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ichorai · 5 days ago

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xerox ; robert reynolds ; part four.

part one. | part two. | part three.

pairing ; robert (bob) reynolds x reader, thunderbolts & reader

synopsis ; you had one last job before you were free. no more splitting, no more deaths. unfortunately, that job seemed to rope in four other assassins and a... a man in hospital-wear?

words ; 6.6k

themes ; action, angst, slowburn, the beginnings of romance

warnings / includes ; violence, talks of mental health, mention of jacking off, human experimentation, child abuse, reader has the ability to split into multiple bodies (think dupli-kate from invincible), foul language, oh no i made the void sexy!

a/n ; sorry for the wait! this was meant to be a longer part but i honestly didn't want to wait to post HAHA, but i really hope you guys like it !!! guys i've gotten so attached to xerox as an oc you have nooo idea

main masterlist. read on ao3!

listen to a xerox playlist on spotify / youtube music! xerox's face claim :)

John’s morning started off as routinely as ever. Get out of bed at six-thirty AM sharp. Brush teeth. Stretches. Jogging. Muscle training at the gym. Scroll through hate tweets as he cools down. Shower. Then, finally, breakfast.

He made his way to the kitchen. To none of his surprise, you were already there—or a copy of you was—sitting at the farthest end of the island, completing a page of that ridiculously thick puzzle book of yours and nursing a mug of hot tea. Bob was beside you, hunched over what John spotted to be a Rubix cube. It was nearly solved.

John only grunted in response when Bob said, “Morning, Walker.”

He grabbed a box of raisin bran from the pantry (shoving aside multiple Avengers Wheaties boxes for it) and served himself a bowl. Then, when he made his way to the fridge—

“Where is the milk?” he asked, immediately turning to you two.

You didn’t bother to peer up from your book. “There was barely any left. We gave the last of it to Alpine.”

“You assholes,” John snarked. “You gave the last of my milk to the stupid cat?”

“It’s not yours,” Bob replied, defensive. “It’s for the entire team.”

“Well, what am I supposed to have with my cereal, then?” John hissed, much akin to a toddler.

“Yogurt?” Bob volunteered. “There’s Greek on the second shelf—”

“I don’t want yogurt,” Walker bit back as if Bob had just offered him mouse droppings.

This time, you looked up from your book to shoot him an unimpressed glare. “You won’t die if you skip cereal for a day. Make some toast, or something. Besides—Bob and I are going grocery shopping in a bit. We’re low on eggs, and Ava wants cucumbers. If you ask nicely… we can get you some more milk, too.”

John muttered something under his breath.

“Sorry, what was that?” you asked with a pointed look, exaggeratingly cupping a hand behind your ear. “Couldn’t quite hear you.”

“Yes, yeah, get me some milk. Jesus.”

“Magic word?” Bob asked, looking all too smug.

John scowled. The two of you were so annoying together. “Please,” he gritted out.

Both you and Bob exchanged amused glances, then returned to your devices, leaving John to pour his dry cereal back into the box and grab two slices of whole wheat bread to toast, grumbling about his ruined routine all the way.

Bob felt a little swell of pride at the bottom of his chest every time you accepted one of the fruits he’d offered you. It wasn’t like he could tell which apples were better than the rest—he was honestly just picking at random��but the ones you rejected and put back onto the piles were said to be bruised, misshapen, or squishy. All things he thought were quite normal qualities for fruit, but he trusted your fruit judgment.

“What’s wrong with the squishy ones?” Bob asked, picking up an apple you tossed to the side and inspecting its waxy red peel. He felt bad for the fruits discarded for seemingly asinine reasons.

The sour face you pulled made Bob’s heart trip over itself. “Just trust me. I had to have a lot of squishy fruit during my time in Madripoor. It either means they’re rotten, rotting, or they’ve got worms wriggling around inside.”

Bob blanched. Suddenly he didn’t feel all that bad anymore.

After all the fruits, vegetables, proteins, and generally healthier options were tossed into the cart, the two of you went on a frenzy grabbing junk food to your heart’s content: chips and sweets and frozen fried foods galore. The two of you stood in front of the vast refrigerated section full to the brim with dozens of options for ice cream.

“Raspberry s’more swirl?” Bob ventured.

You wrinkled your nose in distaste.

“What?” he asked.

“That sounds so American. And, yes, I do mean that as an insult.”

The two of you toddled out of the aisle juggling half a dozen tubs of varying flavors, none of which being the Swirly S'mores or whatever it was.

After picking up the last of what was on the list, Bob began to unload the groceries onto the conveyor belt. The cashier asked for your autograph with a nervous grin, brandishing a pen and notepad for you to scribble on. You never really bothered to come up with an autograph—you didn’t need one for the first three decades of your life, and now all of a sudden everyone around each corner of the street was asking for one. Just the other day, you gingerly signed a sweaty guy’s forehead, and the ink was already running down his face before he could turn and jog away. Ava called him a pig, and you could only pray that he was far enough not to hear.

You haphazardly scribbled XEROX in large capitol letters across the paper, hoping it would suffice. The cashier made no complaint and pocketed the autograph with a giddy air about her.

“Sorry if this is weird to ask—can you split? I’ve always wanted to see it in person.”

You blinked. Then, with a small, relenting smile, you duplicated, and your copy waved awkwardly. The cashier snapped a quick photo of you and your copy without even bothering to ask—you hadn’t even seen her whip out her phone—and you could feel Bob’s concerned eyes bore into you. You didn’t want to make it a big deal, so you silently paid for the groceries (with one of Valentina’s credit cards), bumped Bob’s shoulders with yours, and stuffed the goods into the reusable Avengers bags Alexei insisted you take with you. It was embarrassing using your own merch, but you tried not to think about it too much.

“Are you okay?” Bob asked once the two of you slipped back into the car, having loaded the food into the back. “That was…”

“Our new normal,” you sighed, pinching the space between your brows. “I mean—it’s fine, I guess. They’re just excited. I get it. My face is never getting scrubbed from the internet now, though.”

“Yeah,” Bob said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I feel you.”

Yesterday, Walker showed him a tiktok of the Void in the sky, crashing helicopters into buildings. Bob watched the screen with a small, shameful frown, until you tugged him away insisting that he helped you reach for a cup too high for you to reach. Of course, he knew that you were more than capable of getting it yourself, but he liked how you made him feel useful. Plus—he liked how your hand cuffed his shoulder in gratitude once he handed the cup to you.

“I love grabbing groceries with you,” he blurted out.

You glanced over at him, drumming your hands along the steering wheel. Then, you looked back at the road and smiled—the particular smile that made Bob’s insides melt like putty. “I love spending time with you too, Pal.”

Bucky Barnes didn’t care for many things. Flashy trends the new generation kept cycling through. Texting etiquette, or his lack thereof. The dozens of settings on washing machines nowadays. Ava’s propensity to phase straight through his room because it was a “short cut” to the gym.

But one thing he did care about—a considerable amount more than anything else, honestly—was his cat, Alpine.

So it took a great amount of reluctance to hand her over to you and Bob for the weekend. He had to fly out for a last minute undercover mission, and he couldn’t leave Alpine all alone in his apartment for days in a row. Usually he would leave Alpine with Sam, but the two were in a weird funk as of late.

“I don’t give her more than three pieces of Whiskers’ Delights a day,” Bucky warned, having a nagging suspicion that you weren’t really listening to him. “I don’t want to spoil her.”

Your fingers curled beneath Alpine’s chin, cooing unintelligible noises. Bucky rolled his eyes up to the ceiling.

“Just don’t overfeed her. Make sure you leave out a bowl of water for her, okay? And if she starts scratching stuff up, just pick her up and put her in front of the scratching post. I’ve been trying to train her to stop ruining my furniture.”

“Got it,” Bob said, before joining you in your hums and coos to the purring feline.

“See you later, Alpine,” said Bucky, a rare sort of warmth seeping into his tone.

Alpine flicked her tail at her father, then rubbed her fuzzy white head against Bob’s sweatshirt.

Bucky grunted out something that sounded suspiciously similar to, “Traitor.” He stalked towards the elevator with a deep-set scowl. Though, once he turned to press the button, he caught sight of you tugging Alpine into your lap, pressed up right beside Bob, your head resting on his. The man beside you was as red as a beetroot.

And Bucky wasn’t stupid. Despite his callous nature to the rest of the new “Avengers”, he found that he was rooting for the two of you. You would be good for each other. He wouldn’t be caught dead ever admitting it, though.

“Where’s Bob? You two are usually glued to the hip.” Ava asked out of the blue, startling you so much that you immediately split into two copies. Two pairs of your shocked eyes glared at her.

“Ava!” you snapped crossly, before reabsorbing your copy. “You gotta stop phasing into our rooms without knocking first. And Bob went out with Yelena—apparently she needed him for something.”

The woman plopped down onto the couch beside you, languidly crossing her arms. “Right.”

You let the silence settle between the two of you, picking up the book you’d been reading and carrying on. Then, feeling her fidget beside you, you asked, “Is there a reason you’re here or do you just want to spend time with me? Because you could’ve just asked.”

The face she pulled was dour, but fleeting. “Well, I just—I had a question. It’s stupid.”

“Mhm.”

“You know how the both of us were… raised in labs our whole lives, y’know the entire schtick.”

“... Yes?”

Now visibly uncomfortable, Ava tugged at the collar of her suit. “I just—I wanted to know… how you deal with it. The memories of it all. It’s just that you make it look so easy. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Me?” you said in utter disbelief, bookmarking your page and setting the book aside. “I make it look easy? Are you sure about that?” You thought about your near panic attack two days ago in the training room that left you breathless and spiraling, over nothing in particular.

This made Ava scoff. “Okay, relatively speaking. In general, you’re still pretty fucked up.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thanks.” Then, after a moment of thinking about it, you told her, “I think it helps that I can talk about it now. Not only to a therapist but to—friends.” The word felt foreign on your tongue, but it left a warm, homey feeling there, as well. “The puzzles help, too. Reminders that I’m safe and in control now.”

As she listened, Ava drew her knees up to her chest, chin resting over them. “I keep getting these memories. It’s like they attack me, and I—physically can’t breathe or move. Do you get those?”

“All the time,” you whispered.

“How do you stop it?”

You shook your head with a sad smile. “I don’t. I can’t just forget it all and push it away. I just… learn to live with it, learn to manage it. All the pain I’ve experienced.” You hesitated. “And inflicted.”

Pensive, Ava asked, “So you just—ride it out?”

“Not really. The past isn’t something that’ll just go away one day. It’s more of an acceptance, forgiveness, and moving on sort of thing. At least that’s what Janice tells me.”

“Who the hell’s Janice?”

“My therapist,” you said, giving Ava a nudge. “I can ask her if she can refer you to someone? Or we can just… talk to each other if that’s too much for now. I’m a good listener.”

With a brow raised, Ava retorted, “No, you’re not. You didn’t listen to a single thing Bucky said at last week’s meeting.”

“It’s the same shit he says every week.”

“Doesn’t help when you and Bob are whispering and giggling in each other’s ears, too,” she deadpanned, making your cheeks flush with heat. “You two are like little schoolgirls.”

Which was funny of her to say, considering neither of you ever really went to a proper school.

You wrinkled your nose and stuck your tongue out at her, to which she only flipped you off with both her middle fingers. “You’re deflecting!”

“That something your therapist taught you, as well?”

“Yes, actually. Apparently I do it a lot, too.”

Ava grunted in irritation. Then, finally, she said with great reluctance, “I think that sounds nice. The talking thing. With you.”

You smiled an awfully wide smile. “Yeah?”

“Don’t expect it to happen all the time.”

“Sure.”

“I’m a busy woman.”

“I’m aware.”

“And I don’t want it to be a sobfest or a pity party. I just want to—talk.”

“I know, Ava. I got you.”

“And if you tell anyone, I’ll gouge your eyes out with a hot spoon.”

“Mhm. Wait—not even Bob?”

Ava glared at you.

“I’m joking!” you exclaimed, hands raised, though the idea of not debriefing every minute detail of your day to Bob seemed less than appealing. But, as hard as it was to admit to yourself, you cared for Ava, and you wanted her to feel safe to speak to you in confidence. “We can talk whenever you want, Ava. Real casual.”

