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tw1sters · 23 hours ago

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Refire (Part Two)

When Luca left four years ago, he took your heart with him and left you with a decision that changed your entire life. When he finally returns, rebuilding what you had is a little harder when you have a daughter he doesn't know about. A daughter who belongs to him.

▸ PAIRING: Chef Luca x F!Reader ▸ WARNINGS: NSFW 18+ mostly due to making out (no explicit sex scenes), hurt/comfort, reader is a big scaredy cat, some angst, amelia's personality inspired by morgan stark (marvel) but race is neutral/ambiguous <3 ▸ WORD COUNT: 10.5K ▸ A/N: second and last part!! i love luca sm i hope you've enjoyed this heavily self indulgent story. let me know if there are additional snippets you want to see from this lil family! Read part one here

—

Courage is admittedly not part of your list of best personality traits. Dodging Luca becomes a sport when he’s constantly blowing up your phone after you blow him off over texts. His requests to talk are met with sorry, busy or let me find some time only to never return with a time. It’s childish, you know, but you don’t know how you’re going to deal with these questions.

The man knows where you live too.

Your parents are tasked with picking Amelia up from Pre-K everyday so you successfully avoid him at the house by camping out at your parents’ until a late enough time or sometimes even staying over. Your mother questions this – in all her years raising Amelia, you’ve never wanted to burden them more than necessary, which means taking Amelia home almost immediately once you get off work. But now you’re practically half moved in as you look at your phone in paranoia.

Amelia doesn’t mind it. She loves her grandparents because they spoil her rotten and she lets them do it. She is sharp enough not to raise the fact that you only started doing this when she met Luca. She likely knows that Luca isn’t a bad man, her mom is just a fucking coward.

It’s ridiculous at this point. You can’t avoid your home forever, nor should you. You just need to figure out what to say to Luca that doesn’t make you seem completely insane for not telling him all these years that you have a daughter.

By the second week, you’re exhausted with this attempt. The calls have dwindled down and the texts are far enough apart that you think you’ve finally worn him down. But just like a lion waiting to jump on its prey, Luca catches you when you least expect it.

When you realize on Tuesday night that you’re out of work clothes for the week, you have to make a pit stop at home. Your car slows to a quiet roll in your neighborhood as your eyes look around, trying to spot Luca’s car. The vehicle isn’t in sight. Maybe it’s safe now.

You hold your breath all the way to your door and only let out a sigh when you’re past the threshold. The house is quiet. Ever since your pregnancy, this place has been filled with constant noise. First, it was the nonstop screaming at the early hours of dawn, then it was the excited chattering the moment Amelia began to speak. It’s eerie without all the chaos.

Making your way towards the stairs, you walk slowly but screech to a halt when you see two figures in your living room. What the fuck.

“Bec?” You squint and the second person turns around, sending your heart straight through to the ground. “Luca?” You squeak a little quieter.

“Told you she would be back at some point,” Rebecca smirks.

“Thanks for letting me in,” Luca says, sounding doubtful still. The two have never met. He just blindly trusted a stranger who might’ve broken into your home.

Rebecca gets up and approaches you, patting you on your shoulder. “Before you get upset, you two need to talk. I’m sorry for throwing you under the bus here but I think he genuinely cares about you and just wants an honest conversation.”

“Bec,” you hiss, “a little warning would’ve been nice.”

“I know, but this had to happen sooner or later. You can’t avoid him forever.”

You could try.

“I’m just a phone call away if you need to chat, but honestly, he seems like a good guy. You’re in good hands.”

He is. You know he is. That’s why you can’t do this. Rebecca offers one last reassuring smile before she’s out the door, clicking it shut behind her. Silence bathes the room as Luca stares at you and you’re staring at the dead television screen.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Luca points out the obvious. “Why?”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. Suddenly, your throat feels scratchy, your mouth dry. “I didn’t know how to talk about it.”

Luca mulls over this before continuing. “Because you were worried about what I was going to say?”

“Yes. Or what you were going to make me explain to you.”

He rises to his feet, his movements abrupt enough to make you take a step back, ready to run again. Luca looks slightly hurt by that reflex, staying glued to his spot a mere few feet away from you. “If it helps, I can start.”

You purse your lips and nod.

“At the risk of sounding like a toxic man and making this about me, I was surprised, yes, that you have a daughter that you never told me about. All those years over the phone, you could’ve told me, but you didn’t. You don’t owe me anything, you don’t have to tell me anything – I understand that. I just… wish you did.” He takes a deep breath. “And it’s not that you lied, because technically you didn’t. I was a little hurt, if I’m honest. Actually, more than a little. What I don’t understand is that how— how do you still consider me your friend when you didn’t tell me this? When you couldn’t tell me this? When you couldn’t trust me with this big part of your life?

“At the end of the day, you shared what you were comfortable with and maybe you just weren’t comfortable enough with me to share the news.”

You sigh, rubbing your arms and gesturing for him to take a seat. You seat yourself next to him. There is enough distance between you that he can’t reach you. Luca would try to comfort you, reassure you that it’s okay, but him doing that may be the final straw that has you breaking down in tears. “It’s not that I wasn’t comfortable – technically. It just didn’t feel like the right time. You were off to do this big, beautiful thing and I didn’t want you to worry about me.”

“I’m always going to be worried about you. That comes with the territory of being a friend.”

“But I didn’t want you to,” you press.

“What if I wanted to? Isn’t that my choice to make?”

“I wanted you to focus on chasing those dreams because I loved to hear how well you’re doing, how it was all worth it to pick up your life to go there.”

Luca runs his hand through his hair. “It was — worth it for a while. At the end of the day, a restaurant is a restaurant.”

“You were at the restaurant.”

A bitter laugh bubbles up his throat. “Yeah so what? What’s the point in making it there if my best friend can’t even trust me?”

You wince and he immediately looks remorseful.

“I just— I wish you told me. I can’t turn back time and that’s fine. Now that I do know, I want to know if you’re comfortable sharing more with me. If you’re willing to trust me with it. And if you don’t trust me… or want anything to do with me really, that’s—” he pauses, breath hitching in his throat as he looks at you and swallows. “I’ll accept whatever your terms are. I care about you, I just want you to know that.”

There are no words that you can use to make up for all the lost time. You suffered in silence but you had people around you who held you up and carried you forward. Luca could’ve been one of those people but you chose for him. You chose to exclude him so his feelings are understandable.

“Luca, it’s not that I don’t trust you,” you say softly, placing a hand on top of his. “I do. You’re one of my best friends, I hope you know that. Honestly, it was just such a tough time for me. My parents weren’t too happy but they came around. Obviously, Rebecca you’ve now met. She’s fucking fantastic, god knows I wouldn’t be here without her. But it was just so hard during that time. It’s a lot easier now. There are always ups and downs but it’s been good. Amelia’s been good. Great even.”

“Let me help you then. I’ve missed out on so much already with you. Amelia seems— she seems absolutely wonderful. I want to know more about her, about you.”

Laughing under your breath, you nod. “I can do that. What do you want to know?”

“We’ll start with how old she is.”

“She’s four.” He does the math in his mind and you can see the realization begin to sink in with how wide his eyes are and how his lips part.

You quickly blurt out, “She’s from someone else. I mean, it was after you left.” The lie tastes bitter on your tongue, but you can’t drop that bomb on him tonight. Not now. Maybe not ever.

His shoulders sag slightly. There’s a look on his face you can’t comprehend but, before you can process it, he’s already continuing.

“And the father, he—”

“He’s not around.”

“What a proper git.”

You laugh again. “No, it’s not on him. I wanted to keep her. It was my call and it’s the best decision I’ve made.”

“Must be a lot to do it yourself.”

“Takes two villages to raise this one. I’m not all alone. My parents help a lot and Rebecca is officially Amelia’s favorite aunt four years in the running.”

“No favorite uncle yet? Think I could campaign for that spot.”

You can only smile.

He returns it softly. “I’m happy to take part in this village. I’m not fully working right now and have plenty of time.”

“No, don’t even worry about it. I’ve managed so far.”

“Yes, but I’m offering you help. You’ve already done such a great job with her.”

You preen at the praise. “Thank you, but it’s everyone.”

Then Luca looks at you like he’s memorizing the features on your face. The intensity of his gaze has you stiffening. But his voice is gentle when he says, “I always had a feeling you’d make a great mother someday if you chose to do it.”

You blink at him in surprise. “What makes you say that?”

“You were constantly fussing over everyone. You were the one who made sure I ate enough and drank enough water. Don’t think I’d be alive today if it weren’t for you.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic.”

“No, really. I owe a lot to you, I hope you know that. Now that I’m back, I’m hoping I can make it up to you.”

A snort of disbelief escapes you. “You have nothing to make up to me. I’m just glad to have you back, you know. It’s been a while since I’ve felt this much ego in the room.”

Luca leans over this time, laughing. The sound is deep, straight from his belly. It’s rich and it’s attractive. Even more so when you know you’re the reason for it. He’s close enough to you that you get a whiff of him – and he smells like home.

–

Introducing Luca properly to Amelia isn’t too difficult. She knows him as your friend back from your restaurant days and he floods her with stories of how you were when you were young.

“She was rebellious but also extremely responsible, a giant contradiction your mother.”

“Cont— contra— what is that word?” Amelia tilts her head.

“Contradiction. It’s like when two things that don’t usually go together are paired together. Like someone being naughty and nice at the same time.”

She nods, letting out a small ‘ooh’, which draws a smile from Luca.

With all his free time, he becomes a regular visitor. You don’t mind it in the least, especially when you know Luca can assist you in the kitchen. Usually, it would be you and four other taste testers just waiting for dinner. Now, you’re working side by side, moving around the space just like you used to.

Luca quickly learns where everything in your kitchen is located – spices, utensils, plates, and cups. It comes easily to a man who’s lived and breathed in various ones for years. He navigates the space as naturally as you do.

It’s even more helpful when work hits busy season. At quarter end, you’re constantly getting pulled into meetings and last-minute review sessions.

When your phone rings in the middle of dinner prep, you groan. “I have to take this. Um, feel free to pause until I wrap up. We can finish it then.”

Luca only shoos you away from the kitchen. “Don’t worry, Amelia and I can handle it, right?”

Amelia nods excitedly. She’s been even more ecstatic recently with more people to torment. Luca’s height and build mean he’s been giving her piggyback rides whenever she wants and pushing her guilt-trip eyes to get him to give her more sweets under your nose. And since Luca is four years behind on kissing her ass, he folds like a cheap suit.

At least it gives you some reassurance that Luca does well with Amelia.

Sometimes, when you look at the two of them, you wonder if this is what your life could’ve been. It could’ve been the two of you raising this beautiful, brainy little girl. He would’ve been right next to you at parent-teacher conferences, you shaking your head at some of her antics and he would just beam proudly. It could’ve been two, but instead Amelia only got one.

But it’s all meaningless thinking. You don’t have any regrets. Amelia still turned out wonderful and now they’re building their relationship. He doesn’t need to know the truth. He doesn’t need to live with what-ifs that he doesn’t have control over – and that’s just the way you want it.

You would rather he have this what-if rather than wonder if it was worth it to give up everything he loved for you.

You push these thoughts away from your mind as you dive into this work fire drill. There’s been plenty of these lately. With you hunkered down with your laptop, Luca keeps Amelia company – and safe because that girl has been a little too curious about the stove lately.

By the time you crawl out of your cave, you catch the delicious whiff of custard in the air. Your mouth immediately waters because you know exactly what’s baking in your oven. When you reenter the kitchen, the two of them are on the floor, staring at the lit-up oven.

“This is – maybe was – your mom’s favorite. She wouldn’t ever order anything else. I used to make this for her after work whenever she was feeling tired. It would cheer her up.” You hear Luca share.

It’s true. You remember the late nights after a long day of grunt work. The ingredients are always in the kitchen and the process simple enough that Luca would have them ready by the time you finish cleaning up the station. The two of you would sit side by side, spooning the sweet treat into your mouth as you chatted about the day.

Amelia chimes in this time, “She’s still the same! We always get crème brûlée. I like cheesecake, so we always get two desserts.”

“Do you now? Well, I make a delicious berry cheesecake. I’ll have to make you one and bring it over.”

“We can make one together!” She jumps. “How about tomorrow?”

And this is where you step in. “Amelia, Luca might be busy. We can aim for a weekend, okay?”

Luca gets to his feet then, placing his hand on top of Amelia’s head. She leans into his touch. “I can do tomorrow, no problem. I’ll pick up the ingredients on the way here.”

“You really don’t have to. You’re already helping me tonight.”

“I want to. I can do tomorrow.” Luca grins down at Amelia. “Seems only fair since you’re getting your favorite dessert tonight that Amelia gets hers tomorrow.”

She lets out a cheer. You pin her with a look that does nothing to scare her. “Alright, but only if you get all your homework done. Are you all packed for tomorrow?”

“I’ll finish packing my bag now,” she smiles. “Thanks, Uncle Luca!” With one last hug around his legs, she’s dashing off to her room.

You shake your head, sighing. “You spoil her too much. Her dentist will have a field day on her next visit.”

“I’m not above bribing children with desserts. It’s what all those years in restaurants have culminated into,” Luca cheekily grins, completely unapologetic.

Once the ramekins are out of the oven, Luca waits for Amelia to return before he layers the sugar on top and torches it. She watches in fascination and Luca even offers to help her try it. “Don’t do this without your mum around, promise me,” Luca says. The stern warning in his voice is appreciated.

And attractive.

Shit. You dismiss that assessment and turn your attention back to the two. Amelia is focusing intently on how the sugar browns as her small hands wrap around the tool, Luca’s own larger hands covering hers. If you had a camera, you’d capture this moment to remember.

Three of you are huddled around the dining table with your respective bowls. Amelia does a dramatic first crack through the sugar, thrilled when she finds that it isn’t as thick as it usually is in restaurants. You stick a spoonful into your mouth and nearly melt on the spot. It’s the right creaminess with a sweetness that isn’t excessive. The brittle is crisp, falling apart at the touch of your spoon, but provides a balanced change in texture. The flavor is familiar, one that you’ve tasted time and time again in the Ever kitchen, but somehow it tastes even better. Luca’s perfected this recipe.

This is the perfect crème brûlée.

“Good god.” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. “This is even better than I remember.”

“I’ve tweaked it a little bit since you last had it. I’m glad you like it.”

Luca offers to do the dishes while you tuck Amelia into bed, which you are grateful for. “Goodnight, Uncle Luca,” she yawns, rubbing her eyes as Luca bends down to accept her hug.

“Goodnight, baby,” Luca smiles against her head. The term of endearment makes her smile curl just a tad bit bigger.

She waves sleepily before dragging her feet towards her room. You pull the blanket up to her chin. For once, she has no complaints about going to sleep at the designated time. The dessert must’ve done a number on her, not to mention running around with Luca all afternoon.

“Night, sweetheart,” you mumble, kissing her on the forehead.

“Mommy?”

“Hm?”

“I like Uncle Luca.”

Your lips twitch, threatening to shift into a grin. “Yeah? He’s great, isn’t he?”

“You never talked about him before, but you’re friends. Why?”

You rub her forehead thoughtfully, smoothing out the small creases of her frown. “He wasn’t here. I didn’t think he was going to come back so I didn’t think you would ever get to know him.”

She hums thoughtfully as her eyelids begin to flutter. She’s resisting sleep as best she could but you cover her eyes and she doesn’t fight. “I’m glad he did,” she mumbles before her soft snores fill the room.

“Me too,” you whisper quietly to her. It’s a quiet admission, one you can only make in the safety of this room.

You’ve lived years without him, but now that he’s back, you can’t imagine what it was like before he returned. It’s as if he had been here all along, integrated into every aspect of your life. He’s etched into every page of every chapter of your book.

Luca is staring at a wine bottle in the living room when you find him next. He perks up, lips stretching wide. “She’s asleep?”

“Out cold. Thanks for wearing her out. Usually it takes me an hour to put her down.”

He chuckles. “My age is catching up to me. I already feel it in my back.”

“Sounds like you’ve been slacking on working out,” you tease, sliding into the space next to him. “Thinking of drinking?”

“My only responsibility tomorrow is making cheesecake for a four-year-old, so I think I’m good to suffer through a hangover.”

Smirking, you grab him a wine opener and let him do his thing. He expertly pours out two glasses and hands one to you. The cabernet is rich and delicious. The warmth of the alcohol immediately spreads through your systems and your muscles relax into the couch. Just what you needed.

Somehow, your conversation strays to dating.

Perhaps it’s the wine, or perhaps it’s you being soft from a day spent with both Luca and Amelia, but you find yourself being more truthful than you’d like.

“You haven’t gone a single date?”

You laugh and groan simultaneously, head thrown back to the couch. “Don’t say it like that. It’s hard to even think about mustering up the energy to get to know someone when you’re raising a kid.”

“I’m just surprised Rebecca never tried to trick you into going on one. She looks like the type to plot that behind your back.”

“Oh, trust me. She has. Except I had to bring Amelia along so my blind date made himself scarce when he saw his promised date show up with a child.”

Luca scoffs, “Sounds like she has terrible taste in men. For you at least.”

“Oh, yeah? Who would you set me up with then?”

The question catches him by surprise. His lips thin as his eyes dart away. The wine on your tongue suddenly tastes sour. “Don’t think I have any good mates to set you up with.”

“That’s unfortunate,” you grin, “though, I don’t think they would take too kindly to our friendship anyway. At the rate you’re going, I wouldn’t be surprised if Amelia accidentally calls you dad.”

You don’t realize the gravity of your words. They were said in jest. They were meant to be lighthearted. But the look on Luca’s face says otherwise. It’s a combination of shock and awe and bashfulness.

“A-accidentally, you know,” you try to emphasize.

“Would it be so bad though?” Luca murmurs quietly, his hand inching closer on the back of the couch towards you. His fingers ghost your bare shoulder, decorated only by the thin strap of your dress. “For her to call me that.”

Your heart beats so hard in your chest, it feels like it’s going to spill out. No words could even come to mind in that moment, not when Luca’s touching you. Not when he’s leaning closer. Especially not when you feel the softness of his lips against yours.

He tastes saccharine sweet, the gentle kind like a candy that soothes your aching throat. You barely hear him shift towards you until the pillow next to you dips. Then his hand is wrapping around the back of your neck and pulling you closer. His fingers climb to bury in your hair as he lets out a small moan against your lips. His touch, his smell, everything about him overwhelms your senses.

The Luca you knew before was a little clumsy, a little hesitant. But the man before you today is confident. He’s sure of his movements as his teeth catch your bottom lip, drawing a whimper from your throat. His tongue swipes over the bite before he presses in.

Luca’s large hands then slide down to your hips to pull you on top of him, trapping his legs in between yours. Your arms wind around his neck to pull him even closer until your bodies are pressed flush together. Your breasts push against his firm chest as his thick arms circle your body, holding you tight.

You only part to gasp in a little bit of air before he’s slanting his lips over yours again. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” Luca mutters as he begins moving his mouth along your jaw and down your neck. His lips are hot against your sensitive skin, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses that have you shivering. With only your panties and his jeans separating the two of you, you could feel the strain of his erection growing against your core.

“God, you taste so good. Missed kissing you like this,” he mumbles as he makes his way back to your lips, keeping his mouth on your skin the entire time.

“Luca, please,” you whine, hands tentatively playing with the hem of his shirt. You sneak your fingers up his abdomen, feeling the solid torso underneath. Your palms stretch over the planes of his abs, toned and firm.

“When’s the last time, love? Tell me.”

“I don’t know, years,” you mutter. It’s been years. The last time was…

It’s as if the glass between your past and present cracks. The splinters cut through the haze as you realize where you are. Your daughter is in the next room, sound asleep, while you’re out here on the lap of her father, who doesn’t even know he’s—

You’re quick to scramble off him with your rattling heart, standing away from the couch with your fingers pressed against your lips. They still tingle from where Luca’s kissed you. You can still taste him on your tongue. The shame settles in swift and heavy in the pit of your stomach.

With his frazzled hair and shirt slightly bunched up, Luca looks at you in confusion. The fog in his eyes is slowly dissipating. “What's wrong?”

“Shit, Luca. I can’t. I can’t do this. I—”

He bounds to his feet and approaches you slowly, hands sliding up your arms to take hold of your shoulders. He pulls you in for a hug when you don’t protest. This feels safe. You feel protected. But you know it’s all a mirage. Temporary.

“Hey, deep breaths, sweetheart. Tell me what you’re thinking about. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” you swallow, “my daughter’s right there for god’s sake. I’m a terrible mother.”

“No, you’re not. She’s asleep. She’s fine.”

You jerk back, extracting yourself from him. “What if she walked out and saw us? Oh god, how would I explain that to her?”

“Okay, I understand. But she didn’t. You’re fine. If she did, we would’ve sat her down and talked to her.”

“And what would I say? What could I even say to make it better?”

“Sweetheart—”

“Don’t.” The word is sharp. Hard enough to actually have Luca stop in his tracks. “Amelia is everything to me. Everything I do is for her. I shouldn’t have— this was a mistake.”

A mask of hurt settles on his face. “Don’t say that. You can’t tell me you don’t feel it too.”

“It doesn’t matter what I feel. I’m all she has, Luca. I can’t have anyone leave her. You’re— she already likes you too much. And if you leave again, I don’t know what I would tell her.”

Luca frowns, stepping towards you. “I’m not leaving. I told you I’m here for a while.”

“A while is not forever, Luca,” you whisper. “You’re still out there pursuing this big dream of becoming a chef. You’ve worked in some of the greatest places in the world. This home – it’s so small and it’s nothing compared to what you’ve built out there.”

“Don’t say that. You’ve created such a wonderful home. The only thing that gets me up in the morning these days is coming here, coming to you and Amelia. You don’t know how much this place means to me.”

For now. This place means something for now. The same way Ever meant something then. The same way you may have mattered in the past. But things are different now – you’re different now. It’s no longer just you. You’re not on your own anymore, and you’re not going to saddle him with your choices. You’re not going to have Amelia suffer from your choices. Not when he still has so much to offer the world. Not when he’s likely to leave again for the next big thing.

It’s one thing to long for something you’ve never had. It’s another to lose something you’ve always wished for – after you’ve had it.

“I can’t do this,” you shake your head. “I’m sorry. It’s complicated.”

“Why is it complicated? Help me understand. What can I do to uncomplicate it?”

Your breath is shaky as you inhale. “There’s nothing you can do.”

His eyes slide shut as he swallows thickly, his arms falling limp by his side. “So what now then? Are you going to cut me out of your life again?”

“I never cut you out of my life.”

“You practically did. I saw how distant you were during those calls, how you could barely even look at me. For a while, I thought I had done something wrong – if leaving had been a mistake. Now I understand why and there’s no fault on anyone’s side. But now I’m also here. I’m here with you and I want to stay here – if you’ll let me.”

And you know it’s too late now. You should’ve thought through the consequences to the end. Amelia has grown fond of Luca. She’s attached to him. You can’t possibly be the person to strip her of that happiness.

“I want you to stay. For Amelia,” you clarify. The light in his eyes flickers, dimming slightly. “I don’t think I’m ready for… whatever this is, Luca. When you decide to leave again, chase the next thing, I already have to prepare Amelia for that.”

“You don’t know if I’m going to leave again,” he murmurs quietly.

“I think the risk itself is enough,” you say with a sympathetic smile. He understands, it’s clear from the way he looks at you. He’s conflicted, his fingers itching to reach out to you again and go back to minutes ago when he was wrapped around you. But he also understands why you’re concerned.

So he nods. “Yeah, that makes sense. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“Please do not apologize,” you laugh, “I enjoyed it – while it lasted. Plus it makes me feel pathetic when you pity me.”

“I definitely do not pity you. Pretty sure I’m pitying myself for messing it up with someone as wonderful as you.”

Your lips twitch, breath huffing in a laugh. “You’re cheesy when you’re drunk." A beat of silence before you say, "You should stay tonight. It’s late and you’ve had too much to drink. I’ll get you some clothes.” The reluctant look on Luca’s face means that he has a question and you already have a feeling what it is. “It’s not… they’re your clothes. You left a few things here last time.”

“Right, thanks.”

When you leave Luca to sleep last night, you drag your feet to your room with a heavy heart.

You’ve lost him once. You don’t think you can survive a second time.

–

Things are as they should be after. The dynamic between you and Luca returns, Amelia is none the wiser. However, you note that there is slightly more tension in the air now. It’s in the way he chances glances at you, sneaking peeks whenever he thinks you’re not looking. You do the same to him, your eyes trailing over the way his arms move when he’s working in the kitchen.

It’s easier since Luca started staging at The Bear. It’s a temporary opportunity – he’s not even sure how much longer the restaurant will be around, judging by what their funder said. But he likes the team and the menu, so he’s taking it one day at a time.

