-fueled dominance-off with him.”

Nic smirked. “So that’s why you’re on your third bag of chips.”

“I had to put on pants with an elastic waistband, Nic. Elastic. My pregnant ass can’t take this kind of stress!”

Nic, hiding her laugh, nodded. “I’ll talk to the troops. You just... keep eating those chips.”

---

Within the hour, Nic had recruited Dr. Kitt Voss, and the two of them orchestrated a very pointed intervention in front of the group—including Bell, AJ, Devon, Leela, Billie, Cade, and yes, the smug ex himself.

Voss turned to the group. “Tension is not conducive to hospital productivity or to the sanity of our very pregnant residents.”

Conrad opened his mouth to retort something snarky—likely at Y/N’s ex—but Y/N raised a hand mid-chew.

“Don’t. Just—don’t. I’ve held it in all day.”

Everyone turned to her, surprised.

Y/N stood up, holding her half-empty chip bag like a microphone. “This day was going fine until he showed up,” she pointed at her ex, who blinked, surprised. “Then suddenly I’m doing emotional dodgeball across the hospital while you two,” she looked between the men, “try to out-alpha each other like it’s Grey’s Anatomy. I haven’t peed in two hours because the minute I go near the VIP lounge, he’s there! And now I’m eating so much I’m going to literally waddle by third trimester!”

She paused, breathing hard, chip bag still in hand. “These pants weren’t my first choice, but I can’t even button my usual ones, so now we’re here—with an elastic waistband and a fashion disaster. And if anyone comments on my snack hoard again, I will cry.”

Silence.

Even Bell looked stunned.

Y/N pointed at her ex. “And you—don’t smile. You’ve caused enough trauma for a lifetime.”

She took one more bite of chips, looked around, and added calmly: “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need the bathroom. Dr. Hawkins’ baby is killing my bladder.”

She walked out. No one dared say a word.

---

Conrad found her fifteen minutes later in a rarely-used hallway alcove, where residents sometimes hid to cry or nap or sneak vending machine meals. Y/N was seated on the floor, munching on her chips again.

He sat beside her and gently took the bag from her hands.

“Hey—give those back,” she pouted.

He smiled, soft and apologetic. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how hard today would be. Your ex is... well, he’s a piece of work.”

Y/N sighed. “He really is. I just—I wanted one normal day, you know? One day where I could pretend I wasn’t waddling around with heartburn and cankles.”

Conrad leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You’re still the most beautiful woman in this hospital.”

She gave him a look. “Don’t flatter me. You’re just trying to distract me from my chip loss.”

He laughed. “Maybe. Were you joking about the elastic waistband?”

Y/N narrowed her eyes, then stood up and lifted her scrub top slightly to reveal her waistband.

“Does this look like a joke, Hawkins? I am one pickle-flavored Pringle away from exploding out of these pants.”

Conrad burst out laughing, pulled her back down beside him, and cupped her bump with one hand. “God, I love you.”

“I know,” she said, snuggling in. “Now give me back my chips.”

---

End.

#the resident #conrad hawkins #Conrad Hawkins x resident reader #Conrad Hawkins x wife pregnant reader #matt czuchry #the resident fanfiction

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kannady · 1 day ago

Note

Genuinely love the Ever, Ever After series. Reading every paragraph of it has me clutching to my pearls <3 I LOVE IT SO MUCHH SHIWJEIEJW

ever, ever after

pairing: sylus x non-mc reader

summary: sylus didn't love you. how could he when she was around? but would he come look for you if you willingly step into EVER's boundaries?

word count: 4k

a/n: okay so! an early update cus ill be super busy and tired tomorrow, then squid game s3 will be coming out AND a lads update is coming out on friday with fans heavily speculating we'll get a sneak peak of the sixth li. so im guessing we'll all be super busy. i really hope ur enjoying this series and TYSM ANON you literally made my day!! i hope you enjoy this chapter as well. lemme know your thoughts!

read rest of the chapters here!

III

Your heart sank like a stone in water as Dr. Voss’s expression shifted. A slow, chilling transformation from curiosity to something far more dangerous. His cold eyes flicked from you to Sylus, still restrained behind the glass, then back to you, and in that split second, you knew.