“Will you tell me about your… feelings and shit, too? So it won’t feel like—”

“A therapy session?” you finished for her, smothering a laugh. “Yeah, definitely. Trust me, I’m not qualified to be a therapist. The nurses at my facility sure liked to trauma dump on me whenever they drew my blood, though…”

And as you dove into the stories of your past, Ava could feel the weight on her chest lighten. Not completely, not even a lot—but just a little. And maybe that was enough for now.

—

In all honesty, Bob wasn’t even supposed to be here. Yelena could’ve brought just about any of the Avengers along with her—but now that all of them were ultra famous—save for Bob—he was simply the safest bet. Plus it helped to factor in that he was practically indestructible. It was meant to be a very quick and easy stealth mission, anyway. Bob was going to create a diversion with the scientists, who were then going to alert the guards, and Yelena would sneak into the underground lab, grab a vial or two of the poisonous drug, and high-tail back to headquarters for some nerdy guy in a labcoat to start fixing up an antidote in case someone decided to commit some casual bioterrorism.

Of course, she should’ve known that not everything would go according to plan.

It was partially both of their fault. Bob fucked up by taking the wrong turn and swinging straight into the lab Yelena was currently swiping from, and Yelena fucked up by trying to push him out the way he came instead of helping him up the vent she had busted in with. She wasn’t very used to working with others—particularly those who had virtually no prior training in the field.

There was a loud crash as Bob careened into a metal cart with her crowding motions, and a few vials precariously wobbled in their holders, before toppling to the ground. Glass shards rained all over the floor, and a puff of green smoke filled the air between the two. Yelena danced back several steps, grabbing Bob by the shoulder and yanking him away, as well. She covered her nose and mouth with her palm, and Bob copied her motions with a slight delay.

Panic settled in Yelena’s chest. She thought, at first, that it had been the poison. She was going to die in a lab choking on her own vomit, and Bob would just be forced to watch.

But then—Yelena smelled it before Bob did. Familiar. It was sweet, almost. Like the free peppermint candies you would get at a nice restaurant after a pricey meal, or those flavored flossing picks Yelena liked to buy from the pharmacy three blocks away from her old apartment.

In the case file she read, it was said that the poison was gaseous and was instantaneous in its harm. But Yelena felt completely fine. She glanced over at Bob, who also looked to be alright, if not a little wide-eyed and sweaty. Which was normal for him.

If that wasn’t poison, what was it? Yelena cautiously removed her hand from her face.

“I don’t think we’re going to die,” she said. “Which is good, because I really don’t want to die before finishing the new season of this crappy reality show where hot people try not to mash their groins together. Seriously, I cannot believe non-asexual people are real.”

There was a moment of silence. Yelena and Bob blinked at each other.

“Oh, wow. I did not mean to say any of that. Weird. What we broke must be some sort of gaseous version of a truth serum. No wonder it smelled familiar—we used to use a liquid version in the Red Room. Are you okay, Bob? How are you feeling? Sorry I pushed you into the cart.”

Bob glanced over at himself, as if checking to make sure he wasn’t actually impaled or stabbed or on fire. “I’m, uh—I think so? I’m feeling really thirsty.”

“You know what, if we get out of here alive, I’ll buy you whatever drink you want from K-Mart.”

“Okay. God, I knew I shouldn’t have come. I fucked it all up. Literally anyone would have been a better pick. Xerox or Ava or, hell, even Walker—”

“Okay, well, first of all, it’s not all your fault. We both fucked up. Second, I picked you, so—nothing we can do about it now,” said Yelena matter-of-factly. She strode across the lab to grab a stool for Bob to climb on so he could shimmy into the vents. “And Walker is too busy doing Buzzfeed puppy interviews to join me, which was a shock to me—I didn’t even know they still did those. Ava claimed a break day, and Xerox had a therapy—”

At the sound of your name, Bob suddenly blurted out the first thought that came to mind, “I think I’m in love with Xerox.”

One second. Then two.

Bob slapped his hands over his mouth with wide eyes when he registered what he’d just said. “Oh, God. What the fuck? I didn’t want to say that! Why did I say that? Truth serum, I know! But I—Wh—? I didn’t want you to know that yet?! Please don’t tell Xerox!” With each and every word he said, the tone of his voice grew increasingly squeakier.

The blonde assassin eyed her friend with an incredulous look. “... Yeah, Bob, we all knew that. You aren’t subtle at all.” With a scoff, Yelena gestured to the stool. “Now get on, Mr. Lovebird. The guards will be here any second.”

Bob’s expression was cemented into a horrified twist. As he clambered onto the chair with wobbly legs, he began to pull himself up into the vents. “Does Xerox know?” he called out, wincing when he heard his voice echo back through the cavernous metal tunnels now encompassing him.

“I don’t think so,” Yelena said from below, following his lead and slipping into the vents. “But, honestly, you should say something as soon as possible—unless you want Alexei to blurt it out on live television to appease the fans.”

“What—?!”

Before he could finish, the lab burst open, crawling with armed guards in gas masks. The lone stool sitting just beneath an open vent was more obvious than a flashing neon sign saying: IN HERE!

Gunfire began to ring out below. Yelena and Bob scrambled onto their hands and knees and shuffled off as quickly as they could. Honestly, Yelena wasn’t too worried for Bob—after all, he was just about invincible. She, however, wasn’t the least bit bulletproof. So when Bob tugged her to move up in front of him so he could act as shield between her and the bullets, Yelena neither complained nor protested.

“Hey, Bob?” she called over the gunfire, which was beginning to fade to faint plinks behind them as they put more distance between them and the soldiers.

Bob flinched at a particularly loud gunshot. “Yeah?”

“I’m really happy for you.”

Creased confusion. “For—for being shot at?”

“What? No! For Xerox. You deserve to be happy. Both of you.”

And Bob, even though he was quite literally being hunted and gunned down, couldn’t help but feel a small spark of happiness in his chest, even if it was accompanied with the putrid stink of shame. He would be thinking of Yelena’s words the whole way out of the lab, the brief fight with the soldiers once exiting the vents, and in the car ride back to base. When you greeted him at the door, he didn’t hesitate to return the hug you had flung at him, running his warm palms over your cold forearms. He met Yelena’s knowing eyes over your shoulder.

He wanted to tell you. He did, of course he did. But—there was fear, puppeteered by the Void. Paralyzing. Stinging. Biting.

Time. That’s what he needed. So he wouldn’t tell you, at least not for now, when everything was so good. He didn’t want to fuck up one of the few good things he’d just got in his life yet. Even if it felt like his chest was about to cleave itself into two at the thought of not telling you the truth about his feelings.

There was hardly a night that Bob spent where he wasn’t tossing and turning when trying to go to sleep. Shirt shirked off because he was so hot, and then promptly put back on because the feeling of the silk sheets against his bare skin irked him. Pacing across his room one second, then curled up in the center of his bed the next. Hands in his hair, then balled by his sides. Tried counting sheep, but they would always end up mutilated and bleating sad noises, so he stopped doing that. Pillows, no pillows. Rain noises, lofi beats, whale sounds, complete silence. Reading, scrolling through his phone, hell—even trying to jack off.

Nothing worked.

And so, exhausted beyond relief and near the brink of tears, Bob swiftly left his room and without thinking, he found himself automatically heading towards yours down the hall. He stood in front of your closed door, swaying on the spot. Too tired to think straight, but still had enough sense not to barge into your room unannounced.

He did this often. Would stand in front of your room like a forlorn dog that had been kicked out—listening for signs of life in there. He would sometimes hear music softly playing, your soft murmurs to yourself, or, his favorite tinkering peals of laughter. More often than not, he would turn right back around and go back to his room, smacking himself in the head and thinking himself a loser for needing someone else to go to sleep. Because that was exactly who Bob was—a loser.

The few times he brought himself to knock on your door, however—he didn’t exactly feel like a loser when you smiled at him, hands immediately tugging him in, excited to show him a painting you’d been working on or Alpine curled up in the corner of your room. You made him feel wanted. Like he wasn’t a complete nuisance to be bothering you this late at night. The two of you would often accidentally fall asleep together. On the bed, on the floor—once even in the kitchen when you both meandered your way there for some midnight snacks and never left.

This time, Bob felt the shame weigh extra heavy as he knocked on your door. What if you were busy? Or you were tired, and not in the mood to see him? Or you didn’t want to have company? Or that he was invading your privacy? Or you—

The door swung open, and you were rubbing one of your eyes with a fist, blinking at him with an adorable sort of grogginess that only came with—

Oh, God, you’d been sleeping, Bob realized with complete mortification and embarrassment. Ugh, he was such an idiot.

“Palindrome,” you said, voice slightly hoarse from your rest. Despite Bob’s stiff demeanor, you pushed the door open wider. “Come in. I’m glad you came. I was having a really bad dream.”

“Oh,” he said, all soft and troubled. He stepped in, immediately hit with the jasmine-scented air. You’d bought the diffusor a few days ago and the aroma was just heavenly. Bob could immediately feel his tense shoulders loosen a smidge. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, waving your hands dismissively. One of them fell on his arm, guiding him to the bed.

Bob could feel his heart jump to his chest. If you noticed his eyes roaming all over you, you didn’t say anything. To that, he was grateful. He was already flustered enough. With your cheeks blown out into a sigh, you fell face-first into your pillows.

“Lie down with me. I’m so cold,” you said once you turned back around to face him, making a show of curling in on yourself and shivering.

Bob spied the thick blanket you were lying on top of. The easy solution would’ve been to peel it back and drape it over you. But the other solution sounded far more appealing to him.

With a hum, Bob settled beside you, looping his arms around you, your back flush against his chest. The two of you slotted together like puzzle pieces sliding into place.

“You’re so warm.”

“Yeah, sorry, I—”

“Run hot. I know. It’s so nice. You’re like my personal heater.”

Bob liked the feeling of your cold nose pressing against his overheating bicep. “And you’re my personal, er, ice block? AC unit? Whichever sounds nicer, that’s what you are.”

You let out an amused huff at that. “Back in Madripoor, it’s almost always terribly hot. But when it reaches a certain hour at nighttime, it gets all windy and cold. We don’t have heaters in Southeast Asia like we do here—they’re impractical. So back then I would multiply and hold myself to get warm. Problem was that I’m always cold, so it felt like hugging—just like you said—an ice block. But I kept doing it. It felt nice to be held… even if it was just me.”

Bob squeezed you tighter. “Sorry,” he whispered into your hair. He wished he was better at comforting you.

“Don’t be,” you replied, sounding perfectly content. “I’ve got you now, don’t I?”

Beneath his ribs, he could feel his heart swell. Of course you could make the most useless man in the world feel like he was worth something.

“When I was a kid…” Bob began, always nervous to speak about his past, “I would get so hot that I would get out of bed and take a pillow with me and sleep by the window.”

“That’s so cute,” you crooned. He could feel you smile into his arm.

“Mmh. My dad wasn’t very happy about it. Said I was wasting all the house’s heating by keeping the windows open.”

“Yeah, well, your dad’s an asshole. Fuck him.”

“Hah. Yeah… fuck h—yeah.”

There was a comfortable silence for a while. Bob could feel himself rocking in and out of the sweet realm of slumber. Your voice reeled him out like a fish being pulled on a hook.

“Hmhng?” was the strange noise he made, having not heard what you said.

“Sorry. Did you fall asleep?”

“Yeah.” Bob sounded sheepish. “But I want to hear it. What you said.”

“Sorry,” you needlessly apologized again, even though Bob would rather be awake so he could spend more time with you. “I was just… I said that I don’t remember my name. My actual one. Or if I ever had one in the first place.”

Bob blinked in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t think they—the scientists that experimented on me—ever gave me a name. I had a number. Patient 080. But I didn’t have a name.”

Now, Bob was nodding. “Xerox was just—a terrible nickname. It wasn’t your actual name.”

“Yeah.” You shifted in his hold so that your hand could intertwine with one of his, toying with his fingers. “But I do like Xerox now. It’s mine—I’ve made it mine. I just wonder if I ever had a real name before that. I don’t remember much from back then. It always feels like I’m missing a big piece of the puzzle.”