Amelia isn’t too pleased that her time with Uncle Luca is reduced. He apologizes profusely for only being able to come around on Sundays when the restaurant is closed. There are some days that he comes over at night, tired down to his bones, but he still puts on a smile for her. Most of the time, Amelia is fast asleep, but he leaves traces of himself behind for her – a slice of leftover pie, a cheesecake, and even a new stuffed animal in the shape of a cheesecake. She hugs that one to sleep every night now.

Your parents swoop in. They’ve been wondering why you haven’t been bringing Amelia around as much.

“Had a little help,” you only say. Your dad doesn’t think much of it but your mom has always been the more observant one.

“What kind of help?” She prompts.

“A friend.”

“That’s not Rebecca?”

You shrug. “Sure.”

“Are you seeing someone?”

“Mom! No,” you sputter, heat crawling up your neck as you focus on stirring the soup for dinner.

“Then why are you being so coy about it?” She teases, poking your side. “You have no problem talking about any of your other friends, but here you are – getting all fussy when I ask you such simple questions.”

The warmth only grows and you duck your head, lest she realize how hard you’re blushing. “He’s an old friend. Back from my cooking days.”

“Oh? I didn’t realize you still spoke to any of them.”

Chewing on your bottom lip, you shake your head. “I don’t. He’s – he was gone for a while. He was in Copenhagen and now he’s back.”

“That’s nice. I’m happy you have someone else supporting her.”

“Me too.”

“So is this the Uncle Luca that Amelia won’t stop talking about? Pretty sure your dad’s upset that he’s no longer her favorite man.”

You laugh, switching off the stove and calling the rest into the dining room to eat. “Yes, I’m surprised she’s already talking about him.”

“We call her too, you know. I’m a little worried about her teeth based on how many desserts he’s bringing her.”

“He’s trying not to spoil her too much, but that comes with the territory of being a pastry chef. He’s very good, though. I almost forgot how good he is.”

“That good, huh?”

The implication in her words is not lost on you. “Dinner’s ready.”

Dinner is lively. Amelia spends all that time catching them up on things they’ve missed, which really isn’t a lot. Your parents adore Amelia and would spend hours listening to her talk on the phone. However, with every mention of Luca, you could feel irritation rising in your dad. Jealousy is foreign territory to him.

In the middle of dinner, your phone rings and you step away from the table. It’s Luca.

“Hey, I stopped by the house, but you weren’t here.”

“Oh, yes. We’re at my parents’ today.”

“Got it.”

“Did you need something?”

“No, no. Marcus and I were experimenting with a new cheesecake recipe so I wanted to bring some samples by before I headed home. I could drop it off at your parents’ if you’d like.”

Your eyes fly to your family at the table. While your dad’s attention is still focused on Amelia, your mom’s curious eyes are trained on you. “Um, no, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. You can keep it.”

“It’s no problem at all. Let me know the address?”

You confirm with him and send the address over. Luca does live closer to your parents than he does you, so it works out that he can drop it off on his way home. When you return to the table, your mom doesn’t press for answers. She just takes another spoonful of her soup.

However, when the doorbell rings, she’s the first one on her feet – as if she anticipated this all along. You’re a second too late to intercept when your mom is at the door, greeting Luca who – even after a full day in the kitchen – still looks delicious. He smells delicious too.

“You must be Luca,” your mom immediately says.

Great. Now he’s going to think that you’ve been talking about him. His gaze shifts to you in question. “Amelia,” you say to clarify. “She’s been raving about your company. I think she’s breaking my dad’s heart.”

His laugh is delightful. Your mom seems to think so too when she smiles a little wider. “I am Luca. It’s wonderful to meet you.” He extends his hand, holding a full cheesecake in the other. You’ll only admit to yourself how sexy it is that he holds these massive pastries like they weigh nothing.

“Why don’t you come in? We’re having dinner right now.”

Luca – knowing full well you eat dinner at seven on the dot – sends you a questioning look at the fact that you’re having dinner at ten. A time in which Amelia should be in bed too. You shrug, “My parents eat late and Amelia takes every opportunity to not sleep when she’s not supposed to. It’s Friday anyway.”

He only nods. “I don’t want to intrude and—”

“You wouldn’t be intruding. Come on in.”

You grasp your mom’s arm. “Luca’s just being polite. He’s exhausted and he’s still working tomorrow. Pastry starts very early over there.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” your mom relents. “We must have you over for dinner next time then.”

“That would be lovely, thank you for the invitation. I’m here to drop off dessert.”

“What a sweet boy. It’s been a while since my daughter has brought anyone around. In fact, I think this is the first time.”

You groan as Luca pinks. “Mom, please don’t start. Luca, please ignore her.”

“A woman can still dream, you know,” your mom grins.

Before either of you can respond, Amelia is barreling down the hallway and throwing herself around Luca’s legs. You’re quick to take hold of the dessert so that he can bend down to embrace her. “Uncle Luca, I didn’t know you were coming! Are you hungry? Mommy made chicken noodle soup.”

“Did she? That sounds delicious.”

“You smell really good.”

“I was baking your favorite dessert.”

Amelia looks up at the platter in your hand. “Cheesecake! Thank you, Uncle Luca.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. I can’t stay for dinner but I’ll come by on Sunday and we can learn how to make bread. How does that sound?”

“With cheese?”

“Lots of cheese. I’ll bring at least three kinds.”

Amelia hums in excitement and eagerly agrees. Your dad stands behind my mom, eyeing Luca with suspicion. And envy. Luca only smiles politely at him and introduces himself. It doesn’t appear to appease him, but it’s a start.

“Anyways, I’ll let you folks get back to it. Hope you enjoy dinner.” Luca says to the group who say their own farewells. He turns to you, gaze softening a fraction. The edges of the emerald chipping away. “See you Sunday?”

You smile, “Sunday.”

As you’re putting away dishes with your dad that night, he keeps throwing looks your way. He wants your attention and you have a feeling of what he’s going to ask, so you would rather avoid this conversation altogether.

“So,” he starts and the sigh that leaves you is involuntary. “Luca then?”

“What about him?”

“He seems nice.”

“He is.”

Your dad is silent for only a moment before he delivers words that have you choking on air. “Honey, you know your sex life is none—”

“Nope, oh god, no. We are not talking about this.”

“I just want to make sure you’re being safe. You already have Amelia and we do want more grandkids but maybe once you’re fully prepared.”

You’re practically wheezing, closing your hands around your ears. “I don’t want to hear this from you, Dad. I’m an adult. I’m good. I know about the birds and the bees.”

“Oh, dear,” your mom’s voice interrupts as she bumps her husband by the hip. “Go do the final tuck-in for Amelia. I can finish up here.”

Your dad opens his mouth to protest but the look your mom sears him with has him scampering out of the kitchen.

“Your dad means well.”

“I’m aware, he just needs to work on his delivery. There are probably better ways to say don’t get knocked up a second time.”

Your mom laughs as she closes the dishwasher. “I don’t think your dad or I would mind another grandchild. We’re only saying to be responsible about it. We can see you’re fully capable of raising children on your own but it doesn’t hurt to have an extra pair of hands. Especially when they come attached to a tall, British man who already adores Amelia as much as you do.”

“Mother,” you say in exasperation. Only your parents could make baby-making sound so unsexy.

“And I know you wouldn’t tell us who Amelia’s father is but… I can’t help but see the resemblance.”

You wet your lips, your eyes going everywhere except to meet your mom’s. “Pure coincidence.”

“Does he know?”

“Mom.”

“Does he? Because he doesn’t seem like the type to up and abandon his daughter.”

Sighing, you shake your head. “No, he doesn’t. I’d like to keep it that way.” Your mom tilts her head in question. “It’s complicated, but he was headed to Copenhagen for work. It was a big opportunity. If I told him I was pregnant, he would’ve stayed.”

Your mom hums in understanding. She doesn’t confirm whether or not what you had done was a mistake. Instead, she only kisses you on the forehead. “You’re too good a kid, you know that.”

“Think that’s mostly from dad.”

She laughs and flicks your cheek. “I take it back. Go get some sleep. Before the ogre gets you.”

“I’m not five anymore, Mom.”

“You always are in my eyes, honey. Goodnight.”

–

All good things must come to an end. Or so they say.

When you hit rock bottom back then, you had been drowning in your own misery. Looking at your pregnancy test all those years ago felt like your entire life was crumbling down around you. The castle you had built cracking from the inside.

While your parents came around at some point, it was Rebecca who really held your hand through it all. She was the one who held your hair back in the bathroom time and time again. She let you bawl through the emotional rollercoasters on her shoulder. She stood by you as you explained to your parents why they should support you. She was your rock.

But the best thing about her is that she keeps you grounded. She’s never afraid to be honest, to push you out of your comfort zone. There are a lot of things that you’re scared about but it’s a lot easier with your best friend by your side.

And you know that sometimes you take her for granted. It’s hard to spend time with your friend Rebecca instead of Aunt Rebecca with Amelia. Of course, you love it when the two are together and obviously Rebecca would take a bullet for Amelia, but it’s different when it’s just the two of you.

Nights like this one – Amelia at your parents and it’s you and her on the couch with tubs of ice cream and Hugh Grant on television attempting to murder these two girls – are rare to come by. Hugh Grant is nothing compared to the story Rebecca is telling in great detail about her most recent client. As a PR director, she works with the coolest people. Celebrities, influencers, huge corporations. Everyone wants a piece. You always listen to her in awe.

“So what happened when you told this A-list actress no?”

Rebecca rolls her eyes. “The tantrum that she threw. At least one glass furniture broke in my office that day. We have it all on camera. If I were a terrible person, I’d threaten to sell it to TMZ.”

“Jesus, the diva. This is why you can’t trust anyone these days.”

“Well, not just anyone,” Rebecca says with a pointed look.

You know what she’s getting at. That’s the first comment she makes on the topic that night. She’s baiting you into giving her more intel. There are occasions where Rebecca and Luca overlap but for some reason, they really haven’t seen each other much since that first night when she forced you to talk to him.

When you don’t bite, she’s on to her next story.

“I can’t believe you didn’t say yes,” you tell her in disappointment. “You could’ve been dating a billionaire. We could’ve shared the perks.”

Rebecca snorts, “No amount of money could’ve convinced me to date that man. He’s all bark and no bite. Actually, I did hear a rumor that he bites people.”

“For a billion dollars, I might let him. Just introduce us,” you giggle, bumping her shoulder.

Rebecca laughs, “Unfortunately, you’re taken.”

A blush surfaces on your neck. “I am not.”

She gives you a look as she digs her spoon deep into the half-finished pint of Neapolitan. “Who are you kidding? You’re basically dating.”

Well… “I might’ve forgotten to tell you something,” you start, wincing when she cocks an eyebrow in question. “We made out the other day.”

“What? When?”

“Um, he was here and I had put Amelia into bed. This was before he started staging.”

A gasp slips past her pink lips. “You’re telling me this now? So what happened? What do you mean you’re still not taken? Was he not as good as you remembered?”

No, he was better. You groan, dropping your own tub onto the table before you inhale the entire thing to distract yourself from the pain that persistently tugs at your heart. “I told him we shouldn’t.”

“What? Why would you do that?”

“Look, I don’t know how long he’s going to stick around. When he leaves, I have to pick up the pieces with Amelia. I can’t also be dealing with being heartbroken a second time.”

Rebecca inhales deeply. You know that look. She’s trying to be patient with you. This is the look she gives you whenever you do something she disapproves of – which, considering you’re a coward, is a lot of times.

“Let me get this straight. You have this gorgeous man with a hot, posh accent who’s wooing you and who wants to be with you and your daughter? Oh, and he’s also the father. And you’re saying no? The math isn’t mathing, babe.”

You sigh. “It’s not that easy. What if one day he finds out that he’s the father and I didn’t tell him all this time?”

“Wouldn’t that be a good thing?”

“I don’t want him to hate me for keeping something so big from him.”

“So instead, you would rather have him have nothing to do with you?”

“We can stay friends.”

“News flash, you guys aren’t friends. He was in your home practically every day. If he weren’t working, he would’ve likely already moved in here. Amelia is so fond of him. I wouldn’t be surprised if she called him dad at some point.”

“Fuck, that’s what I said.”

“Yeah, fuck. Don’t be an idiot. Luca is fantastic. He’s great with Amelia and your parents. Why would you not want him?”

“Because I would just hold him back.”

Rebecca turns her entire body to face you now. “Hon, you know I love you. But you’ve got to stop playing this martyr. It’s frankly getting ridiculous. Stop using him as an excuse to avoid doing things you’re scared of doing. It’s okay to admit that you’re worried about getting your heart broken again. It’s okay to admit that you’re terrified of this big, beautiful thing you could have. But you can’t live in a world of what-ifs forever.”

It’s a harsh truth that burns. She’s right. For years, it’s been easy to blame what had happened for your forgotten dreams. But it had ultimately been your choice – to have Amelia, to lie to Luca, and to rely solely on yourself. With Amelia growing up, you know that you have the opportunity to turn things around. You could go back to pursuing your dreams of being a chef. You could go out and date again. You could do things for you.

“I love you so much. You’ve given your everything to Amelia. You’ve made her your everything. Maybe it’s time to give yourself that grace as well.”

With Luca, you know that you can never move forward until you tell him the truth. It’s going to be a secret that hangs over your heads. For any future with him – or to potentially even lose it forever, you have to finally share who he is to Amelia.

A big part of you is hopeful – that he would be thrilled to find out and that he would welcome it with open arms. The next hurdle would be telling Amelia, but you’re hoping that’s something you can wait a little longer to overcome.

However, a small part of you – the one that Rebecca points out – is still living that fearful what-if scenario. What if he gets upset and leaves? What if he never comes back?

And the answer to those is another question: what’s the worst that can happen?

He decides that he doesn’t want this and moves on. So you yourself would also learn to move on. You would tell yourself down the line that you dodged a bullet. You’ve raised Amelia for four years, you can do it for the rest of your life without the support of a man.

So you rip off the band-aid.

On Sunday, after a long day of sun and desserts, Amelia is finally out cold. She had actually fallen asleep in Luca’s arms in front of the TV and he carried her to bed before rejoining you on the couch. For someone who hates being told to go to sleep, she’s been falling asleep on her own more so recently. It’s a nice change.

Now to the situation at hand. It’s now or never.

“We need to talk,” you start nervously. Your palms are clammy and you can feel sweat collecting in your hairline at the thought of this conversation. Luca probably noticed that you’ve been slightly distracted all day, but you didn’t want to wait too long. The fear that your fear will come back is too big.

“Sounds serious,” Luca says, shifting his body so his arm is draped on the back of the sofa and he is turned to you entirely. All his attention on you.

“I’m going to tell you something and I just need you to keep an open mind and try not to hate me at the end of this.”

His eyes go soft again, like they always do when he’s with you. It makes you hope even a little that things will turn out fine. “I could never hate you.”

A strained laugh escapes your lips. “Don’t speak too soon.”

“Tell me,” he urges.

It’s his quiet confidence in you that finally has you spilling everything. Starting from the moment you found out, to your decision to keep it from him, and to today. How you never meant for him to find out.

Then Luca is on his feet and your biggest fear may have materialized. He’s going to leave.

But he only paces the length of the room, brows furrowed in deep thought. He’s not looking at you but your eyes are stuck on him, tracing his every movement, following him in case he disappears.

“So she’s mine” is what he opts to start with.

“In the technical, genetic sense, yes.”

“Why—” he seems to be stuck in this loop of disbelief. His words keep getting caught in his throat and he ends up looking puzzled on how to even address the situation. You’re surprised – but grateful – that he’s more confused than upset. Or at least he appears to be. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want to be a regret. Not to you.”

Your answer only appears to confuse him more. “Why— why would you think that you’d be a regret?”

“Luca, you’re so talented. You’re meant to do great big things out there. I’ve seen how you work, the passion and heart you put into every single one of your dishes. With a baby – I couldn’t imagine what that life would be like for you. I know you. You would’ve given up Copenhagen, you would’ve stayed.”

“Of course, I would have.”

“And I didn’t want you to!” You exclaim, your fingers pushing through your hair. “Copenhagen was your everything. If I told you about the baby, you would’ve left your dream – and what then? What if you resent me for the rest of your life because of my choice?”

Luca shakes his head. “I told you I could never resent you.”

You smile weakly at him. “You don’t know that.”

“You’re my best friend,” Luca says softly. “I would’ve been there for you, no questions asked. Any restaurant can be the greatest in the world. But you – there’s only one of you and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”

“That’s just stupid,” you mutter dumbly through your tears.

Luca laughs and reaches up with both hands to dry your eyes. “It’s not stupid. It’s the truth. You’re so important to me. I don’t know if you know that. You were the reason why I stayed at Ever as long as I did. Your faith in me was what kept me in Copenhagen. Noma was hard, even harder knowing the shit pay I was getting. But every time I talked to you about it, you would light up – and all I could think about was how I should stay so I could keep telling stories that make you smile.”

The confession has your mind reeling, your heart lodging in your throat. “I didn’t know that. You just – you looked so happy to be there.”

He offers a small smile. “It got better.”

“I’m glad it did because it would’ve been ridiculous if you only stayed to tell me stories.”

With a shrug, he easily says, “I would’ve. For you.”

A quietness falls between the two of you. Two revelations. This isn’t how you expected the evening to go, yet you don’t mind it in the least.

It’s Luca who breaks the silence first. He looks hesitant at first but decides to ask anyway, “Can I ask you something?” You nod. “Her last name—”

“It’s mine,” you blurt out. “I mean, it felt more natural. Since it was just going to be me and her.”

A flicker of hurt crosses his eyes, a look so brief that you nearly miss it. It’s unmistakable. He looks away before you can see it, but you did. “Makes sense,” he murmurs under his breath.

“Luca, I don’t— I need to be clear that I’m not expecting anything from you. I made this decision on my own. It’s not your responsibility.”

“She’s my daughter,” he says, a sharpness to his words that you didn’t expect. Your surprise must be clear on your face because he quickly softens. “I’m not trying to step on your toes. When I came back to Chicago, I wasn’t expecting this. I mean, I certainly was not expecting you to have a child. But I also wasn’t expecting her to be mine.”

You’re not sure what to say to that. Your fingers are laced together on top of the table and you pick at the dry skin on your thumb to distract yourself from your heart threatening to hurtle out of your chest. You try to keep your voice steady as you speak. “I know this comes as a surprise. I just want to reassure you that she’s my daughter first and foremost. She’s my responsibility. I don’t want you to think that you have to do anything.”

“That’s frankly the most absurd thing I’ve heard you say all night.”

You immediately look up, your eyes finding his with confusion written all over them.

“The fact that you think I wouldn’t want to do anything. She’s— she’s perfect, sweetheart. You raised her to be strong, smart. She has all the best parts of you and thank god none of me,” he chuckles. “Even if I were here, I don’t think I could’ve done what you did. And for that I’m grateful to you.”

Honest. Raw. Genuine. Your throat feels like sandpaper now, the words lost somewhere in the abyss.

“About Noma, I don’t even know where to start.”

“I still don’t fully understand why you left. You said it got better. That was your dream.”

“It was,” he says softly, “I had reached it. But it didn’t feel… right. There was something always missing and I couldn’t put my finger on it.”

Nodding slowly, you take your time to digest his words. That had been his entire life. When the two of you were at Ever, all he ever talked about was making it at Noma. It’s every chef’s dream. And he had achieved it.

“Until now.”

This is the second time you whip up in surprise. “What are you saying?”

“I missed you,” he says, almost a whisper. He says it like a secret. A secret he is sharing for the first time with you. “Gods, I missed you so much. Copenhagen was beautiful. I had a wonderful time but the whole time I was there, all I could think about was— it was being here with you. How we probably could’ve built an equally or even more beautiful life in Chicago. Or I imagined what it would be like for you to be there with me – the two of us cooking and baking like the old days. Sneaking around and eating desserts at the worst hours. Just talking.”

“Luca…”

“And I’m not expecting you to reciprocate my feelings. I know you were worried about me leaving but I hope I’ve made it clear that I’m not going anywhere. I want to be here with you and with Amelia. I’ve already missed out on four years with her, I have a lot to make up for. But I’ve lost that same number of years with you. You’ve spent so long taking care of others. I want to be here now, I want to take care of you.”

“I can’t possibly ask you—”

Luca shakes his head. “I want to be very clear. You’re not asking, I am.”

“But Copenhagen and the restaurants there. You have a life there.”

“I could have a life here too. A better one. The one I want.” Luca inches closer, one of his hands stroking your hair as the other wraps around yours. There’s a comfort to his touch, one that you’ve so desperately missed. “I can work anywhere in the world. I’m constantly learning from every restaurant I’ve worked in. Chicago has some of the best food spots in the world, and even better people who run them. There’s no shortage of that. But in the world, there is only one you and one Amelia, and I’d love it if you granted me the opportunity to be in your lives.”

You swallow thickly. This is exactly what you feared would happen. But here he is — asking this of you as if you hadn’t taken away that option from him to begin with. Here he is telling you that he is choosing this. He wants this with you and with Amelia.

“Of course you can,” you choke out, laughing lightly through the tears.

“Oh, love, don’t cry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“Happy tears, I promise.” You smile at him and squeeze his fingers reassuringly. “As for what you said, I missed you too. So much. I don’t even think I realized how much until you came back. And, while I do want something with you, I want to take baby steps. I want to make sure Amelia is okay with all this first.”

“Definitely. I want her to be comfortable with me – being her father but also being around. Once I get her blessing, that’s when I’ll really start to court you.”

A laugh bubbles up your throat. “Court me?”

“Court you,” he grins devilishly.

Your cheeks are beginning to hurt from how much you’re smiling, but you can’t help it. It’s so easy with him. “Thank you for understanding, Luca.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I might just be the worst influence on our daughter.”

The word our makes your heart jump. Our daughter.

You chuckle. “Pretty sure the menace in her comes from my side.”

“You’d be surprised.”

With a deep breath, you sigh and look at him. This gorgeous, beautiful man is all heart. A heart that belongs to you. “Amelia already loves you, being a bad influence might make her love you even more. My dad is already quite disappointed that he’s no longer the favorite man in her life.”

Luca grins unapologetically. “As unfortunate as that is for your father, I am thrilled to hear that. You have no idea. Though, that just means that I also have to win over your parents. I don’t know how pleased they are that I wasn’t around for the first years.”

“I’ll make sure they understand that it wasn’t your fault—”

“I still should’ve known.”

You pin him with a look. “You couldn’t have known. I did everything possible to hide it from you. It’s not on you. They know that to a certain extent. Plus, judging from my mom’s encouraging comments, I don’t think you’ll have to work too hard.”

“Well, still, I hope I don’t disappoint.”

His fake modesty – which actually is not fake at all because he’s just that humble – is irritatingly sweet. “Luca, you are 6’2” of pure muscle and soft heart. You’ve worked in the coolest places in the world. You’ve been there for Amelia since you found out about her – even when you didn’t know you were the father. You have nothing to be worried about.”

“If you say so,” he smirks and scoots even closer. Your knees are touching and his eyes drop to your lips. “I know you said we’ll go slow but – would you mind if I kissed you every once in a while? No pressure again. Feel free to say no—”

So you do the second brave thing you’ve done today – you lean over and press your lips against his. It’s slow and sweet, sparks compared to the fireworks that one night. Still, you enjoy it all the same. He’s surprised only momentarily before he returns the attention.

When you finally separate, he leans his forehead against yours. You whisper, “I could really get used to this.”

Grinning, he gives you another peck. “Can’t say I’ll have any complaints about that.”

Tag List: @alexfms97 @capitanostella @eg-dr3amer3 @zulema222 @cloudroomblog @nhloversblog @lilacspider @letmebe0k @messi-jessi603 @imagineslendk @lucycarlisleswife @torubug @tinkcantwrite @marroonwitch @blubra @milescrypt

#chef luca #chef luca x reader #luca the bear #luca x reader #chef luca fanfiction #chef luca fic #the bear #the bear fanfiction #the bear fic #the bear fandom #will poulter #will poulter x reader #will poulter fanfic #will poulter imagine #my work

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ilostthewar · 3 days ago

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Anyway, in love with the idea of Ghost as a Farmer.

Simon didn’t really have a plan for his life that didn’t involve dying in some odd corner of the world with a bullet lodged in an organ he absolutely needs. He has been a soldier since he was old enough to sign his life away, he rightfully assumed he would be one until he died.

And then he gets medically discharged.

It’s an insult, really. Simon gave his best years, broke his body until it became a weapon, sacrificed parts of himself that he can never recover. And now the only dependable part of his life is torn from him. It’s even worse that John is the one who signs his papers. It feels like he’s being tossed out again, abandoned with no clear direction for where to go.

He doesn’t care for the pomp and circumstance. Ghost- Simon doesn’t stay where he’s not needed or wanted. He doesn’t want a party, doesn’t want the going away events. The money is deposited in one of his accounts and he’s gone. Ignores the calls and texts from Price and Garrick. If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s staying hidden. He doesn’t want their pity or attempts to turn this into soemthing it’s not.