Oh, shit. I’m done for.

But survival instincts kicked in, sharp and automatic. You straightened your spine, forcing your voice into something resembling professionalism.

"I was just checking his vitals before lunch," you said, gesturing to the monitors with a steadiness you didn’t feel. "His levels plateaued. The serum isn’t affecting his Evol anymore. I thought-" A breath, calculated. "I should ask if he was experiencing any side effects. Protocol 9-D, right? Patient-reported data?"

The lie slithered out smoother than you expected. Voss’s eyebrow arched, his gaze lingering on you for a heartbeat too long before he stepped closer to the observation window. The silence stretched, suffocating, as he scrutinized the vitals himself. You could almost hear the gears turning in his head, the suspicion coiling tighter.

Then, miraculously, he nodded. "You’re right." His voice was clipped, but the tension in your shoulders eased a fraction. "We’ll halt administration. Clearly, this batch isn’t potent enough." He turned to you, and for the first time in your two years at EVER, something resembling approval flickered in his expression. "Good catch, Dr. (Y/N)."

The praise should’ve felt like a victory. Instead, it sat heavy in your chest. You nodded stiffly, avoiding Sylus’s gaze, but you could feel it, burning into you like a brand. Even now, even half-drugged and strapped to a chair, he was watching. Waiting.

You mumbled an excuse about lunch and all but bolted from the lab, the doors hissing shut behind you. The hallway was deserted, the fluorescent lights humming softly overhead. For a moment, you just stood there, pressing your palms to your eyes until stars burst behind your lids.

What the hell am I doing?

Your phone was in your hand before you could second-guess it. Luke’s number rang once, twice, then disconnected. Kieran’s didn’t even go through. You stared at the screen, your reflection warped in the black glass. A new, ugly thought slithered into your mind. What if he didn’t come alone?

Sylus didn’t do anything without a plan. And if he was here, in EVER’s clutches, then where was she? The woman whose laughter had haunted you long after you’d left. The woman he’d loved in some other life, maybe even in this one.

Your fingers tightened around the phone. What if this was all part of some elaborate scheme, and you were just a pawn again? A distraction. What if she was waiting in the shadows, ready to step in the moment EVER’s defenses crumbled?

The idea should’ve infuriated you. Instead, it just made you tired. Two years of running, of building a life where you were finally someone else, and here you were, right back where you started. Caught between Sylus’s games and EVER’s cruelty, with no idea which side would destroy you first.

You shoved your phone back into your pocket and started walking, your heels clicking a sharp, staccato rhythm against the tile. It didn’t matter. None of it did. Because whether this was a trap or some twisted reunion, one thing was certain. You were already in too deep to walk away now.

Your lungs burned with the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The immediate crisis was over, Voss had bought your lie, at least for now. But the relief was temporary, fragile as glass. You knew what came next. A stronger serum. A more aggressive extraction. And Sylus, proud, untouchable Sylus, wouldn’t survive it.

The thought sent a fresh wave of panic crashing through you, your pulse hammering so loudly you were half-convinced the entire lab could hear it. What do I do?

Luke and Kieran weren’t answering. That left only one option.

Her.

Her very presence had been like a blade pressed to your ribs, a constant reminder that no matter how close you stood to him, you would never be the one he truly saw.

You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching at your sides. She worked at the Hunters Association, you remembered that much. But you couldn’t go now. Not in broad daylight, not when you didn’t even know her name. The realization was a bitter pill. Two years of resentment, of stolen glances and silent comparisons, and you’d never even learned what her name was.

No, you’d have to wait. Slip away after hours, linger near the building’s exits like some kind of stalker, and hope to catch her leaving. The idea made your skin crawl, but what other choice did you have?

For now, you forced yourself to move, to slip back into the rhythm of your day like nothing was wrong. Mara had mentioned a new restaurant, some place with dumplings she’d been raving about. You went, more out of obligation than hunger, sliding into a seat just as the lunch rush began to thin.