“Maybe…” Bob trailed off, muttering.

“What?”

“Nah, no—it’s probably a stupid idea.”

“Nothing you could say to me would be a stupid idea, Pal. Please tell me. I wanna hear it.”

Bob, wincing, suggested, “Maybe you could try to do some research? See if they have any databases anywhere or something?”

“I did. The lab is an illegal operation, so they’re wiped clean. If there are records, it would be encrypted, and in Madripoor.” You were silent for several moments. “I could go back, in theory. Look for something. Anything.”

Bob’s brows furrowed, a queer sort of dread settling in the pits of his stomach. “You wanna leave?”

Silence prickled the air like needles through silk.

“I don’t. Going back has always been the last thing I’ve ever wanted to do. I’ve spent years running away. But—it would be closure, in a way. Maybe I need to do this. You know?”

Bob hugged you close to him, breathing you and the jasmine-tasting air in. “Would you come back?”

“Of course I would. I would miss you too much to stay away. Plus—the news will go insane if one of the New Avengers suddenly disappears. Or maybe they would move on in two or three days. Just another faded headline.”

The frown wouldn’t leave his face, no matter how hard he tried. He was grateful you were facing away from him. “I’ll miss you, too. A lot.”

He could hear you smile this time. “I’ll be back before you know it. I'll only need a few days. A week at most.” You made a few noises as you thought things through, and Bob felt the inexplicable, sudden urge to kiss your very soft-looking shoulder. He managed to restrain himself, albeit barely.

“I guess it’s settled, then,” you said, completely oblivious to his embarrassing thoughts of kissing you. “I’m going back to Madripoor.”

With you in his arms, Bob fell asleep in no time. The problem now, however, were the debilitating nightmares that haunted him whenever he was unconscious. Some days it wasn’t so bad—something embarrassing at his old school, or his nights high on meth… when he definitely should’ve been doing something better with his life. But most of the time, they were really bad nightmares. His father, red-faced, belt in hand. Or his mother, bleeding and crying. His friend he would do drugs with—who he couldn’t even remember the name of—foaming at the mouth and convulsing as he overdosed.

Tonight it was a strange combination of all three. And whilst Bob could try to keep the Void controlled and at bay when he was awake—it didn’t ever occur to him that it could take advantage of his unconscious self.

The darkness began to consume the bed as he twitched and shivered from his nightmares. You, sleeping away a very long day, didn’t notice. Typically, you were a very light sleeper—a habit you had since your hospital and mercenary days—but you’d grown accustomed to Bob’s regular movement during sleep.

And that was how the Void came to you in your dreams, dark as night, standing a full head taller than you. You blinked up at him, wondering if he was always this… big.

“Xerox,” he greeted, turning his head about to observe your dream-world with the tiny glints of light he had for eyes. The terrain was familiar to him—he’d brought you here before. “Do you often dream of hospitals?”

“Unfortunately,” you replied, picking up one of the half-solid scalpels with a frown. There was a hoarse scream in the distance, one that you’ve had to listen to a million times before: your own. You regarded him with a cruel sort of suspicion. “Am I dreaming you or—?”

“I came of my own volition,” said the Void. “I wanted to see you.”

“Hm.” You wanted to ask why, but you had a feeling you already knew the answer.

“You know I will never actually go away. Not for you, not for your precious Bob.”

“I know,” you said, voice cracking. With a sigh, you sat back down on the surgical operating table. “I wish you would, though. But that wouldn’t be very realistic.”

The Void came to sit beside you, leg pressed up against yours. He was freezing cold—a lot like you, and a stark opposite to Bob. You shifted away.

“You will always choose him over me,” said the dark mass. “But he is me. And I, him. There is no separating us. We all have our little void.”

“Nothing little about you,” you grumbled. The Void let out something akin to a laugh—like the quiet rumbles of thunder just before the angry, rageful clap.

There was silence as the two of you watched a surgeon enter, holding the hand of a little-you, leading you back to your cell. The child’s gaunt eyes were round with shock. Blood lined tiny-you’s mouth, slickened your hands and stained deep within the crevices beneath your nails.

“It stinks of death here,” the Void said.

“They used to make my newer copies fight the older ones,” you whispered to him. “See if any of their genetic enhancers actually worked. Most of the time it didn’t.”

Raising his hand, the Void turned the surgeon into shadow. The sight brought a small smile to your face. Swift, the Void hovered over younger-you’s shoulders.

“Oh, precious,” he crooned to the stricken child, who immediately leaned into the darkness’ touch. “Come.”

You watched with furrowed brows. “Where are you taking me?”

“Into my world. It’s stuffy in here. Smells antiseptic.”

His hand reached out for you to take it. And you could see it then—Bob within the Void. You softened just a little bit, though you still refused to take his hand.

“I hope in the real world you’re not taking over the city again. I’m a bit too tired to deal with my shame rooms at the moment.”

“Really? I thought they were fun. I enjoyed making them for you.” He laughed his timbrous laugh again, to which you only rolled your eyes. “Don’t worry. It’s just us two now.” The Void looked down at younger-you. “Well—three. Soon to be four.”

“What—?”

Before you could finish asking him what he meant by that, the dreamscape around you began to shift, dissipating like ink in water. You felt the ground turn from cold tile to a fibrous brown carpet.

There was shattering glass somewhere behind you. You whirled around to see a familiar man smashing a beer bottle against the wall, going straight for a woman and a young boy at the dinner table. The Void held his hand out, and Bob’s parents immediately turned into elongated shadows. The young boy—tiny Bob—cowered away from the growing darkness seeping into the carpet.

“Go,” the Void said to younger you, pushing the child forward.

With a lump in your throat, you stepped forward to take the shoulders of your younger self, kneeling down and using your sleeve to wipe away the blood from your face. Then, the child, both terrified and in awe of the Void, listened to his instructions and obediently went toddling off to young Bob.

Tiny you prodded at Bob’s shoulder, who only shrunk into himself more. It occurred to you that your younger self likely thought that this was a new opponent for you to fight. To your relief, however, your younger copy only slumped down the wall beside the boy, and began to recite the elements of the periodic table—something you used to do to help you go to sleep. Young Bob turned and listened with wide eyes.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked when you finally tore your gaze away from the children, both out of genuine curiosity and confusion.

“You had no friends,” he said. “I had no friends. At least in here we can pretend.”

“That’s all you do, isn’t it?” you asked him. “Pretend. That’s a sad way to live.”

“It’s the only way,” he responded. “This way, he—we won’t get hurt.”

“But what about our real friendships? What about the rest of the team?”

The Void stepped closer to you. “Is what we have not real?”

No. Yes. Either way, the answer didn’t sound quite right.

“Whatever it is, it’s not as important as real life. I can’t be stuck in delusions forever. I… we have to live life. A real one.”

Something in the Void’s voice broke—Bob spilling through. “I don’t want you to leave me.”

“You said it yourself. You’ll never actually go away,” you whispered. Then, you spared the Void a small, sad smile. “You can come visit. But I’m afraid you can’t stay.”

“You’ll miss me.”

“Oh, I will,” you said, not bothering to deny it. “But I think I’m far happier with where I am now. I don’t need you… hovering over my shoulder anymore.”

You looked to the children, who were now chattering quietly to themselves. Younger you looked happy to be talking to someone your age who wasn’t yourself, for once.

The Void stared at you for a long moment. Then, finally, he asked, “He makes you happy?”

“Bob?” You thought of his warmth. His kindness. His constant, soft touches. His spritely laughter. His stammering. His lopsided smile. His thoughtful gestures. His excessive emoticons in his texts. His love for animals. His strange habit of ad-libbing extra notes to catchy advertisement jingles. “Yes. He does.”

“Then I guess that’s reason enough for me to keep my distance. But I’ll come back. I always come back,” he said. “See you on the other side, Xerox.”

When you flinched awake, a loud, startled gasp emitted from you. You shot upwards on the bed, ripping yourself out of Bob’s warm embrace. The sudden movement made him jerk out of sleep, as well.

“Wha—Whuss goin’ on?” he sleepily muttered, looking juxtaposingly alarmed and ready to go back to sleep.

It was only when his warm arms wrapped around you again, did you realize that you were shaking. Immediately, you began sobbing. It was silent as always, but it wracked through your chest and made it difficult for you to breathe. You turned into his hold and buried your face into him, clinging onto him like an ant to sticky nectar, and he let you cry damp spots into his sweatshirt.

“Oh, no. I’m sorry,” rasped Bob, though he really didn’t know what he was apologizing for. Still, he was almost certain it was his fault. He rubbed comforting circles into your back. “I’m sorry.”

And, once you calmed down enough to regulate your breathing, you found yourself parroting the very same words to him.

#thunderbolts x reader #robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x reader #thunderbolts bob x reader #thunderbolts bob #robert reynolds fanfiction #robert reynolds x you #robert reynolds fanfic #thunderbolts fanfiction #robert reynolds #bob reynolds fanfiction #thunderbolts

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moonstruckme · 1 year ago

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Hiiii!I hope your doing great I saw your requests just opened and I was wondering if you would mind doing a poly emt marauders with a reader that’s in hospital and they don’t know until they’re like bringing in someone in or something and their like why didn’t you tell us and she’s like oh cause I didn’t want you to worry.Something like that if not it’s fine have a good day!!!🌊

Thanks for requesting gorgeous! Not super sure if this is accurate since I don’t think paramedics usually spend much time inside the hospital but oh well haha. Hope you have a good day too! <3

cw: hospital/emergency room, mention of broken bone

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 827 words

You’re just on your way out of A&E, feeling sore and shattered and more than a little sorry for yourself, when someone says your name. With an odd mix of relief and trepidation mingling in your chest, you turn.

Sirius makes it to your first. He takes your face in his hands, eyes scanning it over thoroughly before starting to make their way down your body. “Baby, what’s happened?”

“Hey,” you say, “what are you doing here?”

“Um, no.” James gives you a funny-looking smile, amusement tangled up with worry. “It’s fairly normal for us to be here, what are you doing here?”

“I, um—”

“Idiots.” Remus bypasses them both, taking your injured hand gently and holding it up where your other boyfriends can see it. “What happened here, lovely?”

“I broke my finger,” you admit.

Sirius looks devastated, though with the splint binding your two fingers together you thought it was fairly obvious. “How?”

“Shut it in my car door.”

James winces and Remus tsks compassionately, turning your hand so he can see the injured digit from another angle.

“How long have you been here?” he asks.

You shrug, not quite looking at any of them. “I had to wait a while. A few hours.”

Remus’ look lets you know your sheepishness isn’t without good reason. “Did you drive yourself like this?”

You nod meekly.

“Angel!” James wraps his arms around you, tucking your head underneath his chin, and you go happily. You’ll take his mollycoddling over Remus’ reproachful stare any day. “Why didn’t you call us? I can’t believe you had to sit here all by yourself.”

“I knew you were busy at work, and I didn’t want to worry you.” Now Sirius is glaring at you, too. You snuggle further into James’ embrace. “It wasn’t so bad.”

“Did they have to set it?” Sirius asks.

Your face heats. “Yeah. It was pretty weird-looking when it first happened.”

James makes a pitiful whining sound. “Poor love.”

“How long did they tell you it’d take to heal?” Remus’ voice sounds somewhat gentler now. He finally relinquishes your injured hand to Sirius, who starts turning it about and inspecting it in the same manner, like the doctor who splinted it for you might not have done a good enough job.

“Six to eight weeks,” you say glumly. It already feels annoyingly constraining not being able to bend either of those fingers; you’re not sure how you’re supposed to deal with it for weeks on end.

The boys exchange a look, and James drops the protective circle of his arms from around you. “I’m going to go find Amelia,” he says, “see if she’s on break.”

You clutch at his shirt with your good hand. “Don’t leave me,” you whisper.

Your boyfriend smiles, dropping a kiss on your head. “Sorry, lovie.”

“I think we ought to feel insulted,” Sirius comments as James walks away. Remus only shrugs.

He reaches for your face now that it’s not hidden under James’ chin, wiping frownily at something on your cheek.

“Are you feeling alright now, dove?” he asks, and you veritably liquefy at the tenderness in his voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You shrug one shoulder lightly. “I’m sorry I didn’t call, but it really wasn’t awful.”