He stays in his apartment, it’s tiny and holds nothing of value. Simply a place where he went when he wasn’t in an active war zone. He’s not particularly tied to it, it’s simply where he is.

He only finds it when he’s digging through the mountains of papers that have accompanied him since his dismissal. It’s not even really a letter, just a notice he had gotten forever ago. His grandfather, on his mom’s side, owned farmland. And considering there was no one else, it technically belonged to him. Simon had been there a few times as a child, those times his mother tried leaving, not that it ever lasted. But he does remember it, lots and lots of land that he had run with his brother, a farm dog and barn cat that would trail after him.

At first, Simon tosses the envelope aside before carrying on, but it stays on his mind over the next few days. He finds himself considering the possibility more and more. There’s nothing for him here other than an empty flat that holds nothing but medals that he doesn’t need or memories he doesn’t want.

It almost feels like a rushed decision when he packs his shit into the bed of his truck in the middle of the night before hitting the road. He drives all night and only gets there early in the morning. It’s not at all as he remembers, having to cut the bolts on the fence before approaching. The fields are overgrown, clearly uncared for. The greenhouse is worn down, the barn with holes in it, and the house is haunting, windows boarded up and the paint chipping.

He almost doesn’t get out of the truck at first. Staring at another thing from his past that’s torn and ruined. But he drove all the way out here… might as well take a look around.

#baby moth writes #cod imagines #cod ghost #cod simon riley #cod simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #this is the stardew valley AU

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thatonebluehedgehog · 17 hours ago

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Two things that rile the boys up in bed, and one thing that makes them want to get you in bed…

Hyung Line / Maknae Line (coming soon)

word count: 1.3k

warnings: SMUT, fem!reader intended, minors or ageless blogs don’t interact– the following warnings belong to their respective member: praise, BDSM themes (barely), established relationships, throwing you around (lol), hyunjin being a romantic, hair pulling.

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Bangchan

Praise (Giving)

Chan is a sweetheart, especially to you. His biggest joy is to whisper sweet nothings into your ear while thrusting up into you, feeling you squeeze him at every sweet word and compliment. Don’t be fooled– his words are filthy. He’ll kiss up and down your neck and whisper, “You’re taking me so well… you’re just sucking me in, yeah?” in between kisses. It’s dirty and explicit, but you eat up every word because you know what? You are taking him so well. And you are greedy for more.

Lingerie

This seems like a given, but one of Chan’s favorite things to do is to spoil you. So when you pick out a pretty, lacy, white set from Victoria’s Secret, he’s quick to press his card to the card machine. He knows the set won’t last long, and he buys it anyway. He buys it to watch you twirl around in your bedroom while he sits on the bed, legs spread, already half hard. He buys it to thread his fingers through the delicate lace to slide them down your legs, unwrapping the prettiest present he could ask for.

Jealousy

One of the worst parts about having a sexy ass boyfriend is that other people will find him attractive too. So when you catch a glimpse of a worker standing too close and looking up at him with flirty eyes, your eyes immediately narrow. It’s not about Chan, it never is, but she needs to know he’s spoken for. So, when you walk over and hook your arm in his, standing between him and the worker and pulling him away to show him an imaginary pair of jeans, Chan is more desperately attracted to you than ever. He wants to drag you into the nearest bathroom and have his way with you as soon as possible. He just loves being yours. <3

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Lee Know

Brat Taming

What a surprise�� but the sweet-looking lips of a seemingly innocent Minho will humiliate you into submission with just a sentence. It’s not name-calling, no, it’s dominance, easy possession with just a few words. When you’re getting mouthy or being irritating on purpose in public, he’s quick to pull you in by your waist and growl a low, “Just wait till we get home.” Your reaction is to quiet down to try to lessen your punishment, but Minho never forgets. The moment you enter the door to your shared apartments, it's quiet gazes and a steady, “On your knees, jagiya.” And you obey, because there’s nothing more thrilling than his smooth control.

*Above is a mild example, but there have been times when you’ve been bent over his lap with handprints on your ass as proof of your misbehavior.

Easy Access

Early on in your relationship, you learned not to wear underwear in the house. Minho’s favorite way to have you is over the nearest surface with a flipped-up miniskirt or a t-shirt pushed up past your tits. The knowledge that you have no desire to stop him from initiating at any time gets him so riled up that you probably have sex way more than the average couple. You aren’t complaining, the man has his preferences. But yeah, y’all are out-freaking each other constantly.

Domesticity

Minho’s weakness is seeing you in the kitchen making breakfast or playing with the cats. You look like you belong there, and he can never ignore it. You look so soft, and the desire to make you his forever overwhelms him with a feeling he can’t properly explain. He’s quick to wrap his arms around you from behind, laying his head on your shoulder. Don’t get comfortable, you’ll be over the counter soon with the bacon burning in the pan.

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Changbin

Manhandling

He has muscles and he’s proud of them! Those nights in the gym aren’t for nothing, especially with his busy schedule. He has them so he can throw you over his shoulder like nothing and throw you on your shared bed. He has them so he can pull you into any position at light speed. He has them so he can hold you up against the wall as he hits your sweet spot over and over again. He’s proud of how big he’s gotten, and he wants to prove to you that he’s a strong protector more than anything.

Praise (Receiving)

That being said, as beefy and beautiful as he is, he really wants to hear you tell him he’s doing well. Not only is your pleasure so important to him, but he finds that his dick twitches when you tell him that he’s all you need. You could whisper a small, “Always know how to love me right,” in his ear, and he’s unravelling like twine. One sweet word and he’s pulling out of you, letting out a long, low grunt as he spills all over you. You really know how to get him going, huh?

Distance

He can be away from home on tour for months at a time, leaving you to tend to yourself and your needs without him. This leads to a lot of late-night calls, whispering and whining about how much you need him and his hands all over you. Changbin hates being away from you for so long, but he can’t deny the adrenaline of getting home to you and having you for the first time in months. It’s so intimate and hot to him that he confines you to bed most nights the week he gets back from tour. Distance brings good dick, or however the saying goes.

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Hyunjin

Oral (Giving)

Hyunjin is the type of lover to treat you delicately, laying you down on the soft bed, undressing you with sweet kisses pressed to your skin between pieces of clothing. When he’s done, he likes to pepper kisses everywhere, your collarbones, stomach, down to your thighs. His hands are warm and gentle as he spreads your legs slowly. He’s addicted to the way you whimper when cold air hits your warm center, but he’s quick to comfort you by pressing a flat-tongued stripe up your folds and closing his lips around your quivering clit to gently suckle there. He knows how to use his tongue and will never hesitate to do so.

Hair Pulling

You mourned the loss of his hair when he buzzed it. You couldn’t deny that he looked irresistible with it, but you missed the feeling of grabbing a handful of hair to pull on. You liked it because it grounded you, but Hyunjin fucking loved the feeling of it. The prickly pain of you pulling his head back gets him so turned on that the first time you did it, he busted on the spot. Nothing else has ever made him react like that. You learned that your sweet Hyunjin enjoyed a little pain, and even submitted a little bit. But now that it’s buzzed, you have nothing to grab at. Good thing it’s growing out…

Rambling

You have always underestimated how much Hyunjin loved your voice. When you speak about your interests or rant about your love for his art and dancing, he can’t stop the way his breathing gets heavy and his eyes start tracing your face and body. It’s the genuine excitement in your voice and the love you have for him that makes him emotional– and horny. He would have you right there on the couch during wine night if he could. (Spoiler alert: he did.)

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Maknae line coming soon! I hope you enjoy my first piece of smut on this account– don’t worry, it only gets filthier from here.

As always, keep requesting! I’ll get to all of them as soon as I can.

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baby-yongbok · 3 days ago

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✧ forever - Bang Chan Soft Thought

word count - 0.2k ⋆｡‧˚ʚ Masterlist ɞ˚‧｡⋆

“You think it'll be this way forever?” Chan’s hand slows on your thigh, thumb pausing mid circle to listen. “Late nights, feeling free like this. Road and sunset.”

He hums, lips pressed together, tongue flicking out like he’s chasing an answer just out of reach.

“I hope it is.” He pauses, “I can't really imagine anything other than this.”

The car slows, switches lanes, he drives past your exit.

“And since we seem to be so unsure…” his thumb is rubbing circles again—slow and steady. “Let's make it last as long as we can, yeah?”

His smile makes the sunset look prettier and yours makes him want to pass your exit a second time, maybe take you to the beach and watch the sun disappear into the water. Kiss you while the sky shifts into colors with no names.

“Even if it doesn't,” your voice is soft, Chan’s thumb halts again. “I'm just glad we have this.”

Your words settle deep in his chest, warm and glowing, like the last burst of sunlight clinging to the horizon.

His thumb moves again.

He shifts lanes, taking the exit to the beach.

“Me too.” He looks over—and you're already looking at him.

“Me too.” he says again, slower this time, like he means it even more.

✧ Thank you for reading ♡

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superbassbuck · 2 days ago

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give it up for the thunderbolts*!

Pairing: rockstar!Bucky Barnes x fl!reader

Mentions: 18+, second chance(ish), sex, choking, dom!bucky, lowkey posessive!bucky, drinking

Author's Note: different than the fluff that I normally write. is it mostly smut practice? yes. xoxo dividers by issysh3ll

Summary: What was supposed to be a fun Friday night at a concert with your friends resulted in reuniting with your past high school sweetheart, who now also happens to be the lead guitarist in a new uprising rock band, the thunderbolts*.

Word Count: 4.9k

It was late Friday night, and the only thing you wanted after surviving another brutal day at the office was to drag yourself home, take a blistering hot shower, slip into your comfiest clothes, put on a movie you’d half-watch, and bury yourself under a mountain of blankets.

But of course, your friends had other plans.

These past few weeks, they’ve been ushering you to go out more and not “waste away your years” by swallowing yourself with work. So, by the time you stepped out of the office with your hair falling out of its clip, your feet screaming from your heels, and a pantyhose probably torn somewhere around your toes—you were greeted by the sight of your friends’ car pulling up to the curb, horn blaring.

The passenger window rolled down and your friend leaned out, waving you over. “Get in!” she shouted over the music blaring inside. “We’re going to a concert.”

You stood there, staring. “No.”

They pretended not to hear you. “The show starts in twenty minutes! Move it —”

Now it was your turn to pretend not to hear them. Shifting your bag higher on your shoulder, you kept walking down the sidewalk with an exhausted sigh.

“I’m not going,” you muttered .”I’ve been working all day, I’m—”

“—exhausted, hungry, sore. You always say that!” the other interrupts, slowly pressing on the gas to meet your pace.

The one in the passenger seat pokes her head out of the window, grinning widely. “Come on! You’re off tomorrow, aren’t you? Live a little tonight, regret it tomorrow —”

You paused, gesturing down at your office clothes with a dramatic gesture. “Look at me. Do I look concert-ready to you guys?” you ask sarcastically.

Their eyes took you up and down slowly. They took in the messy hair, white blouse, pencil skirt—and then they grinned even wider.

“You look hot. Smudge on some black eyeliner, shake that hair out, you’ll look like a walking sex dream.”

“That’s disgusting—”

“Oh, come on! Seriously?” your friend groaned, throwing her head back dramatically. “Loosen up a little. You’re not going to stay young forever.”

They pulled this stunt nearly every week now, and you’d learned it was pointless to fight them. Besides, nine times out of ten when you caved, you ended up actually having the time of your life and did not regret it after.

You crossed your arms and sighed. “Fine. But who’s even playing?”

They exchanged a look before grinning like devils.

“The Thunderbolts.”

You showed up at the dimly lit venue exactly like your friends told you to. They’d handed you an old eyeliner pencil to smudge around your eyes in the car and a tube of red lipstick to finish the look. Not that it really mattered. It was dark enough inside that no one could really see your face anyway.

Funny enough, your office getup probably stood out more than the smeared eyeliner and lipstick.

Your friends found you again in the crowd, pressing a red solo cup into your hand.

“You know the Thunderbolts, right?” one of them shouted over the music.

You shrug, taking a sip. “A few of their songs show up in my playlist every now and then.”

Before they could say anything else, the house lights cut out. The crowd erupted, screaming and pushing closer to the stage. Red spotlights flickered on, sweeping across the room as the announcer’s voice echoed through the loud speakers.

“All right, everybody!” the announcer—their manager, Alexei—shouted in the mic, hyping up the crowd. “Give it up for the Thunderbolts!”

The roar that ripped through the crowd was deafening. Bodies began pressing closer together, the bass vibrating through the walls littered in stickers and graffiti, the sounds of boots thumping against the sticky floors. You just laughed under your breath, tipping back your solo cup for another sip as the stage lights flared to life.

No matter how shit your day was, nights like this always made you feel alive again.

One by one, the band stepped out.

John Walker on drums.

Ava Starr on bass.

Bob Reynolds on keyboard.

Yelena Belova, lead singer and guitarist.

Then, your heart drops in your chest.

Last out was Bucky Barnes. Lead guitar.

He was your highschool sweetheart many moons ago. You would’ve recognized him anywhere… though he wasn’t quite the boy you remembered. His hair was longer, his shoulders were broad, and he had stubble shadowing his jaw. His eyes were still blue, but there was something about his gaze that felt darker. Darker than you remembered.

The crowd lost it when he appeared, especially the girls. They were pressed up against the stage barrier, hands outstretched, screaming his name, tossing things on stage just to get his attention.

You felt something twist in your chest, that old, nostalgic, heartache. Years had passed since you’d last seen him, but watching strangers claw for a piece of him sent a petty spark of jealousy right in your bloodstream. Once upon a time, you were the only one who had the right to look at him like this.

He was yours.

And you were his.

Your friend elbowed you in the side, snapping you out of it. “That’s Bucky! He’s their lead guitarist. He’s insane. Just wait ‘til you hear him play!”

You forced a tight smile, eyes flicking back to him. “Is he?” you muttered, gaze skimming the sea of girls vying for his attention.

“What was that?” your friend shouted over the screaming, leaning closer.

But Bucky wasn’t paying the crowd any mind. While the others waved and hyped people up, he stood near the amp, head down, fiddling with the guitar’s tuning pegs. Every subtle move of his arms made his muscles flex beneath the black tee, silver rings shining under the stage lights.

You need to get out of here. The last time you and Bucky talked was after the breakup—a very, very messy breakup. And right now, you can’t even handle seeing him, much less seeing girls fawn over what was once yours.

“Hey,” you shout to your friend, handing your solo cup back. “I’m actually really tired. I think I’m gonna head out—”

She nudges the solo cup back to you, looking at you, appalled. “But we’re already here! The show is only an hour and a half long. You’ll enjoy it, I promise.”

“I really don’t think this is a good idea—”

Your words got cut off by a loud, dirty guitar riff tearing through the speakers. The crowd went feral. Your head snapped up back on stage instinctively. Bucky was playing, fingers working the strings, playing the rhythm of a song you recognized.

You were too busy staring to notice your friend leaning over until she started unbuttoning the top of your white blouse.

“What the hell are you doing!” you gasped, trying to swat her hands away.

“Relax!” she laughed. “You seriously need to get laid. Show a little skin. Who knows? Maybe you’ll catch someone’s eye… maybe even a band member’s.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Before you could respond, John started banging in with the drums, Ava’s bass began to strum, and Yelena grabbed the microphone, her guitar resting on her hip being held by the strap.

And the crowd went fucking crazy.

Yelena started to sing, and Bucky kept his head down for most of the beginning of the song, bobbing his head to the rhythm. Many girls were still shouting his name—to which he didn’t pay attention to.

But once the song got near the end, towards the bridge, he finally lifted his head. Despite his enthusiastic playing, his eyes looked dull and almost bored, scanning the crowd without much interest.

Until they landed on you.

The second his gaze locked with yours, you froze. Your hand instinctively clutches the red solo cup tighter. Everything in your gut was screaming at you to turn around, push through the crowd, run back home. But once his eyes met yours, you couldn’t move.

In the end, you were the one to look away first. You tipped your drink up, trying to act casual. What other choice did you have? You were here already, you paid your share for the ticket, and your only ride was too busy head-banging to care.

It’s okay. Maybe he didn’t even recognize you.

To him, you were probably just another girl in the crowd, another easy face for a rockstar like him to pick out and bang backstage.

So, for now, you forced yourself to relax. You are already here now. You might as well try to enjoy it.

Once you finally loosened up, you spent the rest of the show dancing and losing yourself in the music, doing your best to ignore Bucky. What you didn’t realize was that he hadn’t taken his eyes off you the whole night. Girls kept screaming his name, hands reaching out for him, but his focus stayed locked on you.

When Yelena shouted out the final thank you and the last chord rang out, the crowd slowly started to thin. A few fans lingered around for autographs and selfies, but you were exhausted and ready to go.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” you groaned, wobbling slightly on your heels as you and your friends shuffled toward the exit amongst the crowd. “I’m dead. I just want my bed—”

But just before you could step outside, one of the security guys stepped in your path, blocking you.

You frowned up at him. “Is there a problem, sir?”

He shakes his head, and you noticed that he was letting everyone else walk past you and exit with no problem. You cross your arms, tapping your foot impatiently.

“Well? Did I do something wrong?”

“One of the members is requesting your presence backstage,” he says gruffly. He tilted his chin back toward the stage, right where Bucky was standing just a moment ago.

One of your friend’s jaws dropped. She elbowed you with excitement. “Dude. You’re totally getting laid—”

You shot her a death glare. “I am not getting laid,” you turned back to the guard. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m leaving.”

You try to push past him, but he sidesteps just in time to block your path again. He crosses his arms, shaking his head again. “One of the members stated you were doing something that hindered the band’s safety and wellbeing.”

You scoffed in disbelief. “That’s bullshit!” you snapped, your voice loud enough to draw a few looks. “I didn’t throw anything, I didn’t jump the barricade. I was just dancing like everyone else!”

“It’s true!” your friend chimed in, nodding in your defense.

The guard didn’t bother to argue. He just gave a half-shrug and reached out, his big hand wrapping around your arm as he started to steer you away.

“Hey!” you yelped, trying to pull free. “Hands off, creep!”

“Sorry, ma’am. I’m just doing my job,” he grunted, unbothered by your struggling.

“Jesus Christ,” you hissed under your breath. You twisted around to shout at your friends over your shoulder while you were being pulled away. “Wait for me in the car! This shouldn’t take long!”

“Okay… text us!”

As the guard guided you toward the side of the stage, you spotted John, Yelena, Ava, and even Alexei still out front chatting with lingering fans and packing up equipment.

There was only one member missing, meaning that Bucky was already backstage.

Waiting for you.

He led you down a narrow and dark hallway before stopping in front of a battered door covered with stickers and chip paints. He knocked once and waited for a moment before cracking it open and nodded for you to go inside.

You cross your arms, glaring at him. “This is ridiculous.”

He didn’t react. He gave you a little nudge between your shoulder blades, urging you to go through. With a frustrated sigh, you brushed past him and stepped inside. Prick.

As you enter, your breath gets stuck in your throat when you see Bucky. He sat sprawled on the edge of one of the couches, his guitar resting beside him, and a half empty water bottle dangling from his fingers. Up close, he looked rougher than he did under the stage lights. His dark hair was hanging loose around his face, some sweat was glistening on his neck and collarbones, and that damn black tee was clinging to his broad and beefy shoulders.

You knew all along that he was the one that sent after you, but still, seeing him right in front of you again after all these years did something to you.

Bucky looks up at you, his blue eyes softening once he meets yours. He pushes himself off the couch and makes his way towards you in slow steps.

“It’s been a long time, doll.”

Doll.

That old nickname that still sends flutters in your chest, the nickname that he always saved just for you.

He takes a step closer, and you instinctively take another step back. The door shuts behind you. “Did you come here just to see me, baby?” He asks, almost hopeful.

You suck in a breath. You hate how even after all these years, he still has an effect on you. Deep down, a part of you wonders how many times he called other girls he brought back stage ‘baby’ or ‘doll.’

You cross your arms tight over your chest to try to have some control. “I didn’t know you were part of the band.”

He lets out a quiet scoff, taking steps closer to you and closing the distance. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” he mutters, stopping right in front of you. “You always did have a habit of pretending you didn’t know me when it suited you.”

You narrow your brows, looking up at him. “Don’t turn this on me, Bucky. You know my parents didn’t approve our relation—”

Bucky cuts you off with a sharp and humorless laugh. “Your parents,” he spits out, like the mere thought of it disgusts him. “Yeah, doll. I remember. You always did what they wanted, didn’t you?”

You sneer at him. Entertaining him is the last thing you want to do, but it’s not like he waits for you to respond anyway.

He reaches out, catching the ends of your hair between his fingers. The sudden contact sends a shiver down your spine. Despite the petty tone in his words, his touch was gentle and delicate.

He was always gentle and delicate when it came to you.

“You’ve always been such a good girl,” he mutters, voice low and raspy as he plays with your hair. His gaze—almost pained, takes you in slowly, moving from the ends of your hair to your face. “My good girl.”

You suck in a breath, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment as you melt into his words—then to the warmth of his palm when he cups your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your skin. But you catch his hand before you can lose yourself completely, pulling it away from your face, your fingers trembling just slightly around his wrist.

“Bucky,” you say. “We can’t. It’s been too long. And I’m not going to be just another one of your fans you drag backstage for a quick fuck—”

Bucky’s jaw tightens as the words leave your mouth, and before you can finish, he shakes his head, cutting you off with his voice filled with frustration.

“Stop. Don’t say that like you were just some girl to me.”

His hand catches yours where it’s still holding his wrist, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. The blue eyes that you once loved—still do—are boring into yours so intensely that it makes your heart beat faster.

“Time doesn’t mean shit, doll. Especially not with you,” he explains, holding your hand tighter. “You think you were just another girl? You really think I’d look at anyone else, when I’ve already had you?”

He leans in closer, close enough to where his breath ghosts over your lips. “I haven’t been with anyone else. Not since you, even though it was years ago. And if you don’t believe me, ask Yelena, or Walker. Hell, you can even ask that damn security guard who drags the real groupies out when they try to sneak in my dressing room.”

Bucky raises one hand up, brushing your cheek again. You hate how easy it is for your body to just give up and melt into his touch.

“You’ve been it for me, baby. Only you,” he presses his forehead against yours, speaking quieter. “You’re the love of my life, and I always knew you would come back to me.”

“I didn’t come here to see you,” your voice was shaky despite your words.

“Yeah?” he chuckles, like even he knew that was bullshit.

His calloused and warm hand slowly trails down from your cheek down to your jawline, down to your neck, and to your collarbone. His touch was feather-light, yet it burned hot against your skin. He toys with the fabric of your top, his thumb brushing the edge of your bra where it peeks through just barely.

“So, you just happened to stumble into some dingy club on a Friday night,” he says, his voice deep with the rasp of longing. “Wearing this… dancing like that in the crowd…” his eyes flick down your chest, then back to your eyes, his blue eyes filled with a hunger you remember too well. “And you expect me to believe you weren’t here for me?”

Before you could say anything, his hands dropped lower. With one hand still fiddling with your blouse, the other holds onto your waist, giving you a gentle tug that pushes your body completely against his.

And just like that, a jolt of electricity ran through you after soaking in the familiar yet distant feeling of being pressed into his hard and big body.

“Say you don’t want this,” he dares you as he tilts his head, his lips brushing yours, just barely leaving enough space to not kiss you. “Say it, and I’ll let you walk out that door right now.”

But you both know you won’t say it. He knew he was being selfish. But having you here, with your hand fisting his shirt, your body pinned against his after all these years of no contact—how could he resist? He needed you. He yearned for you, and there’s no chance in hell he’s letting you slip away again.

“Bucky—”

“Are you seeing anyone?” he cuts in, his hand sliding down to grip your waist harder.

You swallow, shaking your head. “No. I’m not.”

A dark, satisfied chuckle escaped his lips, a mixture of a laugh and growl. “I fuckin’ knew it,” he huffs, his forehead pressing to yours again. “You were waiting for me, weren’t you? My good girl…”

He sees your resolve crumbling right before him, and he’s absolutely relishing in it. You knew that Bucky wasn’t the greatest influence back in your highschool days. Everyone around you warned you to stay away from a bad boy like him—your parents, your friends, and your classmates. He was reckless and dangerous. He was the boy who kissed you under the bleachers and dragged you into his fast scrap of a car and made you feel like the only girl in the world.

But you didn’t care. You never did. You always loved that about him, and many years later, you still do.

And you knew there was something else that Bucky always loved about you too.

You smirk, tilting your head so your lips graze the corner of his mouth without giving him the satisfaction of a real kiss. “Good girl?” you repeat, your voice soft yet teasing. “Who says I’m still your good girl, Bucky?”

His grip tightens, fingers digging into your waist. “Watch it,” he warns, but his voice is shaky and hungry.