The food arrived, steam curling off the plates in fragrant spirals. You picked up your chopsticks, took a single bite, and then just stopped. The flavors blurred together, tasteless as ash. Your mind was elsewhere, spinning in frantic circles.

What if she doesn’t help? What if she laughs in your face? What if she’s the reason he’s here in the first place?

You pushed the food around your plate, your appetite long gone. Around you, the restaurant buzzed with conversation, the clatter of dishes, the occasional burst of laughter. None of it reached you. You were trapped in your own head, drowning in scenarios that all ended the same way, with Sylus’s lifeless body on an exam table, and your hands stained with the consequences.

By the time you made it back to the facility, lunch had bled into the afternoon, the sky outside the windows already darkening toward evening. You barely had time to stash your bag at your workstation before the alert chimed on your tablet.

“Emergency meeting. Conference Room A. 5 minutes.”

Your stomach dropped.

You knew, even before you stepped through the doors, what this was about. The room was already half-full, researchers murmuring to each other in hushed, excited tones. Voss stood at the front, his expression unreadable as he tapped something into a holoscreen.

Then he looked up, and his gaze landed squarely on you.

“Now that we’re all here,” he said, his voice cool and precise, “let’s discuss Phase Two.”

The screen behind him flickered to life, revealing a new formula, twice as complex as the last, with a list of side effects that made your blood run cold.

Cardiac arrest. Cerebral hemorrhage. Ischemic stroke.

Voss’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “We begin testing tomorrow.”

Across the room, Mara caught your eye, her brows furrowed in concern. You realized, distantly, that your hands were shaking.

You curled them into fists.

The meeting passed in a blur of muffled voices and flickering holoscreens. Words like "enhanced serum" and "immediate testing" caught your attention once in a while, meaningless noises against the roaring in your skull. You sat stiff-backed in your chair, fingers clenched around your tablet hard enough to leave imprints, your mind a thousand miles away, trapped behind that observation glass, watching Sylus’s body convulse under the serum’s assault.

When the meeting ended, you stood mechanically, following the stream of researchers out the door like a robot rehearsing actions. Your footsteps echoed down the hallway, perfectly measured, your body moving on autopilot while your thoughts spiraled.

What were you going to do?

The question looped in your head, but there was no answer. No plan. Just the crushing weight of what was coming, the knowledge that tomorrow, they would strap Sylus back into that chair and pump him full of something even worse. And you would have to watch.

A hand closed around your wrist, yanking you sideways into a dim storage room. The door hissed shut behind you, and you blinked, momentarily disoriented, as Mara’s face swam into focus. Her usual playful smirk was gone, replaced by something sharp and searching.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded, voice low. “You’ve been zoning out all day. And in there?” She jerked her chin toward the conference room. “You looked like you were about to vomit.”

Your throat tightened. I can’t tell her. The truth was a grenade in your hands, pull the pin, and everything would blow apart. Mara was your friend, maybe the closest thing you had to one in this place, but this? This was too big. Too dangerous.

“It’s just…” You swallowed, scrambling for something, anything, that wasn’t a lie but wasn’t the whole truth either. “This is serious stuff we’re doing now. I can’t- I don’t know if I can take it.”

Mara’s eyebrow arched. “Excuse me?” She crossed her arms, leaning back against a shelf of sterile supplies. “What about the other experiments you performed? The neural overwrites? The memory wipes?” Her voice dropped, almost mocking. “Those didn’t bother you?”

The words hit like a slap.

She was right. You had done worse. Writen protocols that scraped a person’s mind clean, designed machines that could drain the blood out of the subjects with a few clicks. But those subjects had been monsters, rapists, murderers, traffickers from the N109 Zone’s darkest corners. You’d seen their files. Known what they’d done. It had been easy, then, to tell yourself you were making the world better.

But Sylus? Sylus was different.

What exactly was he to you?

The question lodged in your chest like a bullet.

Mara sighed when you didn’t answer, pushing off the shelf. “Look, I won’t push. But get it together.” Her gaze flicked to the door, then back to you, uncharacteristically serious. “I noticed first because we’re friends. The moment someone else does? You’re in trouble.”

She left without another word, the door clicking shut behind her, and just like that, you were alone.