Sirius gives your wrist an admonishing little squeeze. “You have tear marks on your face,” he contradicts you softly.

“Oh.” You run a finger under your eyes, feeling your face heat.

Remus tuts and lets his hand rest against the side of your neck, thumb stroking at your jaw. “We’re only on shift for another hour,” he tells you. “James is finding our friend Amelia so you can stay in the break room with her until we can come back and get you, okay?”

You shake your head, and his stare hardens but you say anyway, “I don’t need to be babysat. I can get home on my own.”

“You shouldn’t be driving after having anesthetic.”

You narrow your eyes. “Wouldn’t they have told me if that were the case?”

“We don’t want you driving with a numb hand,” Sirius clarifies. When you turn your attention to him, he gives you a stern look. “You should have called us in the first place. Just let us do what we can for you now, okay?”

You sigh in resignation just as James comes up behind you again. Seeing as no one has taken over hug duty, he wraps both arms around your waist, setting his chin on your shoulder.

“Okay,” you tell Sirius.

“Oh, excellent. All on the same page, are we?” James turns his head to smooch your cheek. “Knew you’d come around, angel. Amelia’s ready for you, so you can hang in the break room until we get back.”

“Is she going to baby me too?” you joke, letting him steer you towards the hallway.

“Probably not,” Sirius says, “but don’t you worry, sweetness. We’ll make up for that when we get you home.”

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jaebeomsbitch · 1 year ago

Text

My First Kiss (E.M.)

PT: II coming soon

Summary: Eddie finds out you’ve never kissed anyone before and offers to teach you.

Warnings: Minors DNI!!! Kissing, some light touching, cursing.

A/N: this was supposed to be a short one haha. Not edited!

“It was traumatic! She left saliva all over my face, maybe she was part dog” Eddie dramatizes, hands swinging wildly, the tv playing low in the background. You can’t help but laugh along as if you understand. All you can really do is imagine.

You cant help the look of disgust on your face before smiling.

“Oh yeah your battle scars run deep” you giggle pushing his thigh with your foot.

“I feel like it’s worse for girls, isn’t it?” He asks.

You quickly look down, cheeks blooming red like a spring flower in the morning.

“I- u-uh uhm— I” you stutter.

Eddie’s eyes furrow, it’s incredibly uncharacteristic for you to be this flustered especially after knowing you so long.

“I- I wouldn’t know” you mumble, shaking your hair out and curtaining yourself away from your best friend.

“You want me to teach you?” He asks, his tone a lot raspier than you remember two seconds ago.

“W-what? N-no that’d be weird” you stammer as your gaze snaps up towards Eddie.

“C’mon it’s just a kiss, it doesn’t have to mean anything or change anything” he says, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. Something so normal for the two of you that now feels weirdly charged. You stare at him like a fish out of water, mouth open, eyes wide as you contemplate.

“You can trust me, sweetheart” he says softly. Your eyelashes flutter, you hate that your stomach flips when he cups your cheek.

“I know, I know— jus’” you swallow hard looking up at him.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want. I’ll always take care of you” he says softly.

“It’s not gonna change anything? You’ll still be you and I’ll still be me?” You ask, heart thumping hard against your ribcage.

“Yeah, just me and you. Always” he murmurs.

“Okay,” you whisper after a beat.

His fingers weave through your hair, his touch gentle, as he cradles the back of your head. You twist your bodies, the angle awkward but not as awkward as you feel.

"Okay," He echoes, his tone soft. His gaze holds yours, his attention intense, as he commits himself to making this experience good for you. With a tender smile, he tilts his head, his lips inches from yours, as he prepares to take your first kiss. Your breath hitches, hands fisting his shirt.

His mouth hovers above yours, his warm breath dancing across your skin, as he senses your nervousness. He pauses, his lips barely grazing yours, as he allows you to anchor yourself. His fingers tighten in your hair, his grip reassuring, as he remains motionless, waiting for your cue.

Your breath shakes as you your lips approach his, eyes clamming shut, gasping when your lips press against his. You end up tugging at his shirt, Eddie grunts as his arm slips pressing his body into yours.

“Easy, sweetheart” he says pulling away from your mouth when he realizes you’re shaking.

“You’re safe with me,” he runs his fingers through your hair, trying to calm your frazzled nerves.

“I’m okay- I’m okay. Just wasn’t expecting this” you say.

“Shit” he looks down, moving off of you.

“Sorry” he straightens out his shirt. You don’t miss the light dusting of pink on the tips of his ears.

You smile softly when you realize despite his usual suave manner he’s also nervous.

“S’kay” you hum, letting yourself fall back onto the couch. You can feel his gaze burning through you. As the silence rings loud in Eddie’s trailer the awkwardness starts to grow. This sense of dread starts pressing into your chest, it’s almost suffocating. You sit up abruptly, startling Eddie in the process.

“Jesus Christ!” He says clutching his chest.

“Sorry” you laugh, feeling the tension lighten instantly.

“Why were you sitting up like you’re fucking…Pazuzu?” He asks, struggling to cross his legs on the small couch. You shift back to give him more room.

“Nothing, just wanted to try again”you try to say nonchalantly, totally not like your heart beat is in your throat and you want to vomit with anxiety.

“Oh, yeah?” He says, that smile back on his lips. The one you’ve accustomed to seeing whenever he proves you wrong or beats you at skeeball.

You roll your eyes, “yeah but only if you don’t crush me in the process again.”

“I’m a growing boy!” He protests, moving to sit against the couch cushions again.

“You’re twenty five,” you deadpan.

“And yet you still want you kiss me” he grins, grabbing your elbow and pulling you towards him gently.

“Technically you asked to kiss me so I think you want to kiss me more” you tease, crawling over to him.

“Maybe I do” he smiles grabbing your hip and bringing your leg over his until you’re straddling him.

“Yeah right” you chuckle, brushing his hair back. You feel the way his hands slide down your hips to wrap around the backs of your thighs, your heart beat racing so fast you think you might have a heart attack.

“I’m serious,” he says, looking up at you with those big brown eyes.

“No you’re not” you laugh, not believing your player of a best friend for a second.

“Yes, I am” he says. Your eyebrows furrow as you look down at him.

“No you’re not” you shake your head. His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head forcing you to look at him. Your lips brush ever so slightly causing you to lose your breath.

“Yes I do” he whispers

“Eds…” your voice shakes, your hands finding his shoulders for some stability as everything you know starts to fall apart.

“I wanna kiss you sweets… please” he sounds so pathetic in the best of ways. You can’t help but squeeze his shoulders.

“I- I-“ you struggle with your desires and your logic.

“Just feel baby” he whispers, hand squeezing your thigh softly.

You swallow hard before pressing your lips to his, hands tangled in his knotted hair. You’re incredibly clumsy but Eddie doesn’t mind, not when he can feel his lips tingle with sparks.

Your fingers dig harder into his shoulders as you start to find your rhythm. Just when you start to get comfortable he squeezes your ass pressing your chest into his, not wanting to leave any space between you two. You moan as your hips press into his. You can feel the thick bulge through the stupidly short shorts he wears.

“Eddie” you pant as he starts pressing kisses down your neck.

“Mhm” he hums against your skin, sucking on it and leaving purple bruises.

“Fuck— m-maybe we’re going too fast?” You struggle to keep your thoughts together. He pulls back “You ‘kay?” He asks, his hand holding your jaw.

You nod, noticing how disheveled he looks. His hair mussed and tangled, lips puffy and dark pink, the collar of his shirt slightly stretched.

“M’okay” you lick your lips self consciously.

“What’s going through that beautiful head of yours?” He asks, his thumb rubbing your cheek back and forth.

“That we’re about to fuck everything up” you whisper.

“We’re not gonna fuck it up” Eddie responds immediately.

“I like you, I’ve liked you, I’ll continue to follow you around like a little lost puppy dog even if you don’t wanna kiss me again but we’re not gonna fuck us up” he says holding your face making sure you understand him clearly. Your mind reels as Eddie drops the thin vein, the one thing that kept the reality of what’s going on between you to unspoken.

“Eds…” you whisper.

“N-no it’s fine” he says, lowering his hands from your face as the embarrassment of being rejected sets in. Eddie is used you rejection but he actually likes you, it’s not some one night stand with a stranger.

“No, no hold on. I’m not saying no” you rush.

“I like you but— but you’re you and I’m… me” you say squeezing his shoulders

“What the fuck does that even mean?” He asks, his tone a little harsher than he means to be.

You flinch at this new side of your best friend.

“Nothing, it doesn’t mean nothing” you sigh, he won’t get.

“Tell me” he says grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him. You swallow hard as you’re met with those big brown pleading eyes of his.

“You’re hot and I’m—“ you trail off.

“You’re what?” He pushes you again.

“A hideous monster that no one would ever look at” you murmur. You don’t have time to react before his lips are on yours, they’re not soft and patient like before. It’s angry and you find it hard to keep up but it feels like Eddie is swallowing you whole.

“Shut the fuck up, if I ever hear you talk ‘bout yourself that way again I’ll make sure you forget about all those stupid little thoughts, yeah?” He says, eyes wide. He looks pissed, more angry than you’ve seen him when he’s just off of work and customer was being an asshole.

“I- uhm okay” you stammer

“S’what I thought. Good girl” he breathes out a sigh, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You hate that your mind does blank as soon as the praise slips out of his pink lips, your body still as he falls back on the couch. His hands haven’t left the backs of your thighs, no. Instead he’s started tracing patterns onto the sensitive skin.

Every piece of your best friend is tantalizing whether he realizes it or not. It’s so easy to fall for his charm, especially when it includes those big brown eyes of his. You’d fallen for Eddie far too long ago, before the leather jackets and metal music. Back when scraped knees and soft kisses to your marred skin were innocent.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson / reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson/reader #eddie munson/you #eddie Munson/ female reader

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bambambwi · 4 months ago

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can i request where the reader is taeyangs sister and ji yong is dating his sister and taeyang finds out about your relationship with his bestfriend :>>

oh, i actually wrote something similar to this! it has been sitting in my drafts for sometime now though haha,, here you go!

༺ context ; You just returned to Korea after your trip to Japan, only to realize you lost your house key and couldn’t get inside. While you wait till your spare key made, your brother, Taeyang, invited you to his workplace so you wouldn’t be left waiting. ༺ warnings ; None! its entirely fluff

──────────────────────

"Taeyang, it's okay… I really can't just show up at your workplace," you said nervously over the phone.

"It's fine. You have nowhere else to go right now, right? Just come over," he insisted.

You bit your lip, heart pounding for a completely different reason. It wasn’t just about showing up at his workplace—it was about who you might run into.

Jiyong, Your boyfriend. The secret you’d been keeping from everyone for a while now, especially Taeyang.

"…Are you sure?" you asked, stalling for time.

"Of course. Stop overthinking and just over here," he said, already sounding distracted.

The call ended before you could argue any further. You stared at your phone, a pit forming in your stomach.

This was bad. Really bad. Because if Jiyong was there, and if Taeyang noticed anything even remotely suspicious… your secret might not stay a secret for long.

You took a deep breath as you stepped out of the taxi, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. The building loomed in front of you, its glass doors reflecting the city lights. Your heart pounded with every step, a mix of nerves and anticipation twisting in your stomach and before you even had a chance to text Taeyang that you’d arrived, the door swung open.

"There you are!" Taeyang’s familiar voice rang out as he stepped outside, relief washing over his face.

"Hey," you said, forcing a smile, but before you could say anything else, he grabbed your wrist.

"Come on, let’s go inside," he said, already pulling you in.

"Wait—Taeyang, slow down!" you protested, but he didn’t let go, weaving through the hallways like he was on a mission.

"You’re not just gonna stand around in the lobby," he said, flashing you a grin. "Come to the practice room. You can hang out there while I finish up."

Your stomach dropped. The practice room.

Which meant—

Before you could come up with an excuse, Taeyang pushed open the door, leading you straight inside.

And the first thing you saw was Jiyong.

Jiyong’s eyes met yours the second you stepped inside, his expression shifting from confusion to surprise. You froze, gripping the strap of your bag tighter, trying to suppress the panic rising in your chest. Behind Taeyang’s back, you quickly shook your head, silently pleading with Jiyong not to say anything.