You laugh, your voice low and raspy as your fingers toy with the collar of his shirt, tugging it just enough to run your fingers down his collarbone and feeling his beefy chest. You had to remind him who you were back then—who you still are.

“Why? Scared you can’t handle me anymore?” you taunt, lips brushing his jaw and feeling him shudder.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his hands already roaming over your body. One hand grips the back of your neck, the other sliding down to grab your ass like it belongs to him. “Keep talkin’, see what happens, baby.”

You grin, leaning back to look him dead in the eye. Your hands push under his shirt to feel the warmth of his skin. “What if I want to see what happens, baby boy?”

“Oh, doll,” he breathes hard, inching back closer to you. “God. I’ve been waiting so damn long to hear you call me that again.”

And before you could say anything else, Bucky’s lips crashed into yours. It’s intense, desperate, wet, and warm—all at once. His hands are roaming hungrily all over your body now. His rough and warm hands glide up and down your back, rubbing you desperately and pulling you closer against him so you can’t escape.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans as he licks his lips, tasting you. “You still taste just like I remembered. So sweet and delicious, and so fucking mine.”

He dips his head down, his hot mouth trailing to your neck where he drags his tongue over your skin. He covers your throat with wet kisses, biting and sucking hard enough to make you gasp.

Your head tips back, a helpless sound escapes your lips as your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging when he hits a spot that makes your knees weak. “Bucky…god. Baby—”

Bucky grunted against your mouth, his hands sliding back down to your ass and giving it another firm and possessive squeeze. “Fuck,” he growls, voice ragged. “You don’t know how much I missed hearing you moan my name like that.”

Before you could react, he moved his arms underneath you, hoisting you up against him in one swift motion. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist for support as he carries you to the couch with a sense of urgency. At the same time, his lips never left yours.

He plops you down on the couch with a soft thud, and he doesn’t give you a chance to even sit up as his hands continue to roam all over your body hungrily. He’s grabbing your waist, tugging your hair, his hands sliding down your thighs—feeling you, making you his.

He unbuttons the rest of your blouse, pulling your skirt up and growling when he sees your panties protected by the sheer pantyhose.

“Look at you,” he breathes. “Wasting your life away in the office, when you could be here, by my side…” his hands tug at the waistband of your pantyhose. He doesn’t even bother pulling it down. Instead, he rips it right off—baring your soaking wet panties to him. “By my side and all mine.”

“Bucky,” you pant, instinctively squeezing your legs together just to soothe that burning ache. “I can’t—I can’t be yours anymore. Our lives are too different—”

You're cut off with the feeling of his hands roughly pushing your panties to the side, fingers sliding against your increasingly wet slit. You let out a gasp, already feeling your untouched walls flutter at the mere contact. Bucky lets out a hungry growl as he slowly pushes two fingers past your entrance, fucking you with his hand at a slow, deep, and steady pace.

“You say that,” he grunts, the tightness in his pants becoming unbearable as he finger-fucks you. “But your body is accepting me so willingly. Like it misses me.”

You arched your back off the couch, fingers digging into his strong back. “Fuck… god, baby…”

Spurred on by your moans, he increases his speed, hitting your sensitive folds so sweetly with just his fingers alone. “Fuck, you’re soaking my fingers, sweetheart…” Bucky pulls his fingers out with a wet squelch. He brings his fingers to his tongue, licking them slowly. “I missed tasting you so much, my love.”

He pulls back just enough to begin unbuckling his studded belt, unzipping his dark jeans and pulling them down. He releases his throbbing cock out, enveloping his aching shaft with his large hand. He pumps himself a few times as he stares down at you with hungry eyes, his tip leaking with need.

You shiver, watching him with wide eyes and your lip parted in surprise. You couldn’t believe this. It’s been years since he’s been inside of you, yet your body is screaming, begging to be filled by him.

He leans down, guiding his aching tip towards your wet entrance. He rubs himself against you, soaking in your juices. “You used to always like it hard and fast,” he muttered. “Do you still want it that way, baby? Tell me.”

You nod weakly, his hands sliding up from your waist, to your breast, and around your neck. He applies the slightest pressure against your neck—making you gasp.

“Good girl,” he groans as he thrusts forward, pushing past your entrance in one steady slide—like you were made to take him. He shudders above you, his body collapsing on yours with one head still steady around your neck, applying enough pressure to make you pant now.

“Fuck!” he moans out, slowly moving his hips faster and faster and faster. He begins rutting against you, and your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, inviting him in deeper with each desperate thrust. “Takin’ me s’good baby, it’s like you never left me, huh?”

You don’t say anything, you just throw your head back, your eyes fluttering shut as you mutter curses and moans underneath your breath. His hands dig just a little deeper against your neck, making you moan and claw his back harder.

“That’s a good girl, fuck—my good girl…” he hissed, his lips peppering wet and sloppy kisses all over your face as he ruts into you wildly. “You’re already making such a mess, baby… look at you… dripping all over me and the couch.”

“Fuck… James!” you whimpered, your hands encircling around his wrist that’s holding your throat.

“Yesss,” Bucky hisses, his cock sliding in and out of you deliciously with wild abandon. The sounds of skin slapping against each other fills the room, the couch crying and creaking for help. “Say my name again, baby. I’m all yours.”

“James!” you moaned louder, holding him tighter against your body as you clench down on him when he hits your sweet spot with his tip. “Don’t stop, James! Oh, god… yes…”

Bucky moans, and slants his brows, looking at you with need and lust. “Fuck… thank you, baby. Thank you…” he praises you desperately and pathetically, like he’s been longing to hear you call him by his first name again.

With one hand still on your neck possessively, his other hand began wandering all over your body–groping your breasts, holding your waist, gripping your thighs, squeezing your legs… it was all too much for him. The feel of you, the scent of you, the sound of you, the warmth of you…

It was enough to make him spill right then and there, deep inside you.

“I’m gonna cum, babydoll—” he grunts, his hips moving faster. The throbbing and pounding from his cock against your tight walls fills you with overwhelming pleasure.

“Cum for me, James. God… I’m gonna cum too—!”

You clench down on him, your legs shaking uncontrollably as Bucky sends you over the edge. You were impossibly tight against him. He hissed, hardly being able to thrust any deeper with how sweetly you were gripping his cock.

Bucky throws his head back, his hands tightening on your throat slightly as he manages to hilt himself completely with one punishing thrust, spilling his hot and sticky seed deep inside your weeping pussy. “Fuck!” he moans, giving your hips a tight squeeze as he emptied himself inside you. “All mine…. all mine…” he says like a prayer as he slowly grinds his hips against yours.

You two laid like that for a moment, his large body enveloping yours in a sweaty and heated mess. He held you possessively, smoothing your hair down and pressing soft kisses to your jaw and neck—a contrast to how rough he was just moments before.

“Stay with me, baby,” Bucky murmurs against your skin, his knuckles brushing tenderly along your cheek as he looks down at you like you’re his entire world. “Don’t walk away from me again.”

“James…” you breathe out, a small frown pulling at your lips. “I can’t just drop everything. I have a job, a life—”

“Quit that damn office job,” he cuts you off, his thumb brushing your lower lip to keep you quiet. “Drop the good girl routine, come with me. Come on tour with us, live a little, baby. Be free with me.” He pulls back slightly so you can see the raw, desperate plea in his eyes. “Spend the rest of your life with the only man who’s ever really loved you. You know you want to.”

“I don’t know—”

“You know you want to, doll,” he mutters against your skin, his breath warm, his voice all gravel and longing. “We used to be so fun, baby. I could give you that life again. Say yes. Just say yes, and you’re mine again.”

And despite every argument you could possibly make, you knew deep down you couldn’t help it. Your face softens, your body relaxes into his touch. With a soft and helpless sigh, you lean into his hand.

Because after tonight, you knew you couldn’t live another moment without your long lost highschool sweetheart, Bucky Barnes.

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writtendaydreamm · 1 day ago

Text

Exam Room 6

Summary: A seemingly boring day at work takes an unexpected turn that could change Langdon’s life forever when he walks in on Y/n in Exam Room 6.

Word count: 8,959

Author’s note: Big thank you to @itsthelastcatastro-phe for submitting this idea.

Any comments and feedback are greatly appreciated!!

Restless and antsy, Langdon couldn’t keep still. Sat at the nurses station charting, his leg bounced up and down, up and down. He was never good with being idle.

The nearly empty energy drink on the desk wasn’t helping either. It probably wasn’t the best idea to have a second so soon after he finished his first, but it was just one of those days. It wasn’t even noon yet and he already needed a pick-me-up.

It wasn’t that the ED was slow—it never was. The waiting room was packed, they were short on beds, staff was stretched too thin. Pretty much business as usual.

But that was the problem.

These past few days he'd been blessed by the ED Gods getting to perform all the emergency -otomies—thoracotomies, tracheotomies, cricothyrotomies, you name it—that as a med student he’d have wet dreams about. Still high off the emergency fasciotomy he did yesterday, he hoped to ride this feeling straight into his weekend.

It wasn’t looking like that would be the case though. The minutes dragged, and so did the cases that came through. The most exciting thing to happen so far was the NG tube he put in and was charting now. Granted the day was still young, but the fact he even had the time to sit and chart goes to show just how slow time was going by. He needed something exciting and dramatic to happen, and soon.

Tossing the now empty energy drink in the trash can behind him, Langdon took the opportunity to scan the floor for any incoming EMS arrivals he could nab. What he ended up catching was the eye of an anxious looking intern.

Whitaker approached him needing help with his patient, a sixteen year old girl in Exam Room 6 with a facial laceration. Still just an intern, he needed an attending or senior resident to supervise the stitching.

It was just Langdon’s luck he happened to be the first one Whitaker spotted. Turning back to the computer screen to finish up his charting, Langdon scoffed to himself.

Great, babysitting.

—

One whiff was all it took.

The patient had barely unwrapped the tuna sandwich Y/n handed him when her throat started to contract and her mouth began to coat itself in saliva preparing itself for what was coming. Quickly excusing herself, she rushed to the nearest restroom.

Bent over the toilet, staring down at the contents of her breakfast, Y/n knew it was time.

She snuck into the first empty exam room she could find, closed the curtains and flipped the ultrasound machine on. Knowing she only had a few moments of privacy before someone would eventually need the room, she worked quickly. The cold gel smeared haphazardly across the bare skin of her stomach sent a chill up her spine. The chill spread rapidly across every inch of her body as the live imaging of her own uterus popped up on the screen.

She knew what to expect, even braced herself for it, but seeing it with her own two eyes was startling nonetheless.

Examining the embryo on the screen, she was left frozen in place seeing how much larger it was than she anticipated. A pit of dread opened in her stomach, growing wider and wider by the second, threatening to swallow her whole from the inside out.

When she first missed her period, she immediately entered denial. She pushed it out of her mind, refusing to acknowledge the slightest possibility of pregnancy under the superstitious notion that if she did, it would come to fruition—as if biology wasn’t the dictator of that. Even after the positive at-home tests, she continued to run and hide from dealing with this, telling herself she had time to think about what she wanted to do. That was until today of course, when a bout of morning sickness hit her hard enough to knock some sense into her.

Staring at the screen in front of her, there was no way she could keep avoiding this. Time was running out on the game of back and forth her heart and mind were having.

She needed to decide, before it was too late for to make a decision at all—was she keeping it or not?

—

Outside of Exam Room 6, Langdon could see the curtain inside was drawn closed. He figured it must’ve been one real gnarly gash on this poor girl’s face if they were hiding it from anyone on the outside looking in.

His knuckles knocked politely against the wooden door before entering to find an oddly quiet room. No voices, no rustling, not as much as a peep came from behind the curtain.

Langdon rolled his eyes thinking Whitaker must’ve given him the wrong location. Regardless, he announced himself before drawing the curtains open to check if anyone was there. Expecting to see an empty room, what he saw instead sent him into a state of shock.

In front of the ultrasound machine was Y/n, holding her scrub top up with one hand while the other held the probe against her lower abdomen, and on the monitor, the most jarring detail of all, was an embryo roughly 8-9 weeks along.

Y/n had been staring so intently at the monitor, the sound of her own deafening thoughts drowned out his knocks. It took his voice and the loud rattling of the curtain rings against one another to grab her attention. Turning over her shoulder to see him standing there wide eyed with his jaw on the floor, sent a wave of panic through her so strong she swore she would have thrown up right then and there if she still had anything left to throw up.

She put down the probe and shut off the machine in a hurry. But it was too little too late. The black and white image had already ingrained itself in Langdon’s mind.

In a rush to wipe the gel off her stomach, she cursed under her breath, getting it all over her hands. Langdon moved mindlessly, handing her more paper towels. As she took them from him gratefully, their hands brushed against each other, and like a jerk reaction, their eyes locked.

Always so confident and sure of herself, especially here at work, it was unnerving to see Y/n look like a deer in headlights. It brought Langdon back to their second year of residency—the only other time he can recall her looking as shaken as she was now—when she couldn’t remember if she gave the correct dose to the correct patient. Patient A in Central 8 needed 2mg of morphine and Patient B, just next door in Central 9, needed 0.2mg of dilaudid. It was late, they were all tired and Y/n panicked looking down at the empty vials in her hand worried she just gave Patient B 2mg of dilaudid instead of 0.2—a deadly dose.

Before him now, she was a spitting image of her younger self then, paled faced and trembling in fear. His initial shock wore off at the sight, and the gravity of the situation sunk in.

“You’re pregnant?” he blurted out in disbelief as the image of the embryo danced around in his head tauntingly.

He was really starting to regret those energy drinks right about now. All that caffeine and sugar exacerbated his body’s response to the stress and inhibited his ability to cope with it. His vision blurred for a second and a cold, nervous sweat spread across his back. His head was spinning trying to wrap itself around this bombshell. It would’ve been wise to wait for it to come to a still before he opened his mouth. But that sort of wisdom required patience, and at the moment he had none. He needed answers, now.

“How far along?”

She shrugged. “About 9 weeks?”

“When did you find out?”

Y/n inhaled sharply debating how to respond. The truth—that she’d been sitting on not one, but two positive at-home pregnancy tests for almost two weeks now—would undoubtedly send him reeling. She could lie and say she just found out. It would be much easier if she did. But her conscience was heavy enough with the guilt of keeping this from him. And now with the additional guilt of having him find out so unceremoniously? It was time to come clean.

A sick feeling rumbled in his stomach waiting for her to respond. “Y/n, when did you find out?”

"Not that long ago," she downplayed it.

“How long?”

“A week or so.”

“A week or so?”

“Maybe closer to two weeks actually…” she admitted in a low voice.

“Two weeks?” He blinked hard, waiting for her to correct him because surely he heard her wrong.

Her silence was all the confirmation he needed.

“Two weeks,” he repeated, mostly for himself as he processed what that meant.

Y/n watched with bated breath as his expression soured, going from confused, to offended before finally landing on anger.

His heart raced from both the energy drinks and his rising blood pressure. He pinched the bridge of his nose trying to take in a deep breath to blow out the anger he could feel starting to burn in his chest. But the fire was too wild to tame, and the breath he took only served to fan the flame.

“Are you serious?” he blew up. “You’ve known for two weeks, and haven’t said a word about it?” He went on before she could even get a word in. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why’d you keep this from me?”

Overwhelmed and frustrated, she cradled her head. This is why she didn't tell him. She had her own complicated feelings about being pregnant to sort through without having to worry about Langdon’s stake in all this as well.

“I don’t know. Okay?” she groaned. “It wasn’t exactly news I was ready to share with anyone else-”

“I’m not just anyone else, Y/n. I’m the father for fuck sake—I mean, I am? Right? The father?”

It was a low blow, and he knew that. There wasn't a doubt in his midn that the baby was his. But he was angry, and wanted to make sure she felt it.

And he succeeded. Y/n's eyes flashed red. “Wow. Really?”

“Or do we need to wait another couple weeks and do another set of tests till we know for sure?”

“Oh, that’s real fucking rich Frank.”

“No, Y/n. What’s rich is you always harping on about having open and honest communication, and then keeping a whole pregnancy from me. When were you gonna tell me, hmm? When you start showing? Or when you push out a baby in nine months?”

“I don’t even know if there’s even going to be a baby to push out in nine months,” she snapped.

The energy in the room shifted instantly. Her sobering words quelled the anger they’d both been spewing at one another.

Before either of them could say anything else, a staticky voice came on suddenly over the intercom.

Code Orange. I repeat, Code Orange. Calling all available staff, please report to the ED. Mass casualty incident, patients en route.

—

When Langdon said he wanted something exciting and dramatic to happen, he didn’t expect all this. Finding out Y/n was pregnant was enough excitement and drama as it was. To top it off with a mass casualty incident moments later was just rubbing salt in the wound.

But he asked for it, so the universe delivered.

Any prior concerns about the day dragging were put to rest. Time was flying by now, in a flurry of guts and gore. One of the city’s busiest highways collapsed sending more mangled and bloodied patients through their doors than he could keep track of.

The ED had transformed into one large trauma center, every corner, every open space occupied by machines, beds, patients and staff.

Stationed in the red zone—where triage sent patients with the most critical, life-threatening injuries—Langdon was right in the thick of it. Alarms and monitors going off. Cries and screams coming from all directions. Blood-covered staff yelling back and forth, struggling to communicate over everything.

He maneuvered through it all expertly, making tough calls others wouldn’t have the nerve to, flying by the seat of his pants as supplies dwindled. As morbid as it was to say, he should’ve been basking in the chaos, reveling in the rush. He couldn’t though, not fully.

Not when each time he took his eyes off the patient in front of him, they always found Y/n. No matter how far or near she happened to be. No matter how briefly he looked away. Like a compass always finds north, his eyes always managed to find her. His mind flashing back to Exam Room 6 and their conversation left hanging there, each time they did.

As Langdon stepped back from his patient, checking their vitals after securing a makeshift tourniquet on their leg, his eyes landed on her again. She was just two beds ahead of him working on a chest decompression.

Looking at her, he wondered how he had missed the signs. Replaying the past couple of weeks in hindsight, he realized the signs were definitely there. He just never gave any of them a second thought assuming there were reasonable explanations for it all. That time he caught her vomiting? The Chinese takeout that had been sitting in the fridge for the past week. The fatigue and headaches? Long hours at work. The out-of-character moodiness? Probably PMS.

Pregnancy never crossed his mind at all. Had he been subconsciously turning a blind eye? Or had he really just been that oblivious?

Either way, he didn’t deserve to find out the way he had. What he deserved was to hear it from her directly, as soon as she found out. He was the father of the baby and had a right to know. He wondered if he hadn’t walked in on her then, when would he have found out.

“Patient’s stable,” Mateo confirmed, grabbing Langdon’s attention.

Tearing both his eyes and mind off of Y/n, Langdon looked down at the patient's blood stained leg. The tourniquet had stopped the bleeding for now, but it won’t work for long. This patient needed an OR. He pulled up the bed rails, prepping to help move the patient towards surgery when Mel called out for help. Nodding at Mateo to take things from here, Langdon jogged over to Mel.

About to ask Mel what was going on, a voice he knew too well beat him to it. Standing at the foot of the patient’s bed was Y/n. The pair sized each other up. Even in the midst of all the pressure they were under, even with the events of Exam Room 6 on the back of both their minds, their competitive nature took precedence.

“Dibs,” Y/n said.

Langdon scoffed. “You don’t even know what we’re dealing with yet.”

“Don’t need to. The patient's impaled with a metal rod. I want it.”

“Too bad. I want it too,” he challenged.

Eyes locked, they dared the other to back down. Their steely stares were clearly more than just about the patient. Something Mel—who had been eyeing them both curiously—picked up on pretty quick.

It became clear neither of them were going to back down, so Mel went ahead and gave them both the rundown. The patient before them was brought in with a rod running right through his abdomen. He was stable upon rescue and waiting for an OR, but his blood pressure started dropping steadily.

“Seems like an internal bleed,” Y/n suggested.

“The FAST exam earlier was negative,” Mel said.

“The rod doesn't look stabilized though. Could’ve nicked a vessel if he shifted or moved. It’s gotta be tamponading something,” Langdon said. “What’s your next move, Dr. King.”

“Uh, let’s do another FAST again to rule out internal bleeding for certain,” Mel offered.

“What do you say Dr. L/n, should we do the FAST now or wait? Say, maybe two weeks?” Langdon asked, smothered in sarcasm.

Mel turned to him horrified at the suggestion.

“Just ignore him,” Y/n told Mel.

“You’re good at that aren’t you,” Langdon muttered.

“Just about as good as you are at being an asshole.”

Head whipping from Y/n to Langdon and back again, following their verbal volley, Mel tried to reel them back to the task at hand. “So, FAST exam—yes?”

“Well, what do you think, Dr. L/n?”

“I think you should grow up,” Y/n replied, rolling the ultrasound machine around the bed to Mel, shoulder checking him in the process.

Not expecting her to put as much power into it as she did, Langdon lost his balance for a second. He stumbled back a step bumping into Mateo walking behind him, who in turn bumped into Dr. Robby.

Having heard all of Y/n and Langdon’s conversation, Robby had enough. Busy bagging his patient he scolded them over his shoulder sharply. “Both of you grow up.”

Langdon and Y/n exchanged embarrassed looks as Robby went on about expecting more from senior residents. The shame stung but it was short lived as Mel brought their attention to the FAST exam results.

Taking a closer look at the screen, they spotted free fluid indicating the patient did indeed have an internal bleed. And like Langdon suggested, the rod itself must have been lodged right against the source of the bleed, acting as a plug, keeping the patient from bleeding out totally.

“Looks like it’s a slow bleed, if we can stabilize this rod and manage his vitals this till surgery takes-” Langdon was saying before the patient’s rough, bloody coughing cut him off.

The three stared at the patient in horror knowing nothing good could come from that. Immediately, monitors started going off. The patient’s jolting cough agitated the rod. What was a contained, slow bleed turned into a full on blood bath in a matter of seconds.

“He’s bleeding out fast. BP’s tanking now,” Mel said.

“Slow bleed you were saying?” Y/n jabbed at Langdon, before calling out for a crash cart.

Despite their bickering, the pair locked in immediately.

“I need two units of O-neg,” Langdon told the nurse jumping in to help.

“Get surgery on the line. They need to open up an OR, now,” Y/n instructed Mel.

Whatever personal issues they had with one another were pushed to the side. They worked together effortlessly, moving alongside each other with practiced coordination, like a dance only they knew the steps to. After piles of gauze, dressing, tape and honestly anything else they could get their hands on to keep the rod as still as possible, they managed to secure it in place, hopefully preventing any more damage.

The monitor’s beeps drilling in their ears finally stopped as the bleeding slowed and the patient's BP climbed towards an acceptable range.

“You two make a good team,” Mel beamed, securing the additional large bore IV on the patient.

Langdon shot Y/n a satisfied smirk.

Standing beside him, Y/n didn’t say a word, didn't even look in his direction. She didn’t need to though. The small smile breaking the straight face she fought to keep was enough for him. The friction between them was replaced momentarily with fondness. It was through toil and tears that they built the teamwork they had. The dizzying highs and devastating lows of their first few years of residency bonded them first as close colleagues, then as even closer friends, before their eventual and inevitable romantic relationship ensued.

“She’s right. We do make a good team,” he said.

He should’ve just shut his mouth there and let them have this moment. It was a much needed piece of positivity in all the suffering they were surrounded by, in all the uncertainty between them. But Langdon just couldn’t help himself. If he was anything, he was an incessant smartass.

“That is when we communicate at least,” he added.

Y/n threw her head back. The comment was unnecessary but more irritating than that, it reminded her of the one thing she'd been glad to forget. These past few hours working nonstop gave her the escape from reality she needed. She was too preoccupied to think about anything other than saving the lives in her hands. For just a little while, she could forget about the ultrasound, about the big decision she had to make, about Langdon, about all of it, and just focus on what she does best—her job. And until her job here was done, she was not willing to hear or discuss anything unrelated to that.

In her annoyance, she made a show of ripping off her gloves and isolation gown before walking away briskly.

“Is she okay?” Mel asked, worried she may have had a role in Y/n’s evident displeasure.

Watching Y/n disappear in the bustle of bodies and beds, Langdon sighed.

“I don’t know.”

—

Finally.

The relief Y/n felt finally getting to use the restroom was almost orgasmic.

The only way she was even able to hold it in as long as she had was because of all the adrenaline pumping through her. She’s had to pee for what felt like the past four hours now. And considering as of late, she’s been running to the toilet at least four times in one hour—just another early sign of pregnancy she'd been brushing off—it was needless to say her bladder felt like it was about to explode the second she burst into the restroom.

Washing her hands, she glanced at herself in the mirror. And what a vison she was. Flyaways stuck out any which direction. Sunken eyes accentuated by the dark circles forming from exhaustion. A dull ache pulsed on the soles of her feet having well surpassed her steps-per-day goal. She couldn’t imagine having to go through all this physical and emotional labor at work, then having to go home to labor over the unpredictable and demanding needs of a baby.