The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating. You slumped against the wall, your legs suddenly unsteady, the cold metal biting through your lab coat. Your tablet slipped from your fingers, clattering to the floor, but you didn’t bother picking it up.

You couldn’t walk away now. Couldn’t pretend you hadn’t seen him. Couldn’t let them kill him.

But helping him? That meant betraying EVER. Meant throwing away everything you’d built, your career, your safety, the fragile peace you’d carved out for yourself.

And for what?

For the man who’d watched you walk away two years ago and hadn’t followed?

Your hands trembled. You pressed them to your face, your breath coming too fast, too shallow.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, a voice whispered. You already know the answer.

You’d known it the moment you saw him behind that glass.

You were going to burn your life to the ground for him.

And the worst part was you didn’t even know why.

You slipped out of the storage room with measured steps. The hallway was empty, the hum of distant conversations and clicking keyboards the only sounds. Okay, you’ve got this.

The plan formed in your mind like a lifeline. After work, you’d go to the Hunter’s Association. Even if Sylus had some grand scheme in motion, you needed to know. And then? Then you’d step away. Wash your hands of this mess.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before pushing open the lab doors. Inside, the scene was exactly as you’d left it, researchers hunched over glowing screens, fingers flying across tablets, the air thick with the sterile scent of ozone and disinfectant. No one looked up as you entered. No one except Mara.

Her gaze met yours for a brief moment before she deliberately turned back to her work. The unspoken "get it together" was evident on her face. You forced yourself to move, crossing the room to your workstation.

The observation window drew your attention like a magnet. Empty, of course. Sylus wasn’t there, why would he be? The serum testing was done for the day, and EVER had no reason to keep him in the lab when they could stash him in some high-security cell instead.

You sank into your chair, fingers hovering over the holoscreen as your thoughts churned. None of this made sense. If Sylus was here, it had to be part of a plan. That’s how he operated. So where was the cavalry? Where were Luke and Kieran, bursting through the doors with guns blazing? Where was the distraction, the sabotage, the anything that would explain why the most dangerous man you’d ever known was sitting in a cell instead of burning this place to the ground?

Unless he wanted to be here.

The thought sent a chill down your spine. You shook your head, as if you could physically dislodge it. No. That was a rabbit hole you couldn’t afford to go down right now.

You threw yourself into your work, losing hours to data streams and prototype schematics, your hands moving on autopilot while your mind raced. The second your shift ended, you were out the door, your coat barely shrugged on as you all but sprinted for the transit station.

The Hunter’s Association loomed ahead, its sleek facade lit by the dying light of the sunset. You hesitated at the entrance, suddenly unsure. Were you too late? Too early? Would she even still be here?

You planted yourself across the street, leaning against a lamppost like you had every right to be there, your pulse thundering in your ears. Minutes ticked by. Ten. Twenty. Just as you were about to give up, to turn and walk away, you saw her.

There she was.

She stepped out of the building beside a coworker, a tall man with silver hair and piercing blue eyes, his posture relaxed, his laugh carrying across the street. And her. Even now, after all this time, the sight of her hit like a punch to the gut.

She was beautiful. Effortlessly so, her hair catching the golden light, her smile easy as she listened to something the man said. You’d spent years trying to forget the exact curve of her lips, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed.

Your feet moved before you could stop yourself, carrying you across the street. The man noticed you first, his gaze sharpening as he subtly shifted his stance, one hand drifting toward his hip. A weapon. Of course. Hunters were never unarmed.

She followed his line of sight, and her eyes locked onto yours.

For a heartbeat, the world stopped. Her smile froze, her breath catching audibly. You saw the exact moment recognition dawned, the way her eyes widened, her lips parting in something like shock. Then she turned to the man, murmuring something too low for you to hear.

He hesitated, his gaze flicking between the two of you before nodding and walking away, though not without a final, lingering glance in your direction.

And then she was walking toward you, her steps measured, her expression unreadable. Up close, she was even more striking. The scent of her perfume hit you like a memory. The last time you’d been this close to her, you’d been standing in Sylus’s study, your hands clenched at your sides as they stood side by side.