He blinked, clearly trying to process what was happening, but before he could react, Taeyang clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"Don’t mind my sister," he said casually. "She’ll be staying here for a while."

Jiyong’s gaze flickered between you and Taeyang, his lips pressing together like he was holding back a thousand questions.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to act normal. Just play it cool.

"Yeah… Just for a bit,” you added, your voice steadier than you felt.

Jiyong leaned back slightly, arms crossed, still watching you. You could see the unspoken words in his eyes—Why are you here? Why didn’t you tell me? What are we supposed to do now?

Seunghyun and Daesung greeted you warmly, engaging you in light conversation. They asked about your trip to Japan, and you did your best to respond naturally, talking about the food, the sights, and the souvenirs you had brought back. Their easygoing nature helped calm your nerves—at least a little but, you couldn’t ignore the weight of Jiyong’s gaze on you. No matter how much you tried to focus on the conversation, you could feel it—steady, unrelenting, as if he was silently demanding an explanation. You refused to look at him, afraid that even a fleeting glance would give too much away.

As the conversation settled, Seunghyun and Daesung shifted their focus back to practice. Taeyang, still unaware of the silent tension, clapped his hands together, signaling it was time to get back to work.

Grateful for the chance to retreat, you quietly moved to the side, settling into a chair near the wall. You pulled out your phone, pretending to scroll, but your mind was elsewhere.

The music started, filling the room as they fell into sync, their movements sharp and practiced. You watched absently, occasionally glancing up, but no matter how much you tried to blend into the background.

As soon as they took a break, you seized the opportunity to step away. Turning to Taeyang, you asked where the pantry was, hoping for a brief escape. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and gestured toward the hallway. "Second door on the left."

Before you could leave, Daesung perked up. "Oh! If you’re going, can you grab me some chips?"

Seunghyun nodded in agreement. "And a bottle of water for me, please."

A few more requests followed, and you chuckled despite yourself. "Alright, alright. I’ll see what I can find."

You heard Jiyong’s footsteps trailing behind you, and though you tried to keep walking casually, your heart skipped a beat. After a few moments, he caught up to you, matching your pace silently.

You didn't dare glance back, afraid that if you did, you'd reveal just how unsettled you were. The tension between you both was thick, hanging in the air, and you could feel it more than ever now.

"You're going to get snacks for them?" Jiyong asked, his voice quiet, almost as if he was testing the waters.

"Yeah," you answered, keeping your gaze forward. "Taeyang and the others asked for some stuff."

Jiyong stayed silent for a moment, then muttered, "I didn’t know you were close enough with them to be running errands."

You could hear the subtle edge in his tone, but you refused to acknowledge it, hoping he’d let the conversation die and as you reached the pantry door, you finally turned to face him. "Jiyong, what are you doing?"

He stood a little too close now, his gaze intense, but unreadable. "Making sure you’re okay," he said softly.

Jiyong’s voice cut through the stillness of the pantry, and you froze, your hand hovering over the shelf.

"Don’t you think it’s time to tell everyone?" he repeated, his tone more direct this time, his eyes not leaving you.

You exhaled slowly, trying to keep your composure. You had been dreading this moment, and now it was here. There was no easy answer.

"I... I don't know, Jiyong," you said quietly, turning away slightly as you reached for the snacks. "It's just... complicated.’’

He stepped closer, his presence filling the space. "But keeping it a secret doesn’t make it easier. Don’t you think it’s worse, trying to hide something like this?"

You closed your eyes for a moment, biting your lip. Part of you knew he was right.

You didn’t answer him, the weight of his words settling in the space between you. Instead, you stepped toward the door, hoping the simple act of leaving would ease the tension that was starting to suffocate you but when you reached for the handle, your hand paused. The door was locked.

Your heart raced as you tugged at the door handle again, panic starting to set in. It was really locked. You glanced at Jiyong, your breath quickening.

"Ji? Ji! It’s locked!" you said, the urgency in your voice obvious.

He walked over calmly, his hand brushing past you as he tried the door, turning the handle with ease. ’’It’s locked!" he said quietly, testing it again as if the answer wasn’t clear.

"I know it’s locked!" you snapped, frustration building. "Can you do something?"

Just as Jiyong seemed to be about to say something, the lights suddenly flickered, then went out entirely. "Jiyong?" you called out, panic starting to rise in your throat. "What’s happening?"

Before you could react, you felt the cold air rush in, your senses heightened by the absence of light. You shrieked, the overwhelming sense of being trapped and vulnerable hitting you all at once. Without thinking, you reached out and grabbed onto Jiyong, clutching him tightly.

He froze for a moment, surprised, but then his hands found your arms, gently guiding you closer to him. "Hey, it’s alright," he said softly, trying to calm you. "It’s just a power outage."

"I... I don’t like this," you admitted in a shaky voice, your hands trembling.

Jiyong exhaled slowly, his hands resting on your shoulders now, his touch grounding you. "I know. I’ve got you."

Back in the practice room, the group sat in silence, the absence of light making everything feel heavier. The sound of their voices, however, broke the stillness.

"Don’t you think she’s taking too long just to get snacks?" Daesung’s voice echoed in the dark, a hint of concern in his tone. "What if she got lost?"

Seunghyun, still leaning against the wall, scoffed lightly. "Jiyong went with her. How could she possibly get lost?"

Taeyang, who had been pacing the room absentmindedly, suddenly stopped. He pulled out his phone, turning on the flashlight with a small frown. "I’m going to find them," he said, his voice firm. "They should’ve been back by now."

Daesung looked at Seunghyun, both of them sharing a brief, puzzled glance. "Maybe they’re just talking or something," Seunghyun offered.

Taeyang didn’t seem convinced. "Still, I’ll go check." He moved toward the door, the beam of his phone lighting the way as he pushed it open.

In the dimly lit pantry, the silence stretched between you and Jiyong, broken only by the soft rustle of a chip bag. You had finally started to calm down a little, still clinging to him for comfort, your breath a little steadier now.

Jiyong’s hands were wrapped around the chip bag, his fingers casually pulling out a handful and tossing them into his mouth. He ate them slowly, seemingly unfazed by the situation.

"Are you… are you seriously eating chips right now?" you asked, voice tinged with disbelief.

Jiyong glanced at you, his eyes flickering with amusement, but his expression softened when he saw the tension still lingering in your face. "What else am I supposed to do?" he asked casually, popping another chip into his mouth. "We’re stuck in here. Might as well enjoy it."

As the minutes passed, the situation settled into an eerie calm. Jiyong leaned his back against the pantry wall, seemingly at ease, one leg bent and his hands casually holding the chip bag. Meanwhile, you remained close, still clinging onto him, the weight of your thoughts swirling in silence.

Taeyang’s footsteps echoed through the hallway as he reached the pantry, his phone flashlight cutting through the dark. He pushed the door with force, trying to break the lock that had kept you both inside. The door groaned in protest, but with a final shove, it creaked open.

There, in the dim light, was Jiyong, leaning back against the wall with you still clinging to him, your head tilted slightly toward him. He had his lips near your cheek, and in that quiet, fleeting moment, he kissed you.

Taeyang stood there for a moment, still processing what he had just witnessed. His mind raced, but he quickly composed himself, a deep breath escaping him as he shook his head, trying to grasp the situation.

"Jiyong." he said, his voice a mix of shock and disbelief, "that's my sister."

Jiyong didn’t flinch, but there was a flicker of surprise in his eyes. He leaned back slightly, glancing at you before meeting Taeyang’s gaze. The casualness in his demeanor was gone, replaced with a quiet, almost apologetic expression.

"I know," Jiyong replied, his voice steady but low.

The three of you awkwardly made your way out of the pantry, the door finally creaking open. As you and Taeyang started down the hallway, the atmosphere shifted. The tension between you two, while still present, turned into the familiar bickering of siblings. The bickering continued even walking into the practice room, with Jiyong following along, still quietly carrying the snacks and enjoying the sibling chaos.

You and Taeyang continued bickering in the practice room, your voices filled the space with the usual playful back-and-forth as Jiyong walked over to Seunghyun and Daesung, who had been watching the exchange with curiosity. The two of them sat casually on the side, taking in the back-and-forth like an ongoing show. Jiyong slid into a spot next to them, giving them the snacks you’d intended to bring earlier.

"What's up with them?" Seunghyun asked, nodding toward the ongoing playful exchange between you and Taeyang.

Jiyong casually shrugged, glancing back at the siblings with a small smirk. "Oh, he just found out I've been dating his sister."

Seunghyun and Daesung both blinked in surprise, their mouths dropping slightly as they looked at each other, processing what Jiyong had just said. "You—what?!" both of them exclaimed in unison.

Jiyong chuckled softly, holding up the bag of snacks in one hand. "Yeah, well, it’s not exactly how I planned for him to find out, but it happened."

Both Seunghyun and Daesung exchanged another look, processing the new information. Finally, Seunghyun shook his head, chuckling. "This is going to be interesting," he muttered, still trying to wrap his mind around it.

Daesung couldn’t hold back his laugh, clearly amused. "I’m just glad we’re not the ones caught in the middle of that bickering."

Jiyong leaned back casually, looking over at you and Taeyang, who were still exchanging jabs. "Yeah, that’s all them. I’m just here for the ride."

#kpop #kpop fanfic #bigbang x reader #bigbang #fanfic #g dragon #kpop x reader #g dragon x reader #kwon jiyong #kwon jiyong x reader

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elioas-diel · 5 months ago

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gally the maze runner

🎀!who has a (not so little) crush on you

🎀::(first image, on the left) full creds to: estherscanon on pintrest!

🎀:: A/N: my trade marks are back!! i’ve really gotta update my last two posts - i still haven’t put my watermark on it yet.. haha whoops😭

this was requested by lovely: @rainydaydream-gal18 i hope you like it!

thinking about! gally who has a little crush on you ♡

🎀:: includes, glader!gally, how i think he’d act if he had a crush on you, fluff, headcanons, and you!

-🎀-

thinking about!gally before he knew he liked you, who gets frustrated - at the fact you’re on his mind too much. he’d grumble obscenities under his breath whenever he caught himself looking at you or thinking about you as he zones out, when he really should be focusing on his job

thinking about!gally before he knew he liked you, who unconsciously pushes himself harder when you’re watching or near him.

if its when he’s in the fighting pit: he’d roll up his sleeves to the point his muscular arms are bulging out the tight shirtsleeve - making up excuses when asked about it by his friends, saying things like:

“they just feel better when I go to land a punch - no biggie,” (but it isn’t a “no biggie,” those muscles are far from that and he knows it - lets just hope you realise it too)

he’d pull off more tactical moves and stronger throws of his fists.

or if its a normal day of building: he’d take things out of gladers hands, even shoving them out of the way, just so he’d be in your field of vision.

“gally- wait you just said I was positioned here a few minutes ago!”

“not anymore - go and help out, somewhere else shuck-face,”

thinking about!gally before he knew he liked you, who suddenly snaps/scoffs at you randomly. If you’re too close - at the teasing jokes you make, you know what? even at the sound of your voice.

you know and he knows that he doesn’t mean it, after all your good friends, but it starts to confuse you. which only makes him snap back even more.

its almost comedic.

but really it’s just a defensive mechanism to him - a barrier he puts up to help push down bubbling feelings that keep arising in his chest.

-🎀-

gally who thought he was pretty good at keeping his emotions in line, finally ends up cracking when he lets himself sit with his thoughts.

-🎀-

thinking about!gally who now knows he likes you, suddenly becomes ticked off by any guy who gets your attention - he might throw some shade or a sarcastic comment at them but shrug it off when you mention it.

though, if the glader you were speaking to, ever brought it up - he’d go and make a scene out of it.

pushing at gally’s chest a glader steps in front of him, “what the hell dude, what’s your deal?”

shoving the male in front of him slightly he scoffs back, “you wanna find out slinthead? c’mon keep pushing me, dude.”

thinking about!gally who now knows he likes you, does everything in his power to avoid you - whats he supposed to do with these feelings now? why does he keep acting out?

he doesn’t remember any trace of knowledge that taught him how he’s supposed to go about, whatever this even is!

while this existential crisis occurs in his brain, his demeanour does not show any signs of panic. His body seems to just run itself - his expression serious, and his body just a teensy bit more tense when he’s around you, whilst his consciousness suffers inside.