Her own words replayed in her head.

I don’t even know if there’s even going to be a baby to push out in nine months.

Looking at the facts, there was no way she could have a baby now. She and Langdon couldn’t keep that damn goldfish they won at the fair alive, how could they be expected to keep a baby alive. Let alone raise it without irreparably fucking it up somehow along the way.

Aside from that, having a baby now, at this point in her life, would flip her world upside down. Everything would change—her body, her career, her priorities, basically her life as she knew it—and not necessarily for the better.

The answer was obvious.

Except that it wasn’t.

The answer to life altering decisions like this were never laid out plainly in black and white. These decisions were painstakingly nuanced, painted with varying shades of gray.

This unexpected pregnancy was no different. It was like a blob of gray paint splattered across all her carefully planned brush strokes. And the man who walked through the bathroom door just as she was about to leave, was like a paint brush smearing that ugly gray across the canvas of her future, making a murky muddled-up mess of it.

“Are you alright?” Langdon asked.

Do I look like I’m alright, she thought. She almost said it too, still upset with him for the things he said to her and the way he had been acting. But hearing the genuine concern in his voice, she held back her bite.

“What, are you following me now?” she accused instead. First the exam room, now the bathroom. It was a valid question.

“I saw you rushing in here, I thought maybe something was wrong.”

"It's the bathroom,” she said matter-of-factly. “I had to use it.”

“Right…” he trailed off.

Sensing that there was more, much more, he was about to say, she started towards the door in hopes of getting by him before he could find his words.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me.”

She didn’t make it far before his hand grabbed her elbow, keeping her in place. “Don’t be like that, Y/n. Can we talk? Please.”

In the little bit of down time he had—between jumping from one patient to the next—he began to regret how everything went down in Exam Room 6, then with the impalement case. He let his emotions and his temper get the best of him. Embarrassed and ashamed about it all, he just wanted to clear the air. He hated when they fought.

Whenever they butted heads there was never a winner. Just two losers with throbbing head aches. And worse than the fighting was what came afterwards. The awkwardness, the tension, the skirting around each other. He couldn’t stand it. Like a shirt tag sewn in perfectly to poke at you every chance, Langdon learned early on to save them both the discomfort and just yank it out at the source straight away. And in this case, that meant talking things out as soon as possible.

Not exactly in the mood to talk, Y/n wanted to yank her arm out of his hand and storm out of there. But she didn’t. His hold on her was just too strong—literally but more importantly, figuratively. His pleading eyes, and the way her name slipped through his lips, dripping in desperation in that low voice that made her knees buckle, held her right where she was.

They should talk. They needed to. But this wasn’t exactly the time or the place to sort out their issues. While things had slowed down considerably out on the floor, they were still on the clock and not to mention in the middle of an active mass casualty incident.

“Can we just please get through this shift first?” she pleaded. “We have a lot to talk about that I don’t think we can get through in the span of a bathroom break.”

Langdon relented, nodding thoughtfully. He should’ve let her go then. Let them both get back to work. But his grip on her remained as he closed what little space was left between them. He expected her to run out the door and dodge his attempt at affection like she’d been dodging him all day on the floor. However, to his surprise, she stood in place as his other hand cupped her cheek, tilting her head up, urging her to see the apology written across his face.

Maybe it was the hormones, or the love in his eyes as he looked down at her like she was his whole world, or the way they were literally made for each other, their bodies fitting perfectly against one another as he pulled her into him. It was hard to say. But whatever it was, had Y/n leaning into his touch, chasing the familiar warmth of his embrace. Burying her face into his chest, the steady, calm beating of his heart eased the tightness in her chest. He rubbed her back soothingly, as her shoulders, tensed up so high they almost touched her ears, relaxed, falling in tandem with the long deep breath she let out. Having been in fight-or-flight mode all day long, there was nowhere else she’d rather be than here, in his arms.

And she hated it. Hated how being in his arms made her feel so content but somehow still so desperate for more of him. Hated how needily she clung onto him like he’d slip away if she let up. Hated how she could never stand her ground when it came to him. She was supposed to be mad at him. He had been mean, unprofessional, and just plain annoying. But how could she stay mad when he knew exactly how to comfort her, when he was probably the only one who could.

He wasn’t sure how long they’d been standing there like that. Time always seemed to suspend itself whenever they were in each other’s arms. He would’ve stayed there with her like this for as long as she’d let him. But she was right earlier—they still had a shift to get through. And the faster they get through it, the faster they’d get to finally having this much needed conversation.

“Alright. Let’s get back out there,” he said. Pressing a tender kiss on forehead, he released her from his arms reluctantly.

“At least things are winding down finally,” Y/n said, as they stepped back onto the floor.

But what they were met with was the exact opposite of that. Things hadn’t winded down—they were ramping back up. Doctors and nurses shuffled equipment around trying to accommodate the wave of new patients triage was sending in.

Y/n started to worry they'd been sent back in time somehow. Things were looking just as chaotic as they had when the first batch of victims came through. She asked Dr. Mohan, who had been zooming past them, what was going on. It turns out there was a whole busload of victims recently dug out of the debris by search and rescue coming through triage now.

Speed-walking to the nearest cabinet for fresh sets of PPE, Langdon whispered to Y/n. “Winding down, you were saying?”

—

The sun had already set by the time the morning shift finally clocked out for the day. Dark purples and blues painted the sky as they lugged one tired foot in front of the other, leaving the PTMC behind them to enjoy whatever was left of their day.

A group of nurses and doctors usually cracked a cold one at the park across the street after work. Especially so after rough, long shifts like this one.

Langdon joined in tonight, needing a bit of liquid courage. On the bench sitting beside Robby, Langdon tried to enjoy the banter and booze but he was only partially present. His mind was still stuck on Y/n, constantly craning his neck checking the hospital doors to see if she'd come out yet.

“Waiting for someone,” Robby teased, knowing exactly who that someone was. Glancing down at his watch, Robby let out at a curious hum. “She should’ve been out by now.”

Langdon shrugged, taking a swig of his beer at the mention of her. “She’s probably still charting. You know what she’s like. Always the overachiever.”

“You’re right about that,” Robby chuckled. “And that is exactly why I’ve been pushing her to apply for the PCCM fellowship over at Pittsburgh General.”

The warmth he was feeling from the alcohol turned cold.

“You have?” Langdon asked, unable to hide his surprise. Not at the fact that Robby would suggest such a thing to Y/n. Why wouldn’t he? She was the perfect candidate. No. Langdon was surprised because this was the first he was hearing about it.

Deep creases formed on Langdon’s forehead and Robby realized he might’ve just revealed something he shouldn’t have. Immediately, he went into damage control, not wanting to be the cause of a rift between the couple. “Yeah, but just recently y’know. She probably hasn’t even had the time to really think about it yet.”

“Right,” Langdon nodded unconvinced, mentally adding another item to the list of things Y/n had been keeping from him.

“Speaking of the devil,” Robby said, spotting Y/n walking towards the group.

Princess offered Y/n a beer from the cooler. The frosty can glowed pulling Y/n in, practically calling out her name. Without thinking she went for it. She needed this, something to take the edge off after everything today. About to click it open, she stopped herself right before the tab punctured the mouth open remembering that she was pregnant. How ironic that the exact reason she wanted the beer so bad was also the reason why she couldn’t have it.

Hiding her disappointment, Y/n handed the can back to Princess. “On second thought, I’ll pass,”

“You sure? It’s nice and cold,” Princess insisted, waving the can enticingly.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Not tonight,” y/n shook her head. “I actually just came looking for Langdon.”

Everyone whooped and hollered in good fun as Langdon got up to meet her. The group couldn’t pass up a chance to give their resident lovebirds a hard time. Little did they know the pair were already going through it, on the cusp of having one of the hardest conversations they’ve ever had.

—

Walking home was something Langdon and Y/n always looked forward to. All cozy and snug, his arm draped over her shoulders, hers wrapped around his back. Nothing but smiles and laughter, talking about what they should grab for dinner or debating who had the most gruesome case that day.

Tonight, though? The walk home was anything but cozy and snug.

The crisp evening breeze was cold enough without the frigid, awkward silence filling the large gap between them as they walked so far apart it almost looked like they didn’t even know each other. They’d only exchanged a few words. Langdon pointing out that divot on the sidewalk she always seems to miss. Y/n asking if he ate anything, offering him the granola bar in her bag.

Other than that, silence. It was suffocating.

All the thoughts, all the questions, all the feelings bottled up inside clawed relentlessly at his throat looking for an escape, desperate to be voiced. But he soldiered on—though he wasn’t sure how much longer he could—because as badly as they needed to have this conversation, it was best he let her start things off. He'd already shoved his foot in his mouth one too many times today as it was.

So he suffered in the silence, holding onto her promise that they’d talk about things once their shift was over. A promise she had yet to deliver on it despite being a few blocks away from the hospital and well past since their shift had ended.

Beside him Y/n could hear each of his angsty footsteps. She could feel the heat of his gaze as he'd peek at her from the side of his eye. She could see the vein on the side of his neck protruding ever so slightly from the strain of it all.

She wanted say something. But there was just so much to be said between them, Y/n didn’t even know where to begin.

Reaching a physical impasse, as an orange net enclosed a construction zone blocking their usual shortcut home, Langdon took it as a sign. They couldn’t keep going on like this.

Forced to close the gap between themselves, now practically glued together as the detour led them onto a narrow sidewalk, Langdon made an attempt at light small talk, hoping to ease into the real conversation they need to have. At risk of shoving his foot in his mouth again he—as lightheartedly and as politely as he could muster—asked her what held her up so long back in the hospital. It was meant to be an innocent question. Little did he know what a loaded question it actually was.

“I was up in the OB,” she paused, “Making an appointment.”

“For what exactly?” Langdon asked, stretching the words out slowly, hesitantly. Like he was afraid to ask, because honestly he was.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“You’ve had two weeks,” he scoffed under his breath.

It took two steps forward till he felt the loss of her presence, a gust of the wind blowing through the space beside him where she was supposed to be. He winced, tasting the bottom of his foot in his mouth again.

He didn’t mean to pick a fight. But in fairness, it was the truth. She’d known for two weeks now. Which he felt was more than enough time to think things through. It’s not like she could wait much longer anyway. If she was nine weeks along like she said, the window to make a decision was closing fast.

Turning to face her, he was met with her face scrunched in anger and annoyance.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he warned her. “You’re the one with an appointment you’re not even sure what for.”

That eye roll she gave him—as if he's in the wrong here—was all it took to push him off the edge. He wanted to go about this calmly, wanted to have a conversation not an argument. But he couldn't do it anymore. The eye roll unlocked the floodgates, letting loose everything he'd been holding in.

“You had two weeks,” he said, the words punctuating each step he took towards her.

Here we go, Y/n thought arms crossed, heels dug into the ground bracing herself for the onslaught. She just felt bad for whoever lived in the townhome they stopped in front of because they were about to get the brunt of it all too.

“Two weeks, Y/n?" he said, holding two fingers up for emphasis. "You had two weeks to tell me. And that's how I find out? Walking in on you giving yourself an ultrasound because some intern forgot what room he was in.”

“I didn't mean for you to find out like that,” she argued.

“Well how did you mean for me to find out? Matter of fact when? I mean were you even going to tell me at all? Do I not have the right to at least know?”

“Yes,” she said, “But it's so much more complicated than that. I still don’t even know what the fuck I’m going to do. There’s a lot of things I need to factor in-”

“Yeah, I know,” he interjected spitefully. “Like that fellowship Robby’s been pushing you to go for.”

Her stomach dropped. “How do you know about that?”

“It doesn’t matter how I know. What matters is that you didn’t tell me about that either,” he said sharply. “I mean what else are you keeping from me?”

“Nothing-”

“Are you sure? Because I don’t know how many more secrets I can take.”

Y/n's heart ached hearing the hurt in his voice. The angry yelling she could handle. But not this. She wasn’t ready for this.

“Frank,” she pleaded, trying to reach out to him. But he pulled back from her touch.

“I thought that we told each other everything. I don’t know what’s worse. You not telling me about the pregnancy, or you not feeling safe enough to come to me about this.”

“It’s not you,” Y/n tried to explain, swallowing growing lump in her throat, “Well, it is you. But not like that.”

“Then, like what Y/n?” he asked, throwing his arms out exasperatedly. “Because you’ve been basically lying to me for the past two weeks. Acting like everything is all normal and we’re all good. Meanwhile you were hiding these life changing decisions from me. The fellowship? The pregnancy?”

She was speechless, searching for the right words as he went on.

“I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure out why you would keep this shit from me. And I can’t understand for the fucking life of me Y/n. I really can’t. Did I do something to make you feel like you couldn’t tell me? Do you not trust me or something?”

“I trust you. I trust you with my life,” she said, finally and fervently. “It’s not you I don’t trust. It's me.”

Langdon shook his head at her incredulously, struggling to understand.

“I couldn’t trust myself to make the right decision if I told you about it because I already know what you’d want,” she explained. “So I kept pushing it off till I knew what I wanted before-”

“Woah, woah. You do not know what I want,” he corrected her sternly.

“I have a pretty good idea.”

“It’s real bold of you to tell me what I want,” he argued, growing upset by her baseless presumption.

“I see that look on your face whenever your with your nieces and nephews, whenever there’s a baby within a 10 foot radius.”

“What face? I don’t make a face.”

“Yes you do,” she insisted. “A face like you can’t wait to have your own.“

Then it clicked. Her words and her actions all started to make sense.

They’d talked about kids before and while, yes he’d expressed how much he oved kids and looked forward to being a father one day, ultimately they were on the same page and in no rush.

Neither of them were ready for the responsibility, the sacrifice, the lifelong commitment having a kid meant. So the fact she was pregnant had him scared shitless. They weren’t married yet—not even engaged. Rather than a house, with a white picket fence all they had was a one-bed-one-bath apartment with a rusty fire escape. They both worked crazy, long hours. Both had a couple more years of residency left to finish. They had no business having a baby.

And all that to say, even despite every reason they shouldn't, the thought of having a baby with Y/n made his heart swell big enough to think maybe they should. Imagining a little human with the best of her and the best of him. His eyes, her hair. His nose, her lips.

He can’t deny he wanted that. And he also can’t deny that it would be shitty to be presented the possibility of having that, only to have it ripped from him.

But he would never, ever impress his own wants onto her or pressure her into anything. It was her body and her choice. He would respect whatever she decided. She had to know this.

“Baby, you know I would never ever make you do anything you don’t want to do-”

“No, I know that. I know you would never do it intentionally,” she assured him. “But knowing how much you want this? I can’t bear you resenting me if I decided not to keep it.”

Langdon shook his head hard, mouth open ready to disagree but she didn’t give him the chance.

“Even if you say you won’t, you will, at least a little. So I couldn't tell you till I was sure one way or the other, because if I told you, and I saw your eyes light up even the tiniest bit, the decision would’ve been made right then. There’s no way I could take this away from you.”

“Y/n, listen to me,” he said, grabbing her shoulders, forcing her to face him, to see how gravely serious he was. “Fuck me. Alright? Fuck me. Fuck my feelings. Fuck whatever you think I want.

“I am a nonfactor in this decision. And I will support you whether you decide to keep it or not. Do I want to have kids with you? Yes. God, yes. I wanna have as many kids with you as you’ll let me. But only if you want to have them, and whenever it is you want to have them.”

Tears brimmed her eyes as he went on.

“You being pregnant now doesn’t change my mind about that,” he swore. “I promise you, I could never resent you for making the best decision for yourself.”

The streetlight above cast a shadows over her face hiding the tears that fell. But he caught them anyway, wiping them gently with his thumb as he held her face.

“I love you, Y/n. And all I want is the best for you—whatever that is.”

Too choked up by her own sobs to reply, she simply nodded. Her tears stained his jacket as she rode out the wave of emotions that tore through her, pressed against his chest. Langdon’s arms held her impossibly close, continuing to assure her.

“I’ve got your back. No matter what.”

—

Shit.

Langdon was late. Tugging on the stethoscope around his neck, he paced in the empty elevator.

He was only going up five floors but it felt like fifty. The digital screen above took an excruciating amount of time to change from one floor to the next. Langdon glared at it wondering how they could possibly have such a slow elevator in a trauma hospital where time was always of the essence. Before he could harp on it further, the doors finally opened up to the OB.

Sparing a glance at his watch, he began jogging through the halls, mentally beating himself up for letting time slip away from him.

He doesn’t know how, when he had been actively checking the clock every other minute. But things happen scary fast down in the ED. Some days, you blink and an hour passes.

He was right in the middle of a hip reduction with Collins when he spotted the clock from across the room showing it was already 1:51.

Y/n’s appointment was at 2.

Collins gave him a funny look when he asked her—though it wasn’t much of a question, more so him just telling her—to take things from here. She pushed him for details, not falling for his excuse of needing a lunch break—he never ate lunch. Already halfway to the door, he waved her off pretending not to hear what she was saying.

The OB floor was quiet and calm. The total opposite of the noisy chaos he was used to in the ED. It only served to worsen the nerves already starting to take hold of him.

Hoping to still find y/n sitting there in the waiting room, instead he was met with strange stares from a bunch of pregnant women as he barged in suddenly and out of breath.

Shaky hands smoothed down the mess of dark hair that had fallen out of place in his haste as the nurse led him to the exam room y/n was waiting in.

His nerves intensified seeing y/n laying on the exam table peacefully. Eyes closed, hands clasped together resting on her stomach. No one would’ve guessed she was moments away from making a life altering decision. He promised to be here for support. But what kind of support was he if a) he was late and b) more nervous she was.

“You’re late,” she said, not bothering to open her eyes.

Despite the annoyance in her voice, she didn’t turn away when he pressed a kiss to her head. He was about to apologize and explain his tardiness when two loud knocks came from the other side of the door.

Shortly after, an ultrasound tech walked in with a smile, greeting them both as she took her place behind the ultrasound machine. She and Y/n went over her vitals and medical history before beginning.

Langdon squeezed y/n’s hand for support. Whether it was more for him or her, he wasn’t entirely sure. He just knew that in that moment it felt right.

“Before I start, would you like me to keep the sound on or off?” the tech asked Y/n.

Many undecided mothers understandably choose to keep the sound off so as to not hear the baby’s heart beat. He wondered if she’d do the same.

Glancing down at her, he searched her face for an answer. She hadn’t yet revealed to him her decision or if she had even come to a decision at all. And he didn’t ask.

In the days leading up to today, he respected the space she needed to think things through on her own. He was there for her when she needed a shoulder to lean on or to cover her tears in. But beyond that, as hard as it was, as much as being left in the dark was killing him, he held back. His only concern was ensuring she knew she wasn’t going through all this alone.

He tapped his foot in suspense waiting for Y/n to answer the tech. The options ware simple, one syllable each, either on or off. But one of those syllables had the power to change both their lives forever. He was literally moments away from finding out if he was about to become a dad or not.

Regardless of what she decides is best for her, he was going to be right here, right by her side, supporting her. He squeezed her hand again, reminding her of just that.

Her hand squeezed back as she responded to the tech. “Sound on.”

The words blew through him like a gust of wind, knocking him off kilter, sending him free falling off the ledge he’d been teetering on. Time, which had been moving punishingly slow, was now moving at warped speed. Everything happened so fast, it nearly gave him whiplash. One second the tech was just plopping a generous blob of gel on Y/n’s stomach, then the next she’s pointing out the embryo’s growing limb buds on the screen and before he knew it the sound came on.

His hand gripped Y/n’s so tightly he worried he was hurting her when he first heard it.

Thump-thump.

Instinctively, he and Y/n looked at one another, hearing the steady heartbeat—their baby’s steady heartbeat. It was one thing to see it on the screen, but hearing it too made it all that more real.

As the tech exited, it was just Y/n, Langdon and the printed ultrasound picture in his hand left in the room as they waited for the doctor to arrive. Looking down at the picture, he tried not to get too emotionally invested just yet. While Y/n opting to hear the heartbeat was a sign she wanted to keep the baby, he needed to hear those exact words from her himself.

“So you’ve decided?” he asked gently.

She nodded silently.

“You want to have the baby?”

She nodded again. But he wasn’t convinced and it didn’t look like she was either. Part of her looked like she wanted to back out while the other wanted to go all in. The conflicting look on her face—one of simultaneous awe and terror, equal excitement and anxiety—had his stomach in knots.

“Are you sure about this?” Langdon asked earnestly, brushing his thumb over hers.

This decision, whichever path she went down, there’d be no turning back from. She’ll have to live with it, it’s consequences and the regret that may follow for the rest of her life.

His words echoed in her mind. Was she sure about this?

“Not at all,” Y/n said honestly.

Langdon was seconds away from taking a steep nose dive down the roller coaster of emotions he was on, when the brakes slammed suddenly as Y/n let out an involuntary snort.

She never would’ve thought she’d be where she was right now—in the OB, 9 weeks pregnant, having an ultrasound done. It wasn’t funny necessarily, but it was kind of comical. Just when she thought she had it all figured out, her next steps all planned perfectly, life threw her this insane curve ball.

The thought turned her snort into full on laughter and soon enough Langdon was laughing along with her. Their laughs bounced off the walls replacing the sound of the baby’s thumping heartbeat that had been stuck in his head.

It felt so good to laugh, to let out the breath he’d been holding in since the moment he walked in on her in Exam Room 6, the moment he found out she was pregnant.

As they settled down, Y/n squeezed his hand pulling his attention.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be sure, or that there will ever be a right time,” she paused, her voice melting into soft sincerity, “But I am sure that I don’t want to do this with anyone else but you. And I don’t want to wonder what if. So fuck it. We’re having a baby.”

In an instant the burden of uncertainty that he’d been carrying was lifted off his shoulders. The relief didn't last long as the burden of his new reality, of being a soon to be father, quickly took its place. But this one he didn’t mind shouldering. In fact he was happy to.

Brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear, he studied her face, wanting to commit every detail of this moment to memory. Her fresh, flowery scent filling his lungs. The way the edges of her eye crinkled as she looked up at him. And her lips, pillowy soft and parted into that smile that melted heart.

Looking at her, he couldn’t help himself. Whenever they were this close, he never could. He leaned down as Y/n shifted, sitting up straight, eager to meet him halfway. Their lips met hungrily, starved of each other’s taste these past few days.

Her hands raked through his hair, resting at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, deepening their kiss. Their tongues moved against each other, guided by the heat of their emotions. He pulled her by the hips to the edge of the table, slotting himself between her legs.

With her hands roaming his chest and her hips rocking ever so slightly against him, Langdon had half a mind to lock the door, lay her back on the table and ease the growing tent in his pants. But listening to the rational half of his mind, remembering that’s how they ended up here in the first place, he pulled back.

Forehead resting against hers, hands squeezing her thighs to ground himself, he sought reassurance once more, “We’re really having a baby?”

Y/n laughed, lips brushing against his as she answered.

“We’re really having a baby.”

#dr langdon x reader #frank langdon x reader #langdon x reader #the pitt fanfiction #frank langdon #the pitt x reader

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writteninthebinds · 2 days ago

Text

Tommy and Joel Miller nsfw.

Pt. 2 of “You think they’d make me choose?”

The ride back to Jackson is uneventful, although quiet. Dina throws you a few silent looks. You both shrug your shoulders as if to say what’s their deal?

Luckily, forever the extrovert and queen of I’ll talk myself out of this, Dina does. She talks and talks and ask questions the whole ride back. The weed is a sweet kindling for her attitude, her energy.

She ask Joel about the latest things he’s been building for himself, his woodworking. She gets Tommy talking about his rifle too and the last time he got to go practice long range.

Dina doesn’t miss a beat. She never acknowledges the difference in tension, the thickness in the air. You can feel their eyes on you, peering back ever so often, lingering.

You tell yourself it’s just because you’re being a little more quiet than normal. You know them, how they worry and pick up on any little thing.

Deep down you know you’re wrong.

It’s not until later, until you get back to Jackson, with the horses put away and fed, sun setting fast behind the mountains. It’s not until you’re finally back in your house, standing in front of your fridge, that there’s a soft knock at the back door.

A peek through the curtain shows Joel. He gives the smallest hint of a smile, nods.

You pull the door open with a sigh, the words already tumbling out of your mouth as you start to explain, “Listen, Joel..I know, I know how you feel about the weed..”

Your sentence trails off into the frigid air of the night when you notice it’s not just Joel, but Tommy too.

He stands a little farther back, leaning against one of the pillars of your porch, shoulders dusted lightly with fresh snow. Tommy’s got this look on his face that you can’t read.

Your body language drops, face pulling back. A scoff shoves past your lips as you say, “Oh come on, I’m not in that much trouble, am I? Over a little weed?”

“Ain’t here about the weed.”

His response is immediate, kicks your words in the heels with how fast and sure it comes.