Now, she studied you with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

"You," she said finally, her voice softer than you remembered. "I wondered if I’d ever see you again."

The words settled between you, heavy with unspoken questions.

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

What the hell were you even supposed to say?

Your mouth went dry. The words tumbled out before you could stop them, awkward, stilted, painfully inadequate. "Um… hi?"

Her expression softened, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. Then, to your absolute shock, she stepped forward and pulled you into a hug.

You froze.

Her arms were warm, her perfume dizzyingly familiar, something floral and expensive, the same scent that had lingered in Sylus’s study long after she’d left. Your hands hovered uselessly at your sides, your brain short-circuiting. What the hell was happening?

She pulled back first, her smile small but genuine. "Where have you been?"

The question threw you. You blinked, scrambling for words. "I just… left. For work."

"Work?" Her brow furrowed. "You worked for Sylus."

"Well, yeah. And then I left."

She studied you for a long moment, her gaze sharp in a way that made your skin prickle. Then she gestured across the street to a dimly lit coffee shop. "Let’s talk there."

You followed her numbly. This wasn’t how you’d imagined this going. You’d braced for hostility, for cold indifference, not this. Not soft smiles and casual hugs and a conversation you had no idea how to navigate.

The coffee shop was nearly empty, the air thick with the scent of roasted beans and burnt sugar. You slid into a booth by the window, the vinyl seat creaking under your weight. Silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. You couldn’t stop staring at her, the way her fingers tapped absently against the table, the way the dim light caught on her hair.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. "Have you been in contact with Sylus?"

She raised an eyebrow and then laughed.

The sound was bright, effortless, just like you remembered. It sent a sharp pang through your chest. You frowned. "What’s funny?"

She wiped at her eyes, still grinning. "I haven’t talked to him in, let’s see, over a year now. And the last time we did talk?" She leaned forward, her voice dropping. "He called me in the middle of the night asking if I knew where you were."

Your heart stuttered.

The world narrowed to the sound of your own pulse roaring in your ears. He’d asked about you. Not just in passing, not just as an afterthought. He’d called her. In the middle of the night.

Your voice came out strangled. "What did he say?"

She shrugged, stirring her coffee idly. "Like I said, he wanted to know if I’d seen you. And honestly? We never talked, so I was no help. But I have contacts, so I tried looking for you anyway." A pause. Her expression shifted, something almost wistful creeping in.

"It was like you’d vanished. The last I heard, Sylus ransacked the entire N109 Zone trying to find you."

Your stomach twisted. You’d known, on some level, that he’d searched. But hearing it out loud, hearing her say it, made it real in a way you weren’t prepared for.

"I’m sorry," you said automatically. "I had to go away."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Not my business. But what does catch my attention…" She tilted her head, studying you with renewed interest. "is why you’re asking if we’re in touch."

You stiffened. She laughed again, softer this time. "Why would we be? We’re hardly friends. He just helped me out when I needed assistance, and that was it."

Something fragile and hopeful fluttered in your chest. You crushed it immediately. "Aren’t you two…" You trailed off, gesturing vaguely. "A couple or something?"

This time, her laughter was outright delighted. "Oh, come on." She leaned back, shaking her head. "He’s a criminal. The most wanted man in Linkon City. Not exactly my type." A smirk.

"Besides, why would we be a thing when he always had eyes for someone else?"

The words hit like a runaway train. Your breath caught.

Someone else.

The implication hung in the air between you, thick and undeniable. You opened your mouth to say something, but words were lost to you.

She took pity on you then, her expression softening. "You really didn’t know?"

You couldn’t answer.

After all this time?

You sat there, stunned, the words "he always had eyes for someone else" ringing in your skull like a gunshot. The coffee in front of you had gone cold, untouched. She watched you with something between amusement and pity, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her cup.

You stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. "I have to go."

She didn’t stop you. Just arched a brow as you fumbled for your bag, your movements jerky and uncoordinated. "Sure," she said lightly. "But he did find you, didn’t he?"

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat had closed up, your pulse hammering so violently you were half-convinced she could hear it.