-🎀-

gally who isn’t the type to easily admit his emotions - finally admits that he likes you when his body takes full control and crashes his lips into yours.

this wasn’t how his little declaration of love was supposed to go - but all thoughts of worry slip away when you feel your body melt into his.

gally honestly was never going to get his way by expressing his feelings through his words so maybe his actions might show much he likes you?

but the funny thing is the fact you always knew - you had always liked him - from the moment you met him - but there was no way in this world you’d ever admit that. so imagine how relieved you felt when he finally made the first move.

at the end of the day though, you were as stubborn as he was, maybe thats what makes you so crazy for each-other?

-🎀-

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umikawa · 4 months ago

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infatuated

a/n: listened to like four songs on repeat to write this haha (￣▽￣) I hope this is good!?? used penny and pete from tgm’s relationship as inspo lol <3

Stanley Snyder x gn!reader | 1.8k wc | warnings: on&off relationship (get it together!) alcohol consumption (ur in a bar, don’t waste it) smoking (it’s Stanley) maybe a bit ooc? I love yapping.

♫ infatuated / the royston club | flash in the pan / wallice | war / keshi | lullaby for you / greer

“Nice to see a familiar face here.”

You chuckle at the voice, smooth and deep, with the slightest southern drawl, familiar and warm. The person slides into the barstool beside you, nodding to the other person beside you with a glare.

Get away. Get lost. Don’t come back. The intention was obvious: to rid you of a flea you’d spend too much unnecessary time and attention on. He saved you the time, being in uniform, his purple lipstick painting a nasty (shit-eating) smirk on his lips. His appearance added to his intimidating personality.

“Scaring away my dates as per usual.” You laugh, downing the rest of your drink and flagging the bartender for another. “A beer too, please– Pabst.”

Stanley grins at the remembrance of his drink of choice, crossing his arms across his chest. “Taking your dates to our bar, sitting in our seats— as per usual.” He mocks your words with a scoff, tipping his head towards the bartender when they slide the beer to him. “Don’t have any other place to show your collection of love interests?”

“Don’t you have any other bar to go to?”

“Actually,” he starts, quickly swigging his beer. “This is the closest one to where I’m stationed, but you knew that, didn't you?”

You shrug, tracing the rim of your glass as you refuse to look at him. “Maybe I’m just eternally trapped here,” you said quietly, laughing softly at your own words. “It’s my own personal hell. Limbo, maybe.”

Stanley looks down the spout of his bottle, eerily shifting into the barrel of a gun the longer he stares at it. Was that supposed to be an unrelated metaphor? “Why do you keep holding on?”

You turned to him for the first time since he walked in. Your expression was almost deadpan, but Stanley knew how to read you: longing, resignation, guilt.

He didn’t understand the last one; you had no reason to be guilty. Your parting was solely because of him and his devotion to serve. He would lay down his life in war if he needed to, and you didn’t like that.

“Why do you want to let go?”

Stanley looks at you, really looks at you. Three key differences have changed since he last saw you.

For one, the bags under your eyes. You’d kill him for pointing it out. You always gave him shit for saying it— he was just concerned and didn’t know how to show it. Though you did have some the last time he saw you, they seemed to have worsened, emphasizing the darkened skin underneath your eyes. Have you not been sleeping well?

Two, your hair was longer. It would look the same to a normal person; nothing more than a few inches had been added to the ends of your hair, but Stanley could tell. Were you letting it grow? Or were you refusing to cut it because it was the last thing he touched before he left you again? He shouldn’t give himself so much credit, but hair holds memories.

Third, the lack of bite. Before, you’d shoot remark after remark with him, going on and on for hours on end until you were leaning against the counter with a defeated (sleepy) expression. But now, it was only blatant relinquishment: no fight, no argument, nothing.

“You truly think I want to let go, or that I have?” He keeps his eyes forward, zoning in on the bottles lined up in rows behind the bar. “Do you think you’re the only one that comes to this bar and sits in these seats, hoping the other will show up or already be here?”

Your hand comes up to your face with a quiet sigh, almost a whine, like you didn’t want this conversation to happen. “So you admit it, you feel the same… reluctancy as I do.”

Reluctance? To what? Let go?

“That’s one of the reasons we didn’t work out back then.” You glance at him lazily, eyes darting to the somehow visible stain of purple lipstick on the rim of his bottle. “We always bottled our emotions to save face for the other.”

“Couples therapists would’ve loved us.” He chuckles at your quick joke, taking a sip of his beer. “I guess somewhere along the lines, we got so used to bottling everything up that we started to hide our infatuation as well.” You pause momentarily, furrowing your brows while staring absentmindedly into your glass. “Even when we went to bed, we weren’t together. We were just…laying next to each other.”

Stanley hums, feeling his pocket for a cigarette—he really needs one right now. You spare him a glance but don’t say anything as he retracts his hand, silently waving to the bartender and sliding your card across the counter.

He opens his mouth to protest, but he was already too late when you put your card on the bar. So he keeps quiet, muttering to himself about his marine salary that would have paid your tab.

“It’s fine. Besides, I had a lot more than you did.” You reassured, slipping your card back into your wallet. “Let's go outside. You wanna smoke, don’t you?” He follows wordlessly as you walk out of the bar, taking the box of cigarettes from his coat the second he feels the cool air hit his skin.

Nothing was said between you two for a while—just a silent exchange of glances. The only sound was the exhale of breath that flew past Stanley’s lips occasionally. He’d passed the cigarette to you when he caught you eyeing it, laughing softly at the disgusted face you made after inhaling it.

“I’m glad I never picked up this habit from you.” Your voice strained as you held your coughs in. “How the hell did you pass the Marine inspection?”

“Tobacco isn’t a stimulant.”

“Are you dumb? It is. It’s literally nicotine.” He looks off the side, blinking down at the dimly lit stick in his grasp. “Stanley, come on.” You burst into laughter at his reaction, nearly keeling over when he drops the cigarette to the ground and squashes it with his shoe.

He freezes when he feels your hand holds the side of his face, fingers brushing against his buzzed sides. “What happened to that smart-ass brain of yours, huh?”

Why were you being so casual when moments ago you looked like you wanted a hole to open up beneath you and swallow you? So that you could avoid the prying question of what could’ve been?

“It got fried,” he says, a blank expression on his face. He couldn’t focus with your warm touch against his skin. “Being a marine isn’t easy, you know?” Your thumb starts to brush against his cheek, and Stanley has to fight every power within him not to shut his eyes in content.

“I bet.”

Silence looms over the two of you again. Your palm is still planted on his cheek, and his eyes fluttered shut a second ago—much to his dismay and to your amusement. But before he could continue to savor the feeling of your warmth properly, your hand starts to slip away slowly, and Stanley starts to feel…

Reminiscent.

He’s quick to latch his fingers around your wrist before you can pull away entirely, holding it near his head while you stare at him with wide eyes. He didn’t know what he was doing, nor did you, but Stanley didn’t stop himself when he began pulling you closer, and you didn’t make any effort to pull away when his face was inches from yours.

Just before his lips press against yours, he whispers out. “Do you want this?” A faint nod, almost like hesitation. Then another, firm and confident. Stanley would’ve preferred you use your words, but he dismisses it this time, not wasting another second before he presses his lips to yours.

You sigh through your nose when he kisses you, hands traveling to his neck, holding his jaw delicately, bringing him closer to you with each passing second.

Then, Stanley gets desperate.

His movements become sloppy, uncharacteristic for a man as poised as him, who was ever the perfectionist. His mind was fuzzy, eyes screwed shut as he tried to compose himself before you could pull away.

Stanley was terrified, and he didn’t know how to handle it.

His hand moved to your waist, gripping tightly like he was afraid to lose you again, and maybe he was right to feel that way— because it always ended like that.

He’d have you in his grasp, and then he’d get dragged back to reality before you could indulge in the feeling. But Stanley never held tight enough to keep you bound to him. That was his fault. That’s why you never stayed. Because Stanley could never commit the way you wanted– or hoped.

“I’m leaving tomorrow.” He whispers when he pulls away, resting his head against yours while clutching the fabric of your jacket tightly. “I won’t be here for a few months, but when I come back– will you let me come home to you?”

When you look at him, there’s a clear emotion written on his face. One that he’d never shown much before, one that he kept bottled up in fear of judgment.

Vulnerability.

“It always ends the same with us, Stanley.” His eyes shut as you spoke, saying the words he wished you hadn’t. “I don’t know if I can handle watching you leave again.”

“I won't.” He shakes his head, “I couldn’t let you go when I didn’t even have you. Your name is engraved in my heart and soul.”

A soft chuckle comes from you suddenly. Stanley doesn’t understand why. “I never knew you could be so romantic.”

“Let’s focus on the topic at hand, shall we?” He prompts with a light snort. “Will you wait for me?”

A quiet hum follows his question. It's almost like you’re trying to torment him with your silence. “I’ll wait forever and a day, Stanley.” You answer, fixing his collar to occupy your hands. “Even if we break up two weeks in, you’re worth it.”

He shakes his head. As if he was going to let you go again.“When I come back, I’m yours forever.”

You sigh, filled with faux despair. “What a nightmare.” Stanley grins at your remark, holding your chin as he presses a long kiss to your lips. “Oh, I’m already dreading it.” He hums softly, lips curling into a smile when you bump your nose against his.

“We’ll make it work.” He says suddenly, though it sounds more of a promise to himself than a declaration to you.

You glance at him, an almost pained smile on your face. “I know.”

“I love you.”

He’s met with wide eyes holding a glimmer of hope and a touch of love. But, Stanley nearly takes his words back and scoffs to himself at your response.

“I know.”

a/n: I was watching sw… that explains the ending.. sorry… also no idea if Pabst is a good beer, just heard it in a song

#stanley snyder x reader #drst x reader #dcst x reader #dr stone x reader #stanley snyder x gn reader #stanley snyder imagines #stan snyder x reader #dr stone x y/n #stanley snyder x y/n

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kwanniverse · 3 months ago

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i meant it when i said i wanted to be more than friends

pairing: childhood friend wonwoo x reader troupe: childhood friends to lovers genre(s): pure fluff (might be sm worse compared to my other fics since i'm not good at writing fluff and this fic will only give awws so i'll try my best:) warning(s): like two swears/curses in the whole thing word count: ~2.5k summary: it's simple, they both like each other in a way friend's wouldn't. yet, neither wants to make a move, scared that if they face rejection, it would break their childhood long friendship. being the man he is, wonwoo suddenly confesses his feelings on a random tuesday night while they watch a movie, and, let's just say neither of them will be paying attention to the movie after that, because what's supposed to be their weekly movie night, turns into their weekly make out session.

work all mine, no reposting without creds, no stealing of published work, copyrighted:D

the both of you sit comfortably together on the wide sofa that could fit perhaps five, or even six people. maybe a little too comfortable, because the way you two are squeezing next to each other leaving that much room on the other side of the sofa is already a sign. a sign that you two might just be more than what you are now. a sign that the both of you have developed something for each other. a sign you both notice yet goes unnoticed.

you and wonwoo are sitting together, hands fighting over that one small bowl of popcorn as you both try to enjoy and focus on the movie you are watching, although you both know no one is really paying attention to it anyway. you take an opportunity to steal a glance at him, and you try to hide your blushing cheeks. you had always acknowledged that your childhood best friend was handsome, even from young, but you didn't expect that he would grow up this fine. you put your hands over your mouth, stifling a giggle when he puts his hands over yours to pull your hands away from your mouth. concerned, he asks, "y/n, are you okay? what happened?" you chuckle, hiding the fact that your heart was pounding faster and faster. "no, no wonwoo i'm fine." you flash him a quick smile you swear wonwoo's face turns reddish at, as he looks at you directly, ignoring whatever exciting action scene was happening. "why are you laughing? is there something on my face?" he asks, so serious you can't take him seriously at all as you fully burst into a pit of laughter, making wonwoo more confused than ever. "no wonwoo, HAHA," you wheeze, "there's nothing on your face, just looks perfect as usual!" he lets out a cough at that as you freeze, your smile faltering and your words shaky as you continue slowly, nervousness coursing through your veins. "uhh i mean, it looks like how it normally looks like...uhm, yeah, so back to the movie!" you clear your throat, hoping to switch the topic as you shift awkwardly in your seat. wonwoo places a reassuring hand on your shoulder which makes your nerves calm down instantly, yet a new wave of 'freaking out' was fully hitting you as you gulped. he had done this multiple times since you were kids, but why were you feeling butterflies in your stomach when he did it now?

"phew...there's nothing on my face, i can't imagine all the things you would do to blackmail with yet another unflattering photo of me." he sighs, obviously unaware of the nerve-wrecking tension filling the room as he stretches back and yawns, his arm unknowingly sliding over you. real smooth, you smirk to yourself as you jokingly smack him before retorting, "i do not take unglam pics of you!"

he shoots you a look that instantly makes you know you lost this one so you can only sink back down and shut up as he continues. obviously taking granted of the power he had over you right now. you glare at him, slamming the bowl of popcorn on the table, your voice playfully annoyed, "why do you even ask anyway?" he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest as if defending himself before whistling, "well, you keep looking at me when there's a whole movie playing right in front of you."

you feel as if time has stopped for a moment as you know your face is burning up hotter than the sun. sensing that you were uncomfortable, he immediately breaks the silence with a forced laugh, "i was just joking y/n, i mean, who wouldn't want to stare at this masterpiece? i was born with the visuals, the whole world can see that!" he arrogantly and overdramatically starts showing off his looks as you scoff, "who would want to look at an ugly face like yours?" but the twinkle in your eyes told him everything wonwoo needed to know as he nudges your shoulder, "oh just admit you like the view...speaking of that, the view's pretty good today up here hmm?" he puts his hand as if searching for you before looking down at you and patting your head, "still taller than you seventeen years later, ha!"

if looks could kill, jeon wonwoo would be dead right now, but you knew he was right. he was handsome. so fucking handsome. you simply roll your eyes in disbelief and snatch back the popcorn bowl , shoving an insane amount of popcorn in your mouth. "you didn't deny it, silence is still acceptance!" he dances around in glee, his moves so stiff and robotic you can't help but laugh. this unfortunately causes you to choke on the food as he rushes to your side and pats your back gently and slowly, handing you a cup of water right away. you thank him, feeling the heat rush to your face as a bright grin is plastered across your face.

"uh look at the movie! the guy finally asked her out!" you call out, changing the subject yet again, finally turning your attention back to the movie as you whip your head around, not realising your words have snapped wonwoo back to reality. as the two of you sit in silence watching the movie, with only the occasional sounds of you chewing the popcorn or the fan whirring in the ceiling heard, you take a quick glimpse of wonwoo seated with one leg crossed over the other, his glasses dangling on the bridge of his nose. this brought you back to seventeen years ago, when you were 6 and next door neighbours with jeon wonwoo. you remember the first time you saw him, you remember how you were so judgmental even back then and how you definitely judged the bright orange and blue rubber glasses he always wore, and a part of you today is still thankful he had chosen to replace that hideous pair with a new pair of pain black metal glasses when he turned ten. you rememvber how he had always been there for you, how he would always make sure you would get the grape ice popsicle, your favourite and not the orange one (he would be stuck with eating the orange ones although he didn't ever tell you he hated orange as well), because while the aunty who owned the convenience store had a kind heart to give them whenever you walked by, she didn't know that you detested orange. you remember all the times he had stood up for you, helped you with homework when you were falling behind, made sure you got home safely after school even though you kept complaining he was being too overprotective, and all the fun experiences you shared with him- the numerous school trips to museums and factories, the holiday trips to the beach and the art and craft and food workshops.

you never noticed until now just how much wonwoo cared for you and would constantly go out of his way just for you. he was basically as green flagged as a forest, checking off every box in your list of things to look out for in men for your type, but you weren't going to tell him that of course. if he did not think of you that way, you sure as hell did not want to risk distancing your seventeen year long friendship over one stupid love confession in the middle of a movie on a random tuesday night. you fidget around with your fingers, the hundreds of thoughts still running through you mind when wonwoo's deep voice interrupts your thoughts.

"you know y/n...i uhm, uh, really like this movie, especially the parts where uh it is just scenes between the male and female lead... i think, think they make a great couple." wonwoo suddenly says, his random conversation starter catching you off by surprise as you reply, "there you go again with those out of nowhere weird conversation beginners! you're an introvert after all..." you are about to turn your attentiveness to the movie when his next words stop you in your tracks. "wait y/n, i'm being serious. uh i loved the part where the guy asked her out." his tone was intriguing and unwavering, making curiosity overwhelm you from how you could not feel anything from his words. you raised an eyebrow, bewildered by the way wonwoo was acting, and you had to admit you were getting slightly creeped out.

"uh wonwoo? i don't see where this is going..."

"oh god y/n are you dense? i like you, okay? uhm i think we'd make a great couple, just like the people in the movie..." his words are blurted out in a rush you gasp in shock, trying to process the information your brain had just heard.

"w-what? o-oh, we're doing thi, this now, o-okay." you stammer, waiting for wonwoo to continue as he takes a deep breath and you can already see a lump of bile rising in his throat as he tries to swallow it down. he clicks his tongue, fixing his eye contact directly on you. with his gaze fixed on you, your heart is thumping wildly, as he finally speaks.

"okay that was so bad. let me just get a hold of myself. um y/n? we've known each others for years, so well, i couldn't help but fall head over heels for you a few months ago. i'm not sure if you feel the same, but i like you, i love you in fact, and i've totally fallen in love with every part of you- your confidence whenever you speak, your voice so strong, firm and daring with no fear, your looks because i've never met a more gorgeous woman other than you y/n, your personality so outgoing and fun you never fail to bring a smile to my face whenever we hang out. i love how you always put in the extra effort in anything that you do and would instantly dive at the change to go the extra mile for someone. someone so unique and special like you y/n i've never seen before, and since we practically grew up together, i know one thing- y/n at 6 years old is still the same y/n at 23...i'm so sorry to say this all out on a random tuesday night, but i've been keeping this in forever, and with everything that happened earlier, i had to let it all out...so in conclusion y/n, just like the scene we watched, i love you a lot jang y/n, and i want us to be more than friends". his confession spills out slowly but surely, each word hitting you with surprise and disbelief to know he also felt about you that way. at his last words, he immediately downs a glass of water, so many beads of perspiration formed on his forehead it is visible as day as you take in deep breaths.

the silence is fucking deafening.

you stare at a very anxious wonwoo he looks as if he might pass out any second and you don't blame him as you grab his hand and put them on yours, allowing them to hold your hands. his grip is so tight you clench your teeth discreetly as you start as well, sincerity and warmth in your tone. "i've been waiting for this, for you, for so long...i like you too you know? i've had the fattest crush on you ever since that one day you pulled up to my house in those polished, black glasses with the black shirt covered by the designer denim jacket and shorts, no but are we even going to talk about when you removed the jacket and i practically was admiring you sleeveless argh? uh, um, anyway, i'm going to be so honest and tell you that i love you, i do, but i was scared. scared that if i said anything and you didn't think of me as more than a friend that it would ruin our friendship, and i didn't want that because that wouldn't be fair to you, to me, to either of us, so, so i kept quiet."

wonwoo doesn't say anything for a moment, as your blood pressure is rising as the clock ticks by, what is only a few seconds is seemingly an eternity and you don't realise you have been holding your breath.

wonwoo looks up, grabs your waist and pulls you practically on top of his lap, before leaning in to give you a light, quick kiss on the cheek. this makes you rooted to the ground (or in this case, wonwoo's lap), frozen like a statue but you don't pull away. god, you've been dreaming of this moment since forever. you let him mark your face with his sloppy kisses, before joining him and presses yours onto his harshly, the two lips crashing against each other as you swing your hands over his nape and he holds you by the waist. neither lets go, and the two of you fall back on the sofa, panting to catch you breath.

"i'm gonna assume that we're together now?" wonwoo asks after a while but you shoot him a frown.

"how can we be dating if you haven't asked me out yet?" you pouted, stomping your feet on the ground childishly that only somehow makes wonwoo call you 'cute'. what part of that was, cute? he was true to his word. he was head over heels for you.

wonwoo pecks your lips again, stronger and with more confidence this time, and you don't hold back either. he asks cheekily, "do you want me to ask you out like the guy did to the girl in the movie?" you don't answer, your lips still on his but you nod, flashing him a smug smile that clearly takes him back in surprise because he certainly was not expecting that.

"okay then, here we go. dear y/n, you are the love of my life, and i don't want to spend it with anyone other than you. we've been through so much together, we've fought, we've laughed, we've cried, we've smiled. we spent nearly our whole lives together side by side, and i want to continue doing that with you by my side. so, if ou would say yes, would you like to go out on a date with me?" he gives you a big smile, straightening his arms out for you to jump into his embrace before engulfing you into a hug so tight you can barely breathe. he kisses your forehead, resting his chin on your head as he continues, "i guess that is a yes. i have my first official date!"

you plant your lips on his to shut him up as you respond, "that is the cringiest shit i've ever heard." he shrugs his shoulders at this, probably too happy to care. you're actually really sweetened by his confession, not like you would let him know of course. the two of you lay on each other in the middle of the sofa, only the continuous audio of what seems to be a never ending movie playing in the background. that is, until wonwoo breaks the peace in the air.

"see y/n, i meant it when i said i wanted to be more than friends!" his words are light, but you won't ever forget them.

#seventeen #new author #svt au #svt carat #svt x reader #svt #seventeen au #author #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo fluff #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo au

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taetebebe · 2 days ago

Text

TIPSY HEARTS AND TIGHTER HUGS

Pairing: non-idol!Jungwon x Reader - established relationship

Synopsis: One drink too many, a clingy heart, and you—his favourite place to fall apart. Warning: Kissing

Word count: 1.3k+

Author’s note: We all know why I wrote this… btw requests are open so pls feel free to drop ideas :)

Enhypen Bookshelf [[]

The door doesn’t slam shut—it clicks, soft and deliberate. But his footsteps? Absolute chaos. Shuffling, unbalanced, way too loud for this hour. You barely have time to glance up from your phone before—

“Babyyy,” Jungwon croons from the hallway, drawing the word out like it’s poetry slurred into a dream. “Where’s my girl?”

You blink.

Blink again.

Because what walks into your living room is not your usual Jungwon. No. This one has flushed cheeks, a telltale red glow painting him warm from the tips of his ears to the dip of his collarbone. His hair’s messy—fluffy in the way that happens when he’s run his hands through it too many times—and his eyes are heavy-lidded and so soft. Glassy, affectionate. Gone.

But the real crime?

That black t-shirt. You’ve seen it before—it’s technically his “lazy day” shirt—but tonight it’s sticking to his chest like sin. Tugged tight across his broad shoulders and biceps, clinging in all the right places and showing off things he usually doesn’t try to show off at all. You swear you can see the dip of his sternum. And below that?

Grey. Sweatpants.

And now you’re the one swaying.

“Won,” you say slowly, “what exactly did you drink?”

He grins, dimples on full display, teeth a little uneven from how wide he’s smiling. “Everything.” Then he makes a beeline for you, all heavy footsteps and sleepy limbs, and throws himself onto the couch like you’re his personal mattress.

“I missed you,” he mumbles against your collarbone, his voice muffled and warm and entirely too much. “You don’t understand. I was thinking about you all night. Every second.”

“Won—”

“I almost left early. Twice. Hoon stopped me. Twice. That’s the only reason I stayed. Because he guilt-tripped me about being a bad friend. But all I wanted to do was come home and crawl into your skin.”

“Into my—okay, no. Absolutely not.” You try to push him off but his arms snake around your waist with vice-like clinginess, and he lets out the most pathetic whine you’ve ever heard from his mouth.

“Don’t make me leave,” he says dramatically. “I’ll cry. Right now. I’m emotionally so fragile. I’ve had so much soju. You don’t even know.”

You do know. His whole body is giving off heat like a drunk furnace and his grip on you is suspiciously possessive.

“Won, your ears are red.”

“I’m a beacon of love,” he says without hesitation. “And lust. Both. A romantic lighthouse. Come here.”

“You’re already on top of me—”

“I could be more on top of you.”

And that’s when you actually choke on air.

He pulls back, blinking innocently, then trails his fingers under the hem of your shirt—not even to start anything, just to touch. To anchor himself there, skin to skin, like if he stops, he’ll float away. His thumb rubs a lazy circle against your hipbone.

“I was looking at my phone at the bar,” he whispers, softer now, “and I saw our lock screen. And I missed you. Like it hurt. Like an actual physical ache in my chest. Like—how am I supposed to be a normal person when you exist and you’re not beside me?”

“Okay,” you breathe, “you need to never drink again.”

“Why? You’re falling in love with me all over again right now.”

You really are.

“Won, I swear to God—”

“I love you,” he says, suddenly so serious it stills you completely. “Like. Not in a casual way. Not like, ‘I love you, haha, cute.’ Like, I want to marry you. I want to fall asleep with your nose pressed to my back every night. I want to eat breakfast with you while you yell at me for using the wrong mug. I want you to be the last person I see before I die.”

Your heart slams against your ribs.

“And I know I’m tipsy,” he says, like he knows what you’re thinking, “but I mean it. With all the brain cells I have left. I’m so in love with you, it makes my knees weak and my head hurt and my heart feel like it’s going to fall out of my chest if you don’t kiss me right now.”

Your hand trembles where it rests on his shoulder. “You’re gonna be so embarrassed when you wake up tomorrow.”

“I’m gonna be even more in love,” he corrects, leaning in so close his nose brushes yours. “Now are you gonna kiss me or am I gonna have to cry on your couch?”

You lose it. Entirely.

You kiss him. Hard. Deep. Like you’re anchoring yourself this time. And when you pull back for air, he’s breathless, dazed, and grinning like he just won a lifetime supply of you.

Jungwon lets out the softest whimper when you pull back, his arms locking tighter around your waist like you just threatened to vanish into thin air.

“Nooo,” he breathes, chasing your mouth with that ridiculous pout of his. “You can’t just kiss me like that and then leave me hanging. That’s evil. That’s actual criminal behavior.”

You snort. “We’re literally breathing the same air right now. How am I leaving you hanging?”

“You pulled your mouth away,” he says like it’s the ultimate betrayal. “That’s distance. That’s abandonment.”

“Oh my God—”

“I’m serious.” He’s full-on wrapping himself around you now, thigh slung over yours, chest smushed to your front, forehead digging into your collarbone like he’s trying to merge with you. “You should feel my heart right now. It’s beating so hard. I think I’m dying. You’re killing me. You’re literally too pretty to be real and I’m weak and in love. I have nothing left.”

You’re laughing now, breathless and absolutely losing it because he’s never like this. Jungwon’s usual affection is subtle, quiet, earned in glances and little touches. But this?

This is full-blown, melt-into-you, clingy boyfriend energy, and he’s not letting up.

“I’m gonna fuse to you in like five seconds,” he mutters into your neck, placing a series of slow, dramatic kisses up your jaw. “You’ll never get rid of me. I’ll be stuck to you forever. We’ll have to get matching sweaters and share toothbrushes and you’ll have to learn how to live with a human attachment stuck to your hip.”

“You already are stuck to my hip.”

“Not enough,” he says, practically straddling your thigh now. “Not close enough. You don’t understand how much I missed you. I was sitting there trying to laugh at jokes and all I could think about was your hand in mine and how good your neck smells and how your voice sounds when you’re brushing your teeth in the morning and the weird little dance you do when your food’s too hot.”

You go completely still. “What dance?”

“Oh, babe,” he groans like he’s in pain. “You do this little hopping thing—like a food goblin who’s excited but in agony. It’s so cute. I think I fell more in love every time.”

You bury your face in your hands. “I cannot with you.”

He immediately pries your hands away, gently, so your face is cradled in his palms, his thumbs stroking your cheeks.

“No hiding. Not from me. You’re mine.”

That last line comes out softer, lower. Less drunk, more true. And you freeze, breath caught in your chest because suddenly the teasing melts off his face. What’s left is just… him.

Earnest. Warm. Drunk off you more than anything else.

“I’m yours,” he repeats, almost like a vow. “Like—permanently. I want to be annoying and clingy and stupid and sweet with you. Only you. All the time.”

And then, as if his brain can’t handle being that sincere for more than five seconds—

“Now please let me kiss you again before I start whining. I will whine.”

So you do. You kiss him again, because saying no to him like this is impossible.

And he melts. Full-body sigh, hands gripping your shirt, his leg wrapping around you tighter like you’re his own personal security blanket.

“You’re not going anywhere tonight,” he whispers against your lips.

“You’re literally holding me hostage with your thighs.”

“Exactly,” he mumbles, eyes already fluttering shut. “Best prison ever.”

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bunniesanddeer · 1 year ago

Text

Hate (Alastor x Reader)

Hey, awkward haha. This is only my second attempt at smut, inspired by the lovely @hazelfoureyes. (If you want me to untag you, I totally will).

Obviously minors, DNI.

I'm normally not comfortable with this stuff, mostly because I don't have a ton of experience writing it. I decided, that for practice, I would try writing something where the reader doesn't like Alastor. I figured a dynamic that was different from what I normally wrote might help me learn how to get better at writing smut. So here is something inspired by the best smut writer, about a dynamic I've never written :) Also, my first time writing PiV, so sorry if it sucks :) be gentle with me, lol

Hate

Pairing: Alastor X Reader

Warnings: Reader HATES Alastor, Enemies to enemies with benefits, heat, smut, 18+, Alastor speaks French, praise kink, fingers, PIV.

Word Count: 3,818

You could feel it building. The heat rising and coursing through every inch of you. The way it settled in your core, at the pit of your belly. The twinge and ache in your chest. The pressure behind your eyes. The delirium in which you processed it. It was as much as you could take, and you could feel the tension building.

You hated him. You hated him with every inch of yourself. It was a hate that suffused your bones, that dripped through clenched teeth, and twitched tightly gripped hands. You hated him entirely. It wasn’t just the way he talked, although the pompous air and the two-faced words he spoke with angered you to no end. It wasn’t the way he dressed, despite the fact that it was an out of style suit that he preferred, that pissed you off at even a glance. You knew it wasn’t the way he looked, because as much as you hated the sight of him, he was an admittedly handsome demon and had likely been a handsome man; he had dark skin, and fluffy red hair that framed his sharp face nicely. No, it was something deep inside, that you couldn’t quite explain, that made you despise him so, so much.

Alastor was not a good man. No, it wasn’t exactly the best way to judge those that were already in Hell, but among the many denizens you’ve met, he was surely high on the list of fucked up crimes. Sure, he claimed he had a moral code that he strictly followed, but if no one knew what it was, what the hell was it good for? Maybe it was his hypocrisy. The way he held himself and looked at others with such disdain, and yet he was just as lowly and weak and corrupted as everyone else.

Alastor was a hypocrite, for sure, but maybe so were you. How else could you explain this? Who were you to judge him, for all his faults, when yours were staring you in the face?

Your thighs ached. You could feel the pain growing, and you knew it would only get worse. You had been around him long enough now, that the cursed body you had been gifted had caught on, and now you would suffer for something you never agreed to.

It hadn’t even been a thought, when you moved into the hotel. You hadn’t thought about the fact that your form and his might affect one another. How were you supposed to know it was a possibility when you’d never run across another deer demon, let alone a Buck? Hell, quite frankly, hell. Each new, fucked up thing, you found brought you greater misery. Now your own body was a prison. You’d take having periods again, if it meant you didn’t have this terrible thing.

When it had first started, only days before, you had sought out Angel Dust, who had laughed at you.

“Ha! Are you pulling my chain, toots?” He had asked, his tone filled with bewilderment. “C’mon, you gotta know! You’ve been here for years!”

But you didn’t know, and when he caught the anxious look growing on your face, and the fidgeting of your hands, he sighed.

“Shit, ya don’t know, do ya?” Angel put one of his many arms around your shoulders, and guided you to his room. He settled you on a plush bean bag, and offered you something to drink. You shook your head, anxiety making your face tingle. “Suit yourself, babes.” He sighed, and scratched the back of his head. “It’s called heat. Some folks don’t got one, some do frequently, and some are seasonal. For folks who got it seasonally, it tends to, uh, depend on whether or not ya got someone, you know, compatible.”

You cocked your head as you scratched and pulled at a stray thread on your pants.

“You gotta find someone with a similar build to yours. If you ain’t ever seen another deer, it might be why it hasn’t come up, babes.” His words clicked in your head, and your face paled.

“No,” you said, chest frozen at the thought. It hurt suddenly. Your hands tingled, and your chest hurt. What was happening? “No, no, no. Absolutely not, please tell me it’s not because-”

Angel winced, and gave you a pitying look. “Yeah, it’s cuz of Al, doll.”

You gasped for breath, and you shook. You couldn’t think clearly. Everyone knew how much you and Alastor hated each other. You made it clear, and his constant badgering and rude behavior seemed to solidify it for everyone that it was mutual. But for your body to betray you, for him? This felt like the ultimate Hell.

When you started crying, Angel had soothed you to the best of his ability. The next morning, after falling asleep in Angel’s many arms, he gave you an unopened toy, and told you to gather supplies. Enough to hoard up in your room for a few days. He promised to run interference for you, and sent you on your way.

So here you were, writhing on your bed, on day three. Your sense of smell was increased, and your ears twitched at each subtle sound in the hall. You had tried putting on some mindless show so you could stop focusing on all these extra sensations, but it didn’t help. The extra voices, all not his, sent your head spinning. You had turned it off after only half-an-hour.

Your thighs rubbed together, and sweat dripped down the back of your neck. You pushed your face into a pillow and groaned. You had avoided it thus far, but it might be time to break out the little vibrator.

Eventually, you sat up in your bed, ignoring the blankets that you had pushed to the floor the day before. You huffed, and reached for the toy that had been plugged in the night before. You gave the strange pink toy a squeeze, the soft silicone giving just slightly, and made your way to the bathroom. While you washed the toy, you tried to convince yourself that this was all you needed. One good vibe session, and you’d be back to normal. You were wrong.

It was hot. The whole room was unbearably hot. You were covered in a thin layer of sweat, and your clothes had long found themselves on the floor. You had needed to recharge the toy one already, and it had only been a day. The water in the shower couldn’t get cold enough to cool you down. Your core ached, constantly, and your thighs had a near constant mess of slick spread along them. You were delirious with the unfathomable sensations you had been unwillingly wrapped in.

With a cry, and your soaked fingers at your clit, you orgasmed, weakly. The release wasn’t nearly enough. You twisted, and bit down on your pillow as you cried, just a little. This was terrible. And all because of Alastor. You thought of his nasty jokes, and how cruel he could be. You thought on sharp eyes, and sharper smiles. You thought of his claws, and a soft grasp around your throat, slowly tightening as a normally clear voice grunted and huffed. You pulled your vibrator out again. With something in you snapping, you kept thinking of his slim hips, and broad chest. The way his hands twitched and grasped at his microphone. His leer and the way his eyes followed you when you walked into the room. His laugh, when he was angry with someone. The way he had shown you to handle a weapon before you fought the angels. The angry look he gave you when you yelled at him weeks later. You thought of his hands wrapping around your wrist, and his chest hovering over your back as lithe hips pressed against your ass.

You came with another cry, the white-hot feeling surging through you.

Shame filled you up. You were a hypocrite too, it seemed.

It was dark. Your head was fuzzy, and you couldn’t place the time of day. You sat up, the room spinning as your heart settled. Something smelled good. Your eyes fluttered as you took it in. After a moment, you flicked your eyes around the room, and in the chair by the window was a figure.

You screeched. It wasn’t terribly loudly, but it made the figure twitch. You dove to the lamp by your beside, and quickly flicked it on. As the warm light filled the room, it flashed across his eyes, and the look alone made you gasp.

“Alastor?” You whispered. What the fuck was he doing in your room?

“Oh, ma bichette