Joel’s voice is unnervingly warm despite the cold. There’s no clattering of teeth or stutter to his breath. It’s just smooth, like velvet, like syrup. Something about it heats your belly from the inside out.

You stand there frozen for a moment. The looks on their faces, the lack of words, it scares you a little.

They notice. They always notice.

Joel hums, drawing your attention back to him from where your eyes had drifted to Tommy.

He gives you a blinding smile. It’s brief, but one that could melt the panties off of a nun.

“We just wanna talk, ‘s all.”

You blink. Swallow.

But before you can say anything else, Joel’s coming in. The steps he takes are dominating. He walks you backwards into your own house without a hand on you.

“Joel.”

You breathe his name more than speak it.

He doesn’t stop.

The fuzzy socks on your feet slide easily against the hardwood floors of your kitchen. Joel’s boots echo loudly, thumping against the wood.

The Miller brothers are not small men. Joel towers over you, shoulders broad enough to cast shadows over your entire frame.

The sound of more steps follow you both inside. Tommy’s.

A soft thud, a click. The door shuts.

Locks.

There’s a thundering in your ears, bending sound and muffling everything. It takes you a minute to realize it’s your heartbeat.

Joel crowds you until your lower back collides with the kitchen island. He cages you in, smelling like winter and smoke and the bay hale from the barn. Cold fingers clasp your jaw, puckering your lips. He gets close. He gets in your face.

“Tell me you meant it,” Joel rasp.

The words sound like they’re being scrapped from his throat. Raw and ragged. He breathes heavily through his nose.

There’s something raging in his eyes. It’s not arrogance or cockiness lacing Joel’s words. He’s not angry. No.

He’s desperate.

He looks like he’s barely holding back.

You try to shake your head, jaw still held tight. Your lips open and close in confusion. Eyebrows drawn, your gaze flickers to Tommy.

He steps closer, slower than Joel had. Who doesn’t budge by the way. No. He stays crowded in, all while Tommy joins.

Your heartbeat jump starts, back fires like a shit box car behind your breastbone.

With gentle fingers, Tommy pushes a few stray hairs from your eyes. His southern accent digs deep, rich and decadent when he finally, finally, speaks.

“All you had to do was ask, sweet girl…If you wanted us both. All you had to do was ask.”

It clicks then.

Panic floods your veins like ice water, but then Tommy’s mouth is on yours.

It’s a whirlwind, a heady combination for one hell of a high. The feeling of Joel’s grip stays on your face, his body heat bleeding into you, but it’s the warmth of Tommy’s mouth that meets yours.

You open up for him immediately, lips parting. Kissing Tommy feels as easy as breathing. Like crisp mountain air, a gentle creek, lazy Sundays. He smells like cinnamon, tastes like whiskey, like they had a drink before they came here.

The kiss is languid. You know it’s barely a fraction of what Tommy’s feeling, but you don’t have time to ask for more, or time to even open your eyes before Joel’s twisting your head, and slotting his own mouth over yours next.

This kiss is different. Joel’s different. He’s more..intense.

It’s still slow but it’s deeper, like he’s trying to swallow you whole, breathe you in. He tastes like whiskey too, and something else, something spiced.

And that’s how you ended up here.

Your head spins, heart slamming against your ribcage with the same rhythm that your pussy throbs.

Bare legs stretched wide and draped over the outside of Joel’s thick thighs. Your back sits flushed with his chest. You’ve never felt anything like this. The way he holds you. It’s not rough. Hands built from years of hard work, a lifetime of violence, they caress you, sweep along your ribs and belly with a soft reverence.

And Tommy..

Tommy’s facial hair scrapes against your bare pussy. He drags the flat of his tongue from your hole to your clit, again and again, like he’s trying to lick right through you.

A moan slips from your throat, head falling back against Joel’s shoulder. He lets out a little teasing laugh, nose brushing the delicate line of your jaw.

Joel purrs, “You like his mouth, pretty girl?”

Tommy Miller is on his knees, eating your pussy like he’s starving for it, like you’re something to worship, all while you sit in his brother’s lap.

Wild black curls fall loose from his ponytail. His own eyes are blown wide, something dark swirled within. He hums straight into your sopping wet cunt.

Your nails dig into Joel’s arm where he holds you steady. You whimper, “Oh fuck. Joel..”

He coos at you, Joel, a little mockingly as he whispers, “I know, baby. I know. Who do you think taught him how to eat pussy like that?”

Joel pinches one of your nipples before he ask softly, “You want more?”

Like a cue, Tommy’s tongue isn’t the only thing touching your pussy anymore. He pulls back, bringing his fingers up and splitting them into a V, spreading you open.

You squirm, and whine a little when Tommy just holds you there and stares.

There’s a heavy beat of silence, a pause.

And then Tommy spits audibly.

Right onto your pussy.

It’s nasty, dirty. It makes your cheeks flush and burn. It even drags a moan from Joel, and it’s like he can’t stop himself anymore.

“Fuck..let me feel her,” Joel grunts.

His hand is sliding down before the words finish leaving his mouth. He was never asking.

Calloused fingertips slip over your clit just as two thick ones push inside. They both curse beneath their breath and yours is stolen from you.

A beautiful stretch that rearranges your mind, your priorities. One that leaves you wondering why you don’t spend all your time like this. Hell, quit your damn job just to stay stuffed full of these beautiful, beautiful men.

There’s a chuckle that rises from beneath you, warm breath that ghost over the wet skin of your inner thigh. Tommy presses a kiss there, eyes playful and sparkling up at you when you manage to unroll your own.

Tommy’s voice is teasing, “If that’s the way you react to just two of my fingers, sweetheart..”

A bone deep shiver runs through you. A blissful little smirk blooms on your face.

You already sound wrecked, voice shaky when you ask, “What? You don’t think I can take cock?”

Simultaneous moans bounce off the cabinets of your kitchen, making you giggle. Joel gives your pussy a light slap, mouth right by your ear when he promises, “You’ll take them either way..won’t ya, baby? You’ll give us whatever we want?”

Tommy curses, feeling you clench around his fingers. You turn your head as much as the position allows, nose bumping somewhere near Joel’s beard before he leans forward. Slick mouths brushing, tongues swirling. You whimper for him.

Your eyes are glazed when you pull back, when you answer boldly, and honestly.

“…Give you whatever, let you both take whatever you want. Just use me,” you breathe.

That shifts something. All the oxygen gets sucked from the room. You feel it crackle and split the air. Tommy and Joel go tense, and then they melt, groaning like you’ve promised them both heaven and hell.

Joel’s hands are already gliding back up your body, wide and firm, finding the heated skin of your exposed chest, your hard nipples. He sounds different now.

“Make her cum,” he demands.

And you feel bold, a little head-rushed and giddy. So with your fingers still buried in Tommy’s hair, you tug hard.

“Yeah, make me cum,” you tease.

Tommy’s eyes snap like a whip with how fast they fly to yours. A shocked bark of a laugh burst from his mouth. You watch in real time as Tommy’s demeanor changes. Like a door opening or a thin curtain being drawn back, the warm light of your kitchen reveals something dark there. Your blood chills.

Joel chuckles behind you, spilling words of warning into your ear.

“Oh, you shouldn’t na done tha’ sweet girl.”

Still locked in the strangest, horniest, staring contest with Tommy, you ask quickly, “Why?”

Joel’s chest rumbles with more amusement.

“Cause he’s gonna wreck that pretty cunt now. Just remember you asked for it.”

And that’s the last thing that’s said before Tommy curls his fingers, with just a little cruelty. He digs into that spongey spot inside you, pulls at it, like he’s gonna pull his fingers out but he doesn’t. The motion tries to jerk you down Joel’s body with the force of it, but he holds tight.

Your pussy screams, squelches and drips, and talks to Tommy in the filthiest manner. He pivots. Pulls away from the spot that’s bound to bring you release, and he buries his fingers as far as they’ll go. He adds another, making your guts jump.

Three deep and dragging deliciously against your inner walls, the heat of his mouth returns as well.

“T-Tommy,” you gasp. Your nails scratch his scalp. He growls into your pussy.

It’s contradictory. Fingers ruthless, rough and speeding up, versus the steady suction on your clit.

It bows your back, heats your belly but cools your skin. Tommy suckles on your clit in sweet steady pulses, like it’s candy coated and like he’s got no where else to be.

You feel it, hear it too. It’s shameful. The noises he’s pulling from your mouth and your cunt. The soft but persistent torture to your nipples from Joel only douses everything in gasoline, building onto that fire in your belly.

It’s hot and sharp. This isn’t an orgasm you’re giving anymore, but one that Tommy’s hell bent on taking. His knees ache from the floor but it’s distant, numb, like he can’t really feel it. All he knows is the taste of you, and your orgasm that’s just out of reach. It’s close enough to nip with his teeth.

He pulls back suddenly and quick, delivering a single loud, hard and echoing slap to your clit. It sings, and he soothes it almost immediately with his tongue.

The sparks light up behind your eyelids and hipbones. Tommy’s fingers catch one last time, shoving hard and grinding against that ridge.

Like glass, you shatter. Thighs shaking, lungs tightening with the pleasure. You cum hard and messy on Tommy Miller’s tongue. He drinks all of it.

You come back to reality with the soothing motion of Joel’s palms running up and down your ribs. His beard tickling your shoulder.

There’s a smile on his face even though you can’t see it. He’s slowing everything down. He hums, “Breathe, baby. Just breathe.”

Your eyes crack open, limbs heavy and fuzzy.

Tommy’s finally slipped from his knees to sitting on the floor completely, leaning back against the kitchen island. He hadn’t stopped, shoving you further and further into your orgasm when it hit, and he played with your pussy, cleaned you up until you were shaking and jerking in Joel’s lap.

He looks wrecked, almost high. For the first time, you see the hard line of his cock still trapped behind the zipper of his jeans. You can feel Joel’s pressing into the small of your back.

You heave a breath, a cracked hum slipping from your chest as you turn your head to Joel. You bury your face into the space beneath his jaw, nuzzling him like a needy kitten. The words finally come.

“More..can we..?”

He answers with a tightening squeeze of his arms, “Yeah? You sure, baby?”

You nod quickly but soft, almost shy. Joel chuckles at your sweet sated behavior. He delivers two firm pats to your hip before ordering you, “You can have more, sweetheart. Thank Tommy first.”

And just like that, you’re slipping from Joel’s lap. Tommy practically has to catch you as you drop to meet him on the floor. Your legs are still trembling.

Tommy’s got this starry look on his face now, like he loves seeing you like this, post orgasm, all cuddly, a little silly. The crinkles by his eyes are prominent as he smiles.

“Hi,” you whisper.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he whispers back.

You kiss him this time. Quick, before he can take charge. His beard is still soaked with your juices, slicking your own face when you crash your mouths together. You moan at the taste of yourself. Tommy groans at your desperateness, at the way you chase the taste of your pussy on his tongue, like it turns you on.

He has to grip your jaw, rip you away when his lungs burn too deeply. You fight him, trying to pull him back.

“Easy..easy, sweet girl. You can have all you want. I’m not going anywhere,” he promises against your lips.

And then you’re being lifted. Joel’s arms slip beneath your knees and your back, carrying your naked body towards the hall that leads to your bedroom.

This ended up being way longer than I thought it’d be. I tagged a few people who wanted part 2. Might eventually make an actual tag list. Let me know if you’d like to be on it! Thank you guys. 🫶🏼

Pt. 3 of what goes down in the bedroom??? 😏

#joel miller #game joel #joel miller drabble #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel tlou #tommy miller #tommy miller fanfiction #tommy miller fic #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller the last of us #tommy miller tlou #tommy miller smut #the last of us #tlou #tlou2

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truuskn · 2 days ago

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HEY HEY HEY HOLY CRAP why didn't anyone tell me that these two got 2 PAGES of interaction in the new comics!!!! omfg!!!! i'm having a heart attack!!!!!

this will make a fiiine addition to my collection <3 (to my pathetic little collection as over the years they have accumulated at most like 2 minutes of time together)

WHILE WE'RE HERE DID YOU KNOW I LOVE THOSE GUYS TO D E A T H?? DID YOU?? MAYBE YOU MISSED IT???

ALSO WHILE WE'RE HERE LET ME REMIND YOU ABOUT THIS MARVELOUS SCENE:

oh i love this moment so so much 😭 i love the way prowl greets elita with pure delight and excitement and a wide-wide smile and ohhh the way she laughs and walks up to him and immediately clutches him tightly in her arms and twirls him around MY GOD! please i beg you i beg you i need to know their history i want to know their past you can't give me this and then take it away forever you're drive me crazyyyy

my sweet little gremlins 🥹🤲

#i think i'm about to start believing in the supernatural as i'm getting content with these two for the second year in a row now #elita one #tf elita one #prowl #tf prowl #maccadam #transformers #tf

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apresshampoing · 3 days ago

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YOOOOO INTRODUCING MY BULLY OC !!!!

Meet Kirsten my daughter!!!!!! (I also have a son in the making hehe)

I’ve been lurking for a while and been wanting to make an OC so here i am <3

More info under the cut!!

❀ Kirsten Gilmore (16 ½, half is important. she will correct you.) ❀

born in Scotland in the freakin highlands. her family owns like 80 acres of land and sheep that have better genetics than most Bullworth students.

moved to the US at ten. still has the accent when she’s mad or wants to sound mysterious.

family = loaded. old money vibes. her dad runs some transatlantic cattle business and her mom looks like she’s in a perfume commercial but only ever says three words per day.

Legacy Baggage: Callum Gilmore

her brother. seven years older (24).

went to Bullworth but only for his last year. everyone loved him. he was everything, funny, golden boy, tall, charming, unnervingly good at poker.

now works as a nurse at Happy Volts.

still OBSESSED with Kirsten’s life. sends letters. shows up at school unannounced. thinks he’s helpful. he’s not. he is, however, the only person she genuinely loves more than herself. they trauma bonded in the Scottish woods one time during a sheep stampede and now she’d literally kill for him.

“Miss Piggy”

okay. look. yes. she once tried to smuggle her precious son, Hamlet the piglet, into Bullworth. I mean Chad can have Chester right???? so obviously Hamlet gets a pass too…

she crocheted him a little Aquaberry sweater with a crest.

he got loose. chaos ensued.

Hamlet is safe at home now, she learned her lesson.

now, everybody calls her Miss Piggy. she says it’s because they’re intimidated by a girl who is both well-fed and emotionally complex.

the name stuck, but lowkey… she’s reclaimed it. owns it.

Clique: PREPS

she's deep in the Preps clique but she’s considered like a third cousin or something. still wears the pastel cashmere and pearls though, it's cute af.

Tad thinks she’s “oddly aggressive, but charming in a deranged Scottish way.” he’s scared of her, she likes that.

Derby finds her tiresome and unpredictable. he tolerates her because of her family name and past prestige. she has dirt on him. he liked the piglet and they both know it. she will fight for Hamlet don’t even joke about that.

started the Etiquette Club with Pinky because they bonded over makeup, gossip, and pretending to be more cultured than they really are. the club has currently two (2) members right now. guess who. (probably the reason why Gary’s rumors are being spread so fast…)

Other Cliques & Why She’s Complicated

Greasers: absolutely NOT her type. she says things like “I can smell the motor oil from here.” BUT she lowkey dreams of a forbidden romance with one... she writes angsty poetry in her diary about “a boy who smells like gasoline and heartbreak.” would rather actually combust than admit she finds them kinda hot.

Nerds: she talks to them sometimes when she’s overwhelmed, because they somehow get the eye twitch thing. gives Melvin unsolicited advice on skincare.

Bullies: Russell once carried her to class when she twisted her ankle. she’s forever loyal now. bakes him shortbread cookies on Thursdays. she keeps her distances with the others though.

Jocks: neutral. she finds Ted repulsive but talks to Kirby because he complimented her handwriting once. still thinks they’re all emotionally repressed golden retrievers.

Townies: absolutely fascinated by them. they don't talk much though.

Personal Tidbits & Quirks

obsessive about control. probably has OCD, but undiagnosed because her family just calls it “being particular.” her eye twitches like crazy when feeling big emotions, it’s a family thing don’t worry.

addicted to her little compact mirror and mascara. reapplies it every period like a compulsion. even during fights.

keeps a planner. color-coded. you don't want to see what happens when she loses her planner.

do not ask if the mole is real or not she will bite you.

oddly knowledgeable about pigs.

secretly romantic, violently protective, and two seconds from a full mental breakdown at any given time.

writes letters to Hamlet and gives them to him when she comes home for the weekend. he eats them.

#bully scholarship edition #bully canis canem edit #bully oc #bully cce #bully se #bully rockstar #so what you thinking mister raggedy man doing all you can to look like raggedy ann

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deukae-verse · 3 days ago

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✧ Requiem of the Honmoon | KPOP DEMON HUNTERS AU

SYNOPSIS. Before there were hunters. Before there were idols. Before the Honmoon ever shimmered in the sky—There was her. A girl born of destruction and creation, split by prophecy, bound in silence. She gave her voice to the world. Now the world sings, forgetting who it belonged to. But something stirs beneath the ash. And one day, she will sing again.

CONTENT. mythic prologue · goddess oc (Man-wol/Sae-wol) · underworld lore · creation vs destruction · origin of honmoon · lyrical tone · feminine rage · slow-burn tragedy (Sae-wol x Jinu, eventually)

PAIRING. Sae-wol ✦ Jinu (eventual)

This chapter: subtle chemistry, first encounter, he’s definitely affected

WORD COUNT. 2.2K

A/N: Chapter 1 got 74 notes?? Y’all… I’m 🧎🏽‍♀️

I just wanted to say thank you for tapping that heart, hitting reblog, or silently vibing with your snacks in bed at 3am. You made Sae-wol’s haunted girl arc feel seen and I love you for that. This chapter takes us deeper into the underworld. A dead tree, a cursed boy, a beautiful girl who hums. That’s all I’ll say. Hope you enjoy the descent. 🕯️— Deukae-Verse

✦ PREV. | CH. 2 | NEXT ✦

✧ Chapter Two: First Song of the Damned

☾ 400 years before the present | 1 year after Chapter 1 ☽

The sky bled red.

It always did here—forever stuck in twilight, like a wound that never closed. In this corner of the underworld, the wind didn’t howl. It sighed. Tired, quiet, always moving but never getting anywhere.

Beneath the crooked skeleton of a dead tree, Sae-wol lay sprawled in the dirt, one arm folded behind her head, the other raised lazily as her fingers danced with the slow, deliberate flutters of a black butterfly.

The butterfly never landed. It never had.

Above her, the swirling patterns of the Honmoon carved themselves into the ceiling of the underworld sky, soft gold veins woven through the stone above like a scar she could never erase. Her eyes—demon gold and glowing—followed the shifting lines, half-lidded and empty. Her long crimson hair spilled across the ash like a burning river, tangled and unbrushed. The tattered black hanbok she wore slipped from her shoulders with every breeze, exposing the sigils on her collarbones and upper arms, pulsing faintly with cursed flame.

Her nine-tailed fox had wandered off hours ago. She hadn’t bothered to call it back.

Let it be free, she thought, even if I’m not.

A haunting hum curled from her throat. No lyrics. No melody. Just sound—low and ghostly, the kind of sound that stitched itself into the marrow of the dead and made even the wraiths pause when they drifted too close.

And somewhere in the distance, someone was walking.

Jinu had been here for what felt like hours, or maybe lifetimes. The underworld didn’t obey time. It folded space like parchment and bled emotions that weren’t yours. He’d arrived alone—no escort, no instruction. One moment he’d stepped into flame, and the next… he was here.

His body—changed. Taller. Sharper. His skin, once soft and sun-warmed, now a deep violet, marked with glowing demon etchings across his neck and jaw. He wore a black robe that moved like liquid smoke. His hat sat low over his golden eyes, casting his face in shadow. His footsteps were light. Silent. But the weight in his chest was anything but.

I gave it up, he thought. My soul. My voice. My family.

He didn’t know where he was going. Didn’t care. The sting of his past was louder than anything around him—until something pulled at him. A sound.

Faint. Gentle. Strange.

He didn’t realize he was following it until the air changed—thicker, heavier, laced with something raw. He looked up—

And he saw her.

She looked like a ruin made beautiful. Like heartbreak given form.

Hair like blood. Skin like moonlight. A black butterfly spiraling above her fingers. Her hanbok barely clung to her shoulders, the markings along her collarbone glowing faintly with each breath.

She tilted her head when she noticed him. Slowly. Her gold eyes narrowed, and she gave him a once-over—curious, amused.

“First day here?” she asked, lips curling into something like a smirk. “Most lesser demons avoid me. The bold ones say I fill their heads with pain and strife.”

Jinu stood there, caught between awe and exhaustion. “Guess I’m not most demons.”

She snorted. “Clearly not. You’re talking to me.”

“You’re hard to ignore,” he said simply.

That made her laugh—low and breathy, like smoke from a dying fire.

The butterfly dipped between them, spiraling once around Jinu’s shoulder before landing delicately on hers. She didn’t react. Just stood, shaking ash from her skirt.

“Sae-wol,” she said, offering no title.

“Jinu,” he replied, adjusting his posture.

She studied him for a beat, then nodded once.

“Walk with me?”

“What, no dramatic warning? No cryptic threat?”

That earned a brighter laugh. “Only if you start annoying me.”

They walked side by side, the dead tree shrinking behind them. The ground here cracked beneath their feet—brittle, dry, dotted with bones. Wraiths lingered at the edges of ruined shrines and broken statues. As Sae-wol passed, several gasped.

“The Half-Mad Empress…”

“Queen of Ashes…”

Their voices echoed like wind chimes cut from bone. Jinu glanced sideways at her, but she kept walking.

“They really call you that?”

“Mmm,” she hummed. “Demons love names. Makes their fear feel organized.”

“Do you like it?”

“I earned it.”

The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It was… heavy. Ancient.

Jinu had never walked beside someone like her before. She didn’t try to fill the silence. She didn’t apologize for it. She existed in it. Owned it. Every step she took looked like it rewrote the rules of the underworld.

And yet…

“Why are you here?” he asked, quiet now. “Why… this?”

She didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she slowed and looked at him—really looked at him. Not through him, but into him.

“Because I gave away my voice,” she said at last.

“To who?”

“Maybe I’ll tell you one day.”

They climbed a crumbling hill until a half-buried arch opened up into a forgotten courtyard.

The palace was a ruin—shattered stone, crumbled beams, a roof mostly fallen. The floor was cracked but smooth beneath the dust, revealing remnants of ancient paintings—gods erased by time.

And at the heart of it stood a throne. Still intact. Carved from black stone. Sharp at the edges. Lonely at the top.

Sae-wol ascended without pause and sat as if she had been born for it. The butterfly fluttered above her head, then disappeared behind her hair.

Jinu lingered at the bottom step, gazing around.

Then he saw it.

Across the palace grounds, beyond a scorched gate, a second dais loomed—taller, broader, cracked but still burning. At its summit was a fire that refused to die, its violet flame clawing at the sky.

“What is that?”

Sae-wol followed his gaze.

“That’s Gwi-Ma.”

He turned to her. “The demon king?”

She leaned into the throne, gold eyes flickering.

“The one who ruled before rules existed. The benevolent god turned tyrant. The flame that eats everything.”

“You knew him?”

She smiled. Not kindly.

“Every demon knows him.”

She leaned back, voice softening.

“They say he was once kind. He gave us form, a place. But kindness doesn’t last. Not when gods turn on you. Not when mortals use you. They sealed him away—locked him behind flame and fear. But flame doesn’t forget. And neither does Gwi-Ma.”

There was a bitterness beneath her words. A private truth hidden between lines. But Jinu didn’t press. He was too mesmerized.

“Do you really live here alone?”

Her face shifted—expression flickering like a dying candle. She exhaled sharply, eyes rolling.

“I’m used to it at this point.” She looked off into the broken courtyard. “At least here, I can be me without hiding.”

He looked at her—sigils glowing, hair spilling down her back, body wrapped in ruin and gold.

“And who are you really, Sae-wol?”

She stood suddenly. Walked down the dais toward him with slow, deliberate steps. Her bare feet silent. Her butterfly now nowhere to be seen.

She stopped just in front of him. Reached up.

And smacked his cheek. Not hard. Just enough to startle him.

“Go see Gwi-Ma first, pouty boy.”

Jinu blinked. She smirked.

“And maybe,” she added, voice like velvet and ash, “if you don’t go insane… you can wander back into my palace again.”

And with that, Sae-wol turned and walked back into the ruins, the wind catching the ends of her hanbok, her glowing gold eyes narrowing beneath the flicker of the Honmoon above.

Jinu stood there long after she was gone, the sting of her touch still warm on his skin.

And for the first time since he’d arrived…

he didn’t feel lost.

He felt curious.

Worse—

He felt hope.

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httpsxarien · 10 hours ago

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this is me trying

✰ pairing: batfam x batsis! reader

sypnosis: you come home after a year in your senior high dorm, albeit with a heavy heart. your father, bruce is proud, alfred cooks your favorite meal, your family is happy to see you. but all you can think about is how you lost the honor roll, your passion, and maybe yourself. they say it’s okay. you wish you believed them.

a dedication to: for all the readers who are burnt out & trying their best. i love you. ♡

you’re not sure how long you’ve been staring at the floor.

maybe ten minutes. maybe thirty.

your school psychiatrist’s office smells like chamomile tea and printer paper. she keeps her voice gentle, even when your eyes keep drifting to the rain outside. you’ve been here for three sessions now, and every time she sees you, she asks you the same question:

“have you been resting?”

you lie. “yeah. a bit.”

your voice is hoarse, half from the lingering cough, half from everything else.

she doesn’t press, just writes something down in that notebook of hers and says softly, “you’ve been sick a lot this term.”

you nod.

“you haven’t attended classes in over a week.”

another nod.

“and when you do come in, your hands shake when you present. you said you’ve been waking up anxious. forgetful. losing interest in the things you love.”

you don’t say anything.

it’s not new. you’ve had these feelings before, but you thought you were past it. you thought you were okay. you told yourself you were okay.

you’re not.

“have you considered… visiting home?” she asks, her tone impossibly soft. “you don’t have to go forever. just a weekend. i know you think you’ll fall behind if you rest, but you’re not behind. you’re just.. exhausted.”

you laugh, but it breaks in the middle.

“i don’t want to worry them.”

“i think they’d be more worried if they knew how much you’re hurting now.”

you don’t answer.

because she’s right. and the truth is, you don’t feel strong enough to pretend anymore, not even in front of them.

you’re curled up in bed that night, hoodie zipped all the way up, panda plush pressed to your chest. your window’s foggy with rain. the campus is quiet, except for the sound of your phone buzzing.

he’s checking in again.

you pick it up, voice barely there. “hey.”

“hey, angel..” his voice says, warm and familiar, you swear you can hear his smile a little worried. “you sound tired.”

you smile even though you’re not sure it reaches your eyes. “i am.”

he asks how you’re feeling. you give a vague answer. he doesn’t press.

“you should go home for a while,” he says gently. “they probably miss you like crazy.”

you exhale slowly. “i don’t know…”

“what’s stopping you?”

you’re quiet for a beat. “i just… i don’t want to be a burden. not to them. and not to you and your mom either. you guys have done so much for me already and i just.. i don’t want to be too much.”

“you’re never too much,” he says, voice firm and kind all at once. “you’re a person who’s hurting. that’s not a burden. and i’m not keeping score. neither is my mom.”

your throat tightens. your eyes sting.

he lets the silence settle, then softens his voice: “if you want, i can fly you there myself. cut the trip in half.”

you let out a laugh through your stuffed nose. “i don’t think my dad wants metahumans flying into his city.”

he snorts. “ bruce wayne doesn’t like metahumans?”

“yup.” you say dryly. “he probably has ‘no metas’ tattooed on his property line.”

he laughs, and the sound warms something aching in your chest.

“well, i’ll fly stealthily,” he says. “hoodie on. no display of superhuman strength. he’ll never know.”

you smile, letting your head drop back against your pillow.

you laugh. for real this time. a breathy, tired little laugh that still manages to sound like sunshine.

“you’re ridiculous.”

“and yet,” he says smugly, “you love me anyway.”

“unfortunately.”

he goes quiet, then murmurs, “you’re always welcome home. okay?”

you press your cheek into your panda plush and close your eyes.

“okay.”

…

you don’t think it’ll matter much. you type the message half-asleep, just as the rain starts hitting your dorm window harder.

“hi. i’ll be going home this weekend. probably for good. i’ve been sick for a while. see you.”

you hit send in the family gc. no emoji. no punctuation. just simple and quiet.

you don’t expect much. it’s just a message.

but less than five minutes later, there’s a reply.

the groupchat erupts.

boy wonder : YOU’RE COMING HOME??? 😭💙

jaybird : what do you want for dinner?

steph: I MISSED YOU SO BAD??

timmy turner: do you need anything? want me to clean your room? okay i won’t but i’ll try

cass: ❤️❤️❤️

duke of essex: tell me what movie we’re watching when you get back. i’ll save popcorn.

scary child: Good. The manor has been awfully quiet without you.

which, coming from him, feels like a handwritten love letter.

and then..

Bruce: You’re coming home?

he types it like he’s reading it over and over, like he can’t quite believe it. as if you just told him the most impossible thing.

because to him, you were gone. not lost, not dead. just gone. distant. and for a long time, he didn’t know if you’d ever want to come back.

but now?

now his baby girl was coming home.

you curl into your pillow that night, the message still open, your family’s excited replies still lighting up your screen.

outside, it rains harder. but inside, it’s warm.

you don’t know how you’ll face them. you don’t know if you’ll fall apart in their arms or if you’ll keep pretending everything’s fine. you don’t know if you’ll cry when alfred hugs you or when damian tugs you into a quiet, too-long embrace.

you thought dorm life would be freeing. and for a while, it was.

no footsteps echoing in marble hallways. no nightly sounds of grappling hooks or siblings stumbling in with bruises and tired eyes.

just your small bed, your own desk, your books, your own silence.

but the quiet eventually became too loud.

you miss them.. more than you expected to.

you miss dick’s hugs. how he’d always pull you in with a dramatic “my baby sister’s home!” even when you had just gone to the store. how his cologne smelled like something safe. something steady. you’d bury your face into his shoulder and pretend you weren’t silently holding back tears some days.

you miss jason. your partner in chaos. the one who knew when to just sit next to you in silence. he used to sneak you out for midnight joyrides, always yelling “no one makes you laugh like i do!” he was the first one who noticed when your laughter started sounding tired. he didn’t say anything. just gave you his leather jacket and said, “you can be tired around me, okay?”

you miss tim. tim who made you coffee during finals and sat through six straight To All the Boys movies with you even though he clearly didn’t care. tim who would mutter, “do we really need to cry over this again?” and then sneak a tissue to wipe his own eyes.

you miss damian.

you didn’t think you would. he’s quiet, sharp, sometimes distant. but he used to come into your room late at night without saying anything, just a blanket tucked under his arm, sketchbook in hand. he’d sit beside you while you studied, glancing at your notes and muttering corrections under his breath, even though it wasn’t his subject. you’d glance at his sketches. he always drew you like you looked peaceful, even when you didn’t feel it.

you miss cass. your older sister cassie who saw through you even when no one else could. she never pushed, never forced. just squeezed your shoulder gently when you were struggling. cass who you could confide in, cassie who loves you so much & danced with you in the kitchen when the others weren’t looking.

you miss duke and steph too! duke with his soft wisdom, steph with her infectious laugh and the way she always pulled you into dumb tiktok dances even when you insisted you couldn’t dance. steph who said, “we’re dancing until you smile again, c’mon,” and duke who’d say, “you know they’re proud of you, right? even if you’re not swinging around rooftops.”

you miss bruce, even when he made things worse by accident. like the time he asked, “why weren’t you at the recognition ceremony this year?” and you choked on your water and said something about a fever.

and he just blinked and nodded.

and you hated that you could still see it, the smallest, sharpest flicker of disappointment.

meanwhile, in the manor, alfred hears the muffled sound of bruce’s chair creaking.. followed by silence. a particular kind of silence.

“master bruce?” he asks from the hallway.

bruce looks up slowly. “she’s coming home.”

and that’s all alfred needs to hear.

within minutes, he’s already pulling out ingredients. your favorites. his heart moves faster than his hands. “miss Y/N is returning,” he hums to himself, smiling, slicing onions with precision. “oh, how we’ve missed her.”

he even calls lucius to ask where your favorite blend of tea was last ordered.

you’re already rehearsing your smile before you reach the manor gates. it’s a small one, curved just enough, eyes a little wide, voice full of light. it’s the one that says, i missed you, i’m okay, i’m fine.

its the same routine: straighten the spine, smile for your family, everything is fine, everything is cool.

all you need to do is breathe.

but your bag’s a little too heavy on your shoulder, and your heart is even heavier. last year senior high just started, and you already feel behind. your classmates talk about college apps and scholarships and futures with glitter in their eyes. you don’t even know what you want to do next week. the idea of planning your life feels like trying to breathe underwater.

you stare up at the manor, take a deep breath, and force your steps to be steady.

you already know who you need to be when you walk through that door.

you’ll be the cheerful daughter. the one who stayed out of the vigilante mess, giving up the batgirl mantle and living a life for herself, the one who took the dorms for senior high, studied hard, built a name. you’ll be the loving, energetic sister. the one who helps cass cook, who does tiktok & cry listening to taylor swift’s new songs with steph, who listens to dami rant about his books, who duke plays video games with on the weekends, who plays old music with dick and laughs at jason’s snide remarks. you’ll be fine. because you have to be.

and yet, the closer you get, the more your chest aches.

you feel like a stranger in your own skin.

like you’re playing a part in a play that doesn’t quite fit anymore. you press your thumb into your palm. hard. a grounding trick you learned a few years ago, back when things got really bad.

in the dorms, your sadness is quiet. it creeps in during laundry. it clings to your back during class. sometimes you cry in the shower because it’s the only place no one will hear.

sometimes you hold your stuffed toy - yes, you brought it from childhood and it smells like home. like alfred’s soap and your old sheets and the life you’re so scared you’re growing apart from.

you’re trying.

you are. but your hands shake when you present in class. your voice trembles. your teacher’s eyes glance at your paper with confusion because you used to be their top student. now you’re just fine.

and it kills you. you used to be so proud of your name. your legacy.

you remember sitting at your desk, staring at a math test you couldn’t understand, heart racing, hands trembling, mind blank.

you remember thinking: i should be better than this. i should be better. i should be proud of myself. but you weren’t. you couldn’t be.

you started breaking in the smallest ways. not enough to be noticed, just enough that it starts to pile. you forget your umbrella. you lose a quiz paper. you get an 86 on a subject you used to ace without even trying.

you tell yourself it’s okay. you’ve always been the resilient one. the “she’s got a bright future” one. bruce wayne’s daughter, the wayne who stayed out of the shadows. the one who made it out. student council secretary. the loved actress in every school play, sharp, dependable, kind. the daughter with the good reputation.

but lately… it’s been harder to fake it. your legs feel heavier when you walk into school. your throat tightens every time a teacher hands back a paper. you can’t speak during meetings without your hands trembling so badly that you have to shove them in your pockets.

your classmates & best friends still smile at you. “you’re amazing,” they say. “you’re so put-together,” they say. “you’re so amazing! you’re gonna be sosuccessful!” and you smile. you nod. you laugh. but something in you curls up every time.

because you don’t feel amazing. you feel like you’re faking it. like you’re seconds away from falling apart completely, and everyone’s going to find out how much of a fraud you really are.

you don’t tell anyone. you don’t want to burden them again. not after the last time.

you still remember it clearly. how you broke for people that never even cared in the first place, only using you for their own sick amusement. sobbing in the hallway. locking yourself in the bathroom. going home because you felt sick, because of the tightness in your stomach, alfred knocking gently, offering tea through the door. dick cracking bad jokes. cass hugging you without asking questions. bruce standing just outside your room, quiet. unsure. they were all there. and you promised yourself you wouldn’t make them worry like that again.

so now you keep it all inside.

the pages in your school books blur from the tears you refuse to cry. your room is neat, clean, organized because it’s the only thing you can control. you keep pushing forward. because you have to.

you still haven’t forgiven yourself for last year.

for losing the honor roll. for hearing bruce ask so casually why you weren’t at recognition day, like it couldn’t possibly be that you didn’t make it.

you stare at it. your name. your subjects. your scores.

not enough for the honor roll.

you sit on your bed, still in your uniform, phone buzzing quietly beside you with messages from your groupmates. you don’t move.

and now, you’re a little better. you’re still here.

you have friends now. you’re now the president of the performing arts club. you’re not drowning anymore, not really. some days, you’re even content. but other days like this one? you feel that old ache creep in. because even if you’re not broken, you still feel like a disappointment.

especially now.

because dick texted you last night with a dozen exclamation points, saying you had a real shot at valedictorian this year. he said he was so proud of you. that you were amazing.

and you wanted to believe him.

you really did.

but all you could think was, what if i fail again?

you’re scared to go back. scared you’ve changed too much. scared you’ll disappoint them again. but the moment you walk back into the manor? you step through the front door. and it’s all exactly the same.

dick pulls you into that same hug. cass tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. tim surprises you with a signed version of the summer i turned pretty books. jason slips your hand into his jacket pocket. steph squeals. duke grins and gives you a fist bump. and then, there’s damian. you don’t expect him to say anything. you almost don’t see him move.

but then he walks right up to you, hugs you not too long, not too short, just enough. “the house was too quiet without you,” he mutters.

and bruce? bruce stands at the edge of it all. not quite knowing what to say. he doesn’t say much.

he looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time again. his baby girl. the one who made it out. the one who didn’t wear a mask, but still fought her battles. the one he was always, always proud of—even when he didn’t know how to say it.

“welcome home.” he says. and his voice is soft.

he opens his arms.

you don’t hesitate.

you bury yourself into him, and for a moment, you forget about everything else. the pressure. the pain. the way your voice shook during every presentation. the nights you cried yourself to sleep in your dorm, wondering if anyone noticed you were slipping.

he doesn’t say much.

just,

“you came back.”

and you crumble.

he doesn’t pull away.

alfred is the one who gently slips in while the chaos of hugs and laughter swirls around you.

he touches your shoulder with his gloved hand, gentle, grounding.

“welcome home, miss,” he says with soft pride in his voice. “everything is ready, if you lot are hungry.” and you don’t realize how starving you are until he says it.

the dining table looks like something out of a dream. steam rises from every dish. your old favorites fill the air with warmth. someone even lit candles, and you don’t know who did it, but the little effort makes your chest ache in a way you can’t explain.

everyone piles in with you, no one wants to sit too far.

steph claims the seat beside you immediately, clinging to your arm like a koala. “my best friend’s back and no one’s taking her from me, got it?” she says dramatically, flipping her hair as if it’s a life-or-death declaration.

you laugh softly. it feels strange and familiar all at once.

on your other side, damian settles in, eyes sharp but softer than usual.

“titus is shedding again.” he starts, out of nowhere. “alfred said we need better brushes, but i think it’s seasonal.”

you smile at the way he talks to you. like nothing changed. like you never left.

you tell him about the volunteer hours you’ve been doing at an animal shelter in the city. how you helped rehome a three-legged puppy and cried the whole way back to your dorm.

“you’re sentimental,” damian teases. but he’s smirking.

“well my boyfriend has a dog.” you mention offhandedly, pouring yourself water.

and then the silence falls.

like a sudden record scratch in a room that was all laughter and clinking plates.

you glance up. dick’s fork freezes halfway to his mouth. tim blinks. steph stiffens beside you with a grin that’s way too sharp. jason leans forward like he’s already planning an interrogation.

“…what?” you ask, pausing mid-sip.

“boyfriend?” bruce says slowly, his voice deep with calm concern, or the calm before concern.

“uh yeah,” you say slowly, and your family looks like they’re moving in slow-mo.

jason is the first to speak: “who?”

“uhm.. mark. mark grayson.”

your family looks like someone just hit pause on the entire dinner table.

you can actually see the moment your family process it, like a glitch in the matrix. tim blinks. jason’s chewing freezes. duke’s eyebrows shoot up. cass just tilts her head, intrigued. damian’s grip tightens ever so slightly on his knife. steph lets out a dramatic gasp, then immediately slaps a hand over her own mouth. and dick? dick drops his water glass on his lap.

then tim.. bless him, or maybe curse him –despite bruce’s strict no phones at the table rule, is already typing.

he doesn’t even try to hide it.

“timothy,” bruce says, voice clipped.

“tim,” bruce warns, without looking up.

“it’s for research,” tim says seriously. “i’m just making sure she’s not dating a war criminal.”

“he’s not a war criminal,” you say quickly.

“then why does his name sound like one?” jason asks, stabbing a carrot aggressively.

“what does that even mean—”

“‘grayson’ is already taken,” damian mutters.

“i don’t think that’s how names work, little man,” duke snorts.

“where’d you meet him?” steph asks, eyes gleaming. “does he play guitar? is he tall? does he have a weird hobby?”

“he goes to a different school,” you reply. “and yeah, he’s tall. and nice. and kind of awkward, but in a sweet way.”

“he’s seventeen, right?” cass asks gently. “not, like… twenty-seven?”

“yes,” you laugh. “he’s my age, i promise.”

“did he ask you out over text?” dick grins.

“no, actually,” you say, a little proud despite yourself. “he asked me in person.”

they all freeze.

“…what.” jason says, narrowing his eyes.

“like with words?” tim asks, looking vaguely offended.

“yeah? we were at a school fair where our schools collided and he just… asked. stammered a bit. almost dropped his drink. but it was cute.”

damian actually lets out a sharp hmph, arms crossed. “bold. suspiciously bold.”

“okay but,” duke cuts in, “the real question is.. does he know you’re you? like… you know. us. all of this.”

you pause.

you smile sweetly.

and you do not answer.

“oh my god,” steph whispers. “he doesn’t know.”

“he’s gonna find out eventually,” jason says, grinning now. “probably when a rogue villain chases you during a date.”

“he’ll be fine,” you say, laughing. “he’s, uh… pretty resilient.”

tim narrows his eyes again. “…resilient how?”

you dodge. “hey, want more mashed potatoes?”

“you’re hiding something,” damian says flatly.

you smile at them, sunshine and sparkle. “aren’t i always?”

damian huffs under his breath, already plotting. “if he ever disrespects you—”

“you’ll decapitate him,” jason finishes. “yeah yeah, we know.”

“was that a confession of intent, todd?”

“don’t make this weird.”

steph gasps again, but this time it’s theatrical. “wait, is he cute? are we talking ‘teen heartthrob’ cute or like… nerdy boyfriend cute?”

“he’s just—he’s mark,” you say with a helpless little laugh, picking at your mashed potatoes. “he’s nice. he makes me laugh.”

“what are his intentions?” dick asks in a tone way too formal for a man wearing fuzzy socks under the table.

“jesus christ, you’re acting like i married the guy,” you groan as you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now - really smiling. it’s the first time in weeks you feel your chest light enough to laugh without guilt, and the sound of it fills the room like music.

“you guys are so dramatic,” you say between laughs. “he’s just a boy. and we’ve only been dating for three months. kind of. maybe. shut up.”

bruce is quiet, watching you carefully.

measuring. not judging. just… observing. like he’s searching for any sign that this is hurting you, not healing you.

but you’re okay.

and maybe for the first time in a while, he can see that.

“if he hurts you,” bruce says finally, “he’ll regret it.”

you grin. “noted. i’ll pass that along.”

the table erupts in noise again, and you’re laughing so hard your stomach hurts. you can’t even remember the last time you smiled this much. the anxiety, the ache, the burnout, the guilt, melts away for just a while. you forget the grades, the pressure, the late nights crying in your dorm.

because right now, you’re just their beloved sister and daughter again.

cheerful. loved. surrounded by bickering idiots who would burn the world for you.

later that night, the manor sinks into quiet.

the manor settles into quiet. slow, gentle, familiar. the kind that only comes after full bellies and long hugs and love that stretches across rooms even when unspoken.

you walk slowly down the halls in your soft pajamas, your panda plushie under your arm. the faint sound of the wind brushes past the windows. your room glows with golden light.

you shut the door behind you, let your back press against it.

the dinner feels like a dream. your cheeks still hurt from laughing. your heart still feels full.

the door clicks softly behind you as you lean against it, in your soft pajamas, hair let down from the updo alfred helped you style for dinner. your makeup’s gone, wiped clean, and you finally look like what you are underneath it all—just a tired, heart-bruised seventeen-year-old girl trying her best.

your reflection catches in the mirror across the room.

the eye bags are deeper than they used to be. the smile lines don’t reach your eyes. your skin’s a little dull, maybe from all the stress, all the nights you worked past midnight only to wake up early again. all the pushing. all the pretending. you touch your cheek lightly, as if trying to recognize yourself.

you glance around the room.

your room, still untouched, still yours even when you thought you’d left it all behind. the soft fairy lights, the pastel pillows. the little stuffed rabbit on your bed from the time jason won it at a carnival. the faint smell of vanilla and fresh sheets. your signature scent.

it always smelled like you. a safe space. that’s what they always called it.

tim used to curl up on your fur carpet after all-nighters. how cass would paint her nails by your window. how damian used to sketch on your bean bag while pretending to “supervise” your studying. how steph would go through your closet, duke would lie across the floor with his legs up on the wall, and dick would fall asleep on your bed like he belonged there too.

jason once said, “your room’s the only place i can breathe.”

you slowly get up, dragging your fingers across your dresser, your bookshelf, the frame with the picture of you and cass at your first recital. and then you see it.

your panda.

your old plushie, still perched on your pillow like he never once stopped waiting. a gift to you from your mother, who passed, years back. she had sewn it together & told you that this panda will watch over you & protect you from all the troubles in life.

he’s worn down now, his button eye a little looser, the fur around his nose gently matted but he’s still him. still soft, still loyal. still yours.

your throat tightens. you pick him up slowly, gently. hug him to your chest.

you don’t even realize how long you’ve missed this until you’re there, knees tucked under you, panda in your arms, cheek pressed to the familiar, velvety softness of your favorite pillow.

and for the first time in months, you let yourself just breathe.

you don’t cry. not tonight.

but the ache is still there, quiet and heavy, the kind that never fully leaves.

the pressure. the expectations. the little voice whispering that you’re not enough, not anymore.

but for now, just tonight, you get to forget it.

you’re hugging your plushie panda close, knees pulled up to your chest, back pressed against your old headboard. the room is dim, lit only by the soft golden glow of fairy lights above you and the moon outside your window. the familiar weight of your pajamas wraps around you like armor, but even here, in your own room, in your favorite bed, the ache hasn’t gone away.

you pretend the panda makes it better.

you pretend the blanket over your legs keeps it all out. the fear, the exhaustion, the part of you still hurting from everything no one else saw.

then there’s a soft knock.

no pressure in it. just presence.

then.. a noise.

a soft shuff.

then a muffled whisper. then the distinct sound of titus sneezing.

you blink, turn to the door. you don’t even have time to answer before the door cracks open and someone pokes their head in.

and there they are.

the whole family. lined up like kids caught doing something they shouldn’t.

it’s funny, in the weirdest way. you can feel the tension. like they’re waiting for you to snap, to yell, to cry. like they’re bracing for the version of you who used to slam doors and storm off and break a little more each day.

but you just…

you blink.

“hey, y/n,” dick says gently. “we, uh… we brought something.”

all of them, piled in the hallway. arms full. faces unsure but hopeful.

cass steps inside first and sets down your old stuffed animals, arranging them in a perfect little line by your bed. steph follows, dragging in a basket of snacks and whispering a quiet “we got your favorites.” tim’s cradling a tangled mess of fairy lights like it’s a newborn. duke holds a big fluffy blanket like a flag of peace. jason’s carrying pillows under each arm and already stepping over your rug with boots still on. damian walks in last, holding two of your old sketchbooks and a spare bow for your panda, pretending he’s not emotionally invested.

bruce is there too, just behind them. arms crossed, eyes soft in a way they rarely are. he says nothing, but you don’t miss the way he surveys your room like he’s trying to memorize it. like he’s glad to see it hasn’t changed. like he’s glad you came back to it.

“what… are you guys doing?” you ask, blinking in confusion, panda clutched to your chest.

tim grins a little, awkwardly. “we’re building a fort.”

“a what?”

“a fort!” steph confirms, pulling your comforter off the bed and flinging it over the back of a chair.

“you’re not allowed to decline.” duke says, already fluffing up the bean bag. “it’s law of the bat.” he grinned

“i didn’t vote on this law,” damian mutters, dropping the sketchbooks by your bed.

“you never vote on anything,” tim shoots back, already plugging in the fairy lights. “because every time we try, you challenge someone to a duel.”

damian scowls. “i only do that when the voting process is flawed.”

“you tried to stab me because i voted for pizza.” tim deadpans.

“it was pineapple!” damian snaps.

you can’t help it, you laugh. just a little. a small sound, muffled into your panda.

it’s so stupid. so them.

they’re in your room like they never left.draping sheets between your shelves and your desk, hanging lights on makeshift curtain rods, arranging snacks and pillows like it’s the most important mission they’ve ever done.

even bruce helps. he kneels without a word, adjusting the angle of the blanket so it hangs better over your dresser. he doesn’t say anything, but his presence is steady. grounding.

it’s steph who notices your silence first.

she comes over quietly, kneels in front of your bed, and pulls you into a hug without saying a word. she doesn’t ask what’s wrong. she doesn’t need to.

you sink into it. panda squished between you both.

and when she pulls back, she cups your cheek and says, “we love you, okay? even when you don’t talk about it. even when you think you’re being ‘too much’ or ‘too distant.’ we’re not leaving.”

your eyes sting.

and then tim places a small usb on your nightstand. “this has your schedule, sleep tracker, hydration reminders, and gentle motivational quotes i personally curated for you.”

“oh my god, she’s not a tamagotchi,” jason snorts.

“she’s stressed,” tim says, exasperated. “i’m trying to help.”

“it is kind of sweet,” duke adds. “creepy. but sweet.”

damian rolls his eyes. “i could’ve written better motivational quotes.”

tim raises an eyebrow. “really? enlighten us.”

“‘disgrace is temporary. weakness can be sharpened into a blade.’”

steph makes a face. “that’s literally what batman said to us once before making us run drills in the rain.”

“i stand by it.” damian mutters, crossing his arms.

you wipe your eyes with your sleeve and laugh more freely this time.

once the fort is finished, they all pile in. there’s barely space, but no one cares. jason’s shoulder presses against yours. dick’s lying across three pillows like a starfish. steph’s curled up by your legs. cass is next to bruce, holding a cup of hot cocoa. tim is adjusting your laptop at the foot of the bed to stream a movie. damian sits closest to the edge, arms crossed, already stealing snacks.

the lights are dim. the fairy lights glow like stars. and there you are, tucked between them, your panda still in your lap, heart still heavy but not unbearable.

no one says “we’re proud of you” outright.

but you feel it.

in the way duke keeps checking to make sure you’re warm, the way bruce brushes your hair back gently before sitting back. in the way tim handed you gummy vitamins knowing how much you loved them, in the way steph hugs you like she means it, in the way damian brought your sketchbooks and didn’t make a scene about it, in the way jason keeps nudging your arm like he’s making sure you’re really there, the way dick keeps glancing at you and smiling like he’s seeing his little sister again-really seeing her.

it’s quiet for a while. the movie starts. you don’t know which one it is. you don’t care.

you glance around the room, the blanket draped like a roof over your heads, the way they all sit together like puzzle pieces, like they belong exactly in this space, in this moment.

and you feel it. that small, breaking thing in your chest.

your eyes sting again, but it’s different this time.

you whisper, “thank you.”

no one responds out loud.

but steph grabs your hand. tim nudges your foot with his. damian gently places your panda’s bowtie around its neck.

and then—

tim, completely deadpan, says:

“by the way, i ran a full background check on your boyfriend. we need to talk.”

the room erupts.

“tim!”

“bro. seriously?”

“oh my god she’s blushing—”

“i knew he was an alien.”

“i want to fight him.”

“you can’t just investigate her boyfriend, man!”

“wait—is he even your boyfriend? are we calling him that?”

“so like.. is it in the wayne bloodline to have a relationship with an alien?”

“can i threaten him? just a little bit?”

you cover your face, laughing so hard your stomach aches.

and in the middle of the noise, the warmth, the love..

you think to yourself:

i’ll make it to graduation.

not because the pressure’s gone. not because the future suddenly makes sense. but because they’re here.

and for the first time in a long time,

you believe that’s enough.

…….

xari’s diary: aaaa this one’s really self-indulgent. it’s been a month since the first day of senior high and… i don’t know, i just feel so tired. so disappointed in myself lately. like no matter how hard i try, it’s never enough. and even though i smile and laugh with people, there’s still that heaviness that never quite goes away. the feeling of setting standards for ourselves yet never even reaching that standard.

so this fic is dedicated to not only myself, but to all the teenagers that used to burn bright but are now burning out.

a comfort fic.

for the ones who feel like they’re falling behind. for the ones who used to shine so bright but now feel dim. for the ones who miss who they used to be, and are scared they’ll never feel that way again.

you’re not alone. you’re not failing. you’re trying.

and that means more than you know.

thank you for reading. i hope this story gives you a moment of peace. just a moment where you can breathe and remember: you are loved. exactly as you are. ♡

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kooppss · 2 days ago

Text

No Big Deal

Sexy Disasters With Feelings masterlist

You were doing so well pretending that night didn’t happen—until Jungkook showed up with a new piercing and a smug smile that ruined everything. Now you’re spiraling, trying to convince yourself this still doesn’t mean anything.

warnings: sex, cursing, mentions of drunk behavior.

word count: 4.2k

a/n: Okay so… it only took me two months (fuck. Is it really been this long?!) and five existential crises to finish this chapter. It’s chaotic, it’s horny—and I really hope you enjoy it. If you’re still here reading, thank you. I was honestly a little nervous about this one, so your likes, reblogs, and little comments mean the world to me. See you in the next chapter (hopefully sooner than two months..)

Now, I've thought it through Crawlin' back to you

You’ve been doing your best to avoid Jungkook for a couple of days now.

Which is hard, considering you live together.

But after that night—after the stunt you pulled in your kitchen, and on the couch, and then again in his bed—you’ve spent the entire time you’ve been home hiding out in your room, alternating between dying of embarrassment and fantasizing about digging a hole and climbing inside it forever.

You told him you were sorry. Multiple times.

He said it was fine.

“You were cute.”

You want to die.

Eventually, once again, hunger wins the war against shame. The apartment is quiet. Maybe he went out. Maybe he’s—

And then you see him.

In the kitchen. Shirt loose. Hair is a little damp. And something glinting above his eye. You stop mid-step. What the hell. Your brain short-circuits. Is that—

“You pierced your face?”

Jungkook turns to face you fully slowly. His eyes flick to yours. For a second, he looks startled. And then he looks smug.

“Not my face. Just the brow.”

Your brain probably stops functioning because you don’t feel like you have control over your mouth anymore.

“Why?” you ask like it's a legitimate question.

“Why not?” he asks with a smile and tilts his head.

It’s small, silver, subtle little dots above his right eye— why does it affect you so much?

What are you? A crow? Attracted to shiny objects?

Weren’t you over your emo-boys phase in middle school?

It shouldn’t be allowed.

He shouldn’t be allowed.

You hate him.

You hate how unfairly hot he looks. You hate how much worse it makes everything. As if it wasn’t already humiliating enough to have tried to undress him with your teeth that night.

“You’re staring,” he says, voice low and smug.

“No, I’m not,” you lie, horribly, like someone caught mid-crime.

His smirk deepens.

“You sure? You’ve been looking at me like that since I turned around.”

“Like what?” you ask, annoyed. You fucking hate him.

“Like you’re about to do something.”

You cross your arms. You try to look unimpressed. You are not even slightly successful.

“I just didn’t think you were the piercing type,” you mutter.

Jungkook steps closer.

Just a little.

“I didn’t think you were the piercing type,” he says with a pleased smirk.

“You don’t know me,” you say like he offended you, even though you didn’t know you’re the piercing type.

“And you obviously don’t know me,” he says, pleased. But there’s something gentle behind his words. A meaning he tries to deliver, and you miss catching.

His eyes sparkle like he’s about to say something dangerous. Something you’ll think about later, in the dark, alone.

But all he does is reach past you to grab the peanut butter from the cabinet.

“You want toast?” he asks, completely unbothered.

You blink at him, caught in the whiplash of that voice and that stupid piercing and the way your stomach growls.

“Yeah,” you say as casually as possible. “Sure.”

You sit down waiting for your toast. You try not to look at him.

But you do.

Oh, no.

You’re so fucked.

He brings you the toast a few minutes later, plate in one hand, mug of tea in the other. He doesn’t say anything as he sets them down in front of you. Just moves like it’s the most normal thing in the world, like you didn’t basically try to seduce him and fail a few nights ago.

Like his eyebrow isn’t now a monumental event in your life.

You eye the toast. “You put Nutella on it?”

He shrugs, sliding into the chair across from you. “You always want something sweet when you’re pissed. Figured it might help.”

“I’m not pissed,” You say, sounding pissed.

“Okay,” he says simply, “So what are you?”

“I-I’m–”

You hate him.

“Urghhh, you’re so annoying!”

He giggles like he finds your meltdown amusing.

You chew your toast unnecessarily aggressively.

Neither of you says anything after that. You both just chew on your toast and sip from your tea.

The silence isn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it’s heavy. Something is sitting in the air between you—unspoken, obvious. Like both of you are waiting for someone to address this.

Jungkook’s watching you.

You try to ignore it.

You fail.

“You didn’t have to take care of me that night,” you mutter eventually, eyes on your plate. “I was acting like a drunk, horny idiot.”

“I mean,” he says with a soft chuckle, “you were.”

You shoot him a glare. He holds up both hands in surrender, still grinning. “But I didn’t mind.”

You roll your eyes. “You minded a little.”

He tilts his head. “Only because I didn’t want you to regret it.”

You pause.

You don’t look up.

“I wouldn’t have,” you say quietly.

Jungkook goes still.

You feel it in the air more than you see it.

You finally meet his eyes.

It’s subtle, but something shifts between you—like the conversation just took a step off a ledge, and now you’re both in danger.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. His voice is quieter now. The smugness is still there.

“Then why’d you say it should be a one-time thing?”

You should have seen this one coming from miles away.

You should have known this is what he’s going to say.

It’s not like it’s the first time he teases or challenges this statement.

He’ll use any chance you give him.

“Because I meant it,” you say while chewing, trying to deliver nonchalant, but fail.

“Meant?” he asks with raised brows.

“Because I mean it,” you try to fix the mistake.

He’s watching you again, but not smug this time. Soft. Curious. A little disbelieving of the bulshit you say.

“You know I think about it too, right?” he says, like it’s obvious.

You scoff, taking another bite of toast. Trying to defuse whatever he’s doing. “Congrats to me. You think about the sex we had. That’s not exactly groundbreaking.”

He chuckles, unfazed. “Didn’t say it was.”

“I’m just saying,” you go on, eyes fixed on your plate, “We just did it one time, and that’s it. It was good. My drunk self tried to do it again. And that’s it, it doesn’t have to mean anything. ”

“Doesn’t have to,” he repeats slowly. “But what if it does?”

You freeze for half a second. Then recover with a small shrug, like he said something about the weather.

“I mean…” You take a sip of tea. “You’re not exactly the ‘meaningful’ type.”

His eyebrows lift, amused. “Wow.”

You meet his eyes for a second, then look away. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way.”

He twists his lips. “You kind of did.”

You sigh, setting your cup down. “I just meant… You’re you. You flirt with everyone. You’re hot and you know it, and I’m not stupid.”

Jungkook tilts his head, watching you a little too closely.

“So what, you thought that night was just about sex for me?” “I wasn’t just being nice the other night,” he adds. “When I said it was better if we didn’t–”

“Isn’t it always just about sex with you?” you say before he continues.

“I liked being with you,” he says quietly. “It’s not like my whole purpose in life is to fuck you.”

It’s weird. The crude words with the gentle voice. You scoff, trying to brush it off.

“Sure.”

“I’m serious. You're nice, and fun, and funny.” He continues and smirks, “And I always like defeating you.”

“Shut up,” you try not to smile, and you toss the little crust from your toast at him.

He smiles.

“I didn’t want to have sex with you like that because I didn’t want to ruin this.”

You cock a brow, “To ruin what?”

“This,” he gestures between the two of you.

“Us.”

You blink at him. The word hangs in the air, too loud and too soft at the same time.

“Us?” you repeat, voice flat—like you’re not letting it land the way he wants to.

He nods once, slow. Sure.

You look away, start fidgeting with your mug. “There’s no us, Jungkook.”

He doesn’t react. Not visibly.

“I mean,” you continue, forcing a light tone, “we’re just roommates. Friends, maybe. Occasionally… disastrous.”

“Right,” he says, too casually. But there’s something tight in his voice now. Something he’s reining in.

So you stand up and gather your dishes. “Thanks for the toast.”

He doesn’t answer at first.

Then, as you’re rinsing the plate at the sink, he says, “You always do this.”

Your hands pause under the water.

“Do what?” you ask, careful.

“Try to run away when something is about to happen.”

There is roughness in his voice. Yet, he says it differently. He doesn’t sound hurt, or pained. It’s something else. Something raw and electric.

Before you manage to process that you’ve heard this before– seen this mask, this persona– you hear the chair slide on the floor as Jungkook stands up.

He comes to stand behind you, almost touching, but not really.

He lowers his head, lips ghosting your ear. You can feel his breath fanning on your cheek.

“Do you really want to run away?”

You try to swallow the lump in your throat.

You want to say something. But you can’t find words.

Do you want to push him away? Or do you want to pull him closer?

You don’t know anymore.

And you can’t blame alcohol this time.

“I know this is all you think about from the moment you enter the room.”

You hate that he’s not wrong.

“You’re not as hard to read as you’d like to think.”

He sounds so smug that it infuriates you.

Yet, you don’t move, don’t deny.

He reaches his hand past your waist and closes the faucet. You blink a few times. You didn’t even notice the water still running on your hands.

He rests his hand on your waist, like it’s natural, like it belongs there. It’s warm and heavy. And it dizzies you.

“Do you still mean it?”

“W-what..?” You’re not sure if it’s really unclear or if it’s him obscuring your mind.

“That we should be a one-time thing.”

He says and lands a soft kiss behind your ear.

“I-I-wh–” you mumble incoherently.

And the bastard chuckles, dark and low, “I see.”

You should say something.

Anything.

But your mouth has forgotten how to form words.

His lips are still close. You can feel the echo of that kiss behind your ear.

His hand hasn’t moved from your waist. If anything, his grip tightens—just slightly. A silent question.

You don’t answer.

Not with words.

But without consciousness, your body reacts. Suddenly, your back pressed to his front.

Was he pressing closer to you, or were you leaning back into him?

You don’t know.

And you’re not sure that you care at the moment. All you can feel is a fire and a need building to an almost unbearable height.

He hears your answer.

You feel him exhale, slow. Controlled. And then he isn’t.

His free hand rises, fingers brushing your hair aside, exposing more of your neck.

He leans in again, slower this time.

His lips press to the skin just below your jaw.

Then lower.

Then lower again.

Each kiss burns.

Your breath hitches.

You’re still frozen, your hands gripping the edge of the sink like it’s the only thing anchoring you from fainting.

Then his voice, low and right against your skin.

“Tell me to stop.”

But he knows you won’t.

You can’t.

Instead, your head tips just slightly to the side—an invitation you don’t want to speak out loud.

He pulls you back from the counter, turns you in his arms.

Your eyes meet, and everything in his is fire and restraint. Lust and fear. You don’t know what he’s scared of. You don’t want to know.

“This doesn’t have to mean anything,” he says, repeating your words back to you—but his tone makes it clear he knows they’re bullshit.

And maybe that’s why it makes your stomach flip.

You answer him by gripping the front of his shirt and pulling him down to kiss you.

This time, it’s different. It’s not tentative or fueled by alcohol. It’s sharp and sure and deep.

He groans into your mouth and walks you backward, toward his room, like he’s known this was coming. Like he’s been waiting for you to finally cave.

Maybe you also knew.

“This time I’m doing this properly,” he murmurs between kisses.

You don’t know what he means, but you’re about to find out.

You pull back just slightly, enough to look at him, breathless.

“You’re way too smug right now.”

He grins, cocky and infuriating, “What, can’t a guy be smug when he’s proven right?”

You blink at him, “Proven right?”

He leans closer, “Knew it wasn’t gonna be a one-time thing.”

You roll your eyes, “God, you’re such an asshole.”

He smiles wider, returning to kiss you as he says between your lips, “Maybe.”

You’re in his room, and he starts to pull your shirt over your head. The stupid smile is still on his face.

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

He hums against your jaw, and he trails down the side of your neck, “I told you. I knew you’d come around.”

You scoff, “I didn’t come around. I just—”

He gives a wet kiss behind your ear. One that sends a shiver down your spine, and he leans back. Eyes meeting yours, dark and lustful, but glinting with mischief.

“You just what?” he asks with a smirk.

“You’re insufferable.”

He returns his lips to the skin of your neck, hands hot and certain on your waist as he leads you towards the bed.

You stumble back until the backs of your knees hit the mattress, and you sit, breath hitching, thighs slightly parted. He looks down at you with dark eyes and a crooked one-sided grin. Like he’s plotting something. Your demise, maybe.

He drops to his knees.

You blink at him, startled.

He smirks up at you.

His hands glide up your bare thighs, spreading them gently, and he leans forward, kissing the inside of your knee.

He kisses higher.

And higher.

Until your breath is ragged and your spine is arching and your fingers are gripping the sheets.

He looks up at you, more gentle this time. Less like a predator, and more like… like.. A lover boy?

Your answer is a shaky exhale and a hand in his hair, tugging just enough to make him grin.

“Lean back for me,” he commands, but it’s soft and breathless.

And you obey, starting to lean back slowly.

Before you fully lie on your back, he tugs your shirt, “Wait.”

You help him pull the shirt over your head. He puts his palm flatly on your bare stomach, eyes big and unblinking, taking in your bare top.

He pushes slightly, but you resist, “You too.” You say weakly, your mouth dry.

“Gladly,” he smiles and pulls the shirt with one swift motion.

He returns his hand to your lower stomach, pushing you a bit. And you comply, lying on his bed, legs dangling over the edge.

His hand goes to the waistband of your shorts, and he starts to pull them down with your panties, slow. Very slow.

Your breath hitches as the air hits your skin. Cool against the heat.

Jungkook’s eyes stay locked on yours for a beat too long as he slides the fabric down your legs.

As if to say this isn’t just sex, and you know it.

He drops your clothes to the floor and runs his hands slowly up the insides of your thighs again, fingers dragging, teasing, warm. His palms settle at your hips.

You look at him, and he looks at where his hands are touching.

You catch the glimmer of his new piercing, and a shiver goes down your spine.

He notices, and he lifts his eyes to see you looking at him before you avert your gaze.

You expect him to say something stupid, something cocky and so very him.

But he doesn’t.

He dips his head, moving your right leg slightly above his shoulder.

Oh, shit.

His mouth is on you, and his tongue is warm, slow. Like he has all the time in the world to savor this moment, and he plans to take every second of it.

Your hips jolt, and his hands tighten on your thighs, holding you steady, grounding you with a soft groan against your skin.

You’re already panting, gripping the sheets, breath breaking.

He doesn't say anything. Just keep going. Keep devouring, like you’re his favorite thing.

You moan louder when he flicks his tongue just right—when he sucks at the spot that’s already making your vision blur.

He pulls back for a split second, looking up at you with a wet mouth and hooded eyes.

And when he goes back in, he slides his hand as well.

He doesn’t go in yet, he just lets his fingers be there, linger at your entrance. Let them be coated with slick as he puts a little pressure, moving them gently around.

He starts pushing them in, not all the way at first. He starts shallow and goes deeper with each few thrusts, like he’s testing, like he’s studying where he should stop.

And he finds the spot easily. As if he already knows.

He notices right away that he’s got it.

And then he starts being serious.

He puts work and intentions into his movements.

Fuck.

You can barely breathe.

Every muscle in your body is on fire, straining toward him. Your hips buck again—helplessly—and Jungkook just hums against you, sounding entirely too satisfied with himself.

Or just satisfied.

That piercing glint again as he glances up, catching your eyes with a mix of focus and cockiness.

"You good?" he asks with a raspy voice, lips brushing against your thigh.

You can only nod, frantic, barely able to form words. His fingers curl inside you again, and your mouth drops open in a silent cry.

He keeps going, steady and sure, unrelenting in the way he’s touching you like he already knows your body better than you do.

You’re unraveling.

Fast.

And you hate him for it.

And you need him for it.

You reach for him blindly, fist curling in his hair, not sure what you’re trying to do.

But apparently, Jungkook knows what you need because his mouth is back on you.

Your head flops back onto the bed, breath stuttering.

His name slips from your lips, quiet, broken.

He hears it. You know he does. Because his grip on your thigh tightens, his pace shifts, and suddenly it’s all too much.

Your hand is still tangled in his hair. You grip harder, pulling without direction. Your thighs start to shake.

“Fuck—K-kook,” you gasp.

You don’t know if you want him to stop or never stop.

He keeps going, steady and relentless, fingers curling perfectly in time with his mouth, pushing you closer, deeper.

Your spine lifts off the mattress. Your breath catches.

And then you break.

It hits hard, like a snap. It rips through you in pulses, your thighs clamping around his head as you gasp his name again.

Louder this time.

Your fingers dig into his hair and shoulder, and anything you can reach.

You’re vaguely aware of your own sounds, too raw, too real, but you’re too far gone to stop them.

He keeps going through it, holding you down with strong hands. He doesn’t stop until you're twitching, oversensitive.

When he finally pulls back, his face is flushed, his hair a mess, strands stick to his glistening forehead, his lips slick, and that piercing catches the light again.

He looks wrecked.

You are wrecked.

You cover your face with one arm, breath still jagged, skin buzzing.

You feel him laugh against your thigh, quiet, smug.

He moves back, dragging his palms down your legs before letting go completely. You hear the mattress creak as he sits beside you, his breathing just as uneven.

You’re still staring at the ceiling, still trying to remember how to exist inside your own body.

Your legs feel like jelly. Your face is burning.

You let your arm drop just enough to peek at him. He’s looking at you like he just won something.

Like he knew exactly how this would go.

He reaches out, gently brushes a strand of hair from your sweaty face.

“Lie down prettily for me, babe.”

Then he stands, shoving down his sweats and boxers in one motion.

With one stride, he’s at the nightstand, pulling a condom from the drawer.

He tears the foil open, but before slipping it on, he glances back over his shoulder.

“You good?” he asks with a sweet smile..

You blink, realize you’re staring. Frozen in place. It snaps you out of it.

“Ye—” Your voice catches. You clear your throat. “Yeah.”

You shift across the bed, lying back properly now, and seconds later, he’s crawling over you.

You meet his eyes, and he dips his head for a kiss.

He guides himself in, and while your mouths are still connected, he pushes in slowly.

You groan against each other’s lips when he bottoms out, fully seated inside you.

He lifts his head, just enough to look down at you as he begins to move—slow, deep, steady.

And fuck, this feels good.

No—but like, too good.

You’re moaning. Gasping.

He just got in there.

What is going on?

He picks up the pace slightly. Nothing wild, just a steady rhythm.

But nothing about you feels steady.

You grab at his shoulders, arms winding around him like you’re trying to stay grounded.

You pull him closer, bury your face in his neck. Trying—failing—to muffle the sounds coming out of you.

This can’t be real.

This shouldn’t be happening.

You’re close. Way too fast.

It hasn’t even been two minutes. You’re almost sure.

Fuck.

You bite his shoulder—hard—desperate to hold it in, to hold yourself together.

But it doesn’t work.

It crashes over you, sudden and sharp.

You’re shaking.

Your whole body pulses around him. You feel your walls clench around him, hard.

You can barely breathe.

This never happened to you.

Not like this.

Not this fast.

What kind of sorcery is he doing?

What kind of spell did he put on you? Put on that dick?

Jungkook doesn’t slow. That same rhythm carries on—only faltering for a second as he presses a single kiss to your shoulder.

He shifts, one hand braced beside your head, the other grabbing your thigh to tilt your hips.

He picks up the pace. Louder now.

His hands are everywhere. One moment, he grabs a boob, fingers closing around your nipple, then squeezing the flesh. Another moment, his hand on your jaw, pulling you into a kiss. Then he settles back on your thigh, giving himself a better position to go deeper.

Your hands also wander. You feel the muscles of his back working under the hot sticky skin. You try to hold onto his biceps, but your fingers can barely wrap around half of it. You go to his thigh, sliding over to grope his ass.

Everything about him feels good.

And it still feels too good, even through the sensitivity. Even through the aftershocks.

His movements turn sloppy. Thrusts losing rhythm. Both of you moaning like you’ve lost any shame.

Maybe there wasn’t much to begin with.

And with a forceful final thrust, he buries himself deep.

“F-fuck.”

You can feel him twitch inside of you, and you feel yourself pulse against him.

With a loud grunt, he crushes back onto you. Sweaty, hot skin stuck to each other.

He’s still jerking, his body still tense, and he breaths quickly.

It takes both of you a few long minutes to calm down.

He pulls himself out of you with a grunt, plopping by your side, making your body jump off the mattress a little.

He’s rolling off the condom, tossing it towards–what you hope is– a trash can near his bed.

He lies back with a sigh.

And you can feel his gaze on you.

You scowl. “Stop looking at me like that.”

You sneak a look at him.

He smirks, unfazed. “Like what?”

You look back at the ceiling, “Like you’re so fucking proud of yourself.”

You feel him shrug, way too casual.

“You seemed to like it.”

You sit up slightly, groaning, you look down at him, “I hate you.”

He grins wider, “I know.”

You pull the sheet up over your chest and flop back down, pretending like this was no big deal.

Like it didn’t just wreck you from the inside out.

Like this was just sex.

Just really, really good sex.

And maybe it was.

Maybe that’s all it is.

You don’t look at him again.

But you feel his arm wrapping around you.

Holding you in place.

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#No Big Deal #Sexy Disasters with feelings #sdwf #jungkook #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut

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