The walk home was a blur. The city lights smeared into streaks of gold and neon, the sounds of traffic and chatter fading into white noise. Your mind was a storm, thoughts crashing into each other with brutal, unrelenting force.

Sylus had eyes for you.

The idea was laughable. Absurd. And yet not so impossible to imagine.

Memories surfaced. The way he’d linger just a little too close when reviewing your work, his breath warm against your temple. The way he’d leave notes in his precise, elegant handwriting, notes you’d saved, tucked away like some pathetic secret. The way he’d asked you to live with him, for fuck’s sake, as if that was a normal thing a boss would do.

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag.

There was a time, a time when you would’ve begged for this. When the mere possibility that he might feel the same would’ve sent you spiraling into dizzy, reckless hope. But now?

Now you didn’t know what to feel.

Because it didn’t matter. Not really.

You’d help him. Of course you would. You’d get him out of EVER’s clutches, and then you’d move on. Both of you. That was the plan. That was the only plan.

So why did that thought make your chest ache?

A gust of wind cut through you, sharp and biting. You barely felt it.

Why the hell is he even here?

The question gnawed at you. If Sylus had orchestrated this, if this was some elaborate scheme, why wasn’t he doing anything? Why wasn’t he fighting? Why weren’t Luke and Kieran kicking down doors? Why was he just sitting there, letting them pump him full of serums that would kill him?

You scoffed, raking a hand through your hair. Hypothetically speaking, if you didn’t help him, if you walked away and let EVER do what they did best, he’d die. Just like that. No grand escape. No last-minute rescue. Just a cold, clinical death on an exam table, his body discarded like faulty machinery.

The idea was so wrong it made your teeth hurt.

Sylus shouldn’t die quietly. Sylus shouldn't have to die at all. He was a force of nature, a storm given human form. He didn’t just let things happen to him.

Unless he was here for you.

But no. That was insane. That was pathetic.

You shook your head, but the idea stuck, stubborn and insidious.

Because if he had come for you, if he’d let himself get captured, knowing you worked here, knowing you’d see him, then he’d gambled everything on the hope that you’d help him. And that meant he’d gambled on you caring. Did he not think of the possibility that you might not? That you might walk away? That after two years of silence, you might look him in the eye and let them take everything from him?

A bitter laugh escaped you.

Of course he had. Sylus thought of everything. That was the problem. Which meant maybe this wasn’t a gamble at all. Maybe it was a test.

The realization settled over you like a cloud.

Tomorrow, they’d give him the stronger serum. Tomorrow, he’d die, unless you did something. And he’d known that. He’d known. But why was he putting you on the spot like that?

You stopped walking, your apartment building looming ahead, its windows dark and empty.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

She wasn’t involved. You couldn’t and wouldn’t drag her into this. But that left you with exactly zero allies, zero resources, and zero time.

You exhaled sharply, your breath fogging in the cold air.

Things weren’t any better than they’d been this morning. If anything, they were worse. Because now you knew and that changed everything.

Lemme know if you wanna be added to the taglist!

tags: @nm4565natty, @dysphxriaii, @animegamerfox, @floofycookie, @food4me-always, @dummiebunny, @starllight613, @natashahbarry, @hao-ming-8, @eve-rockin-blog, @sylusgirlie7, @babygirl-panda19, @chaoticfivesworld, @wakeupr41, @poptrim, @brailsthesmolgurl, @seung185, @mimiu3usoft, @theplaid-wearingmoose, @moonchildjae00, @pinksaiyans, @vintag3u, @peachystea, @69-gojos-wife-69, @harusansthings, @dyeinsomniadontwake, @perqbeth, @dramaticalsachan, @dana-nite, @blusterry-bomb, @miffysoo, @his-ocean-emissary, @totallytaurus4, @sleepykittyenergy, @terriblesoup, @mcdepressed290, @ikesimpleton, @meyline, @decaf-nosebleed, @ili6a, @moonlight-inthe-sea, @adeptustemptations, @sylussweetkitten, @roschea-arts, @blipblopblopblip, @eolivy, @coeurdeveea, @sylussplushie, @thestarsaboveme, @cordidy, @bxtchopolis, @sabage101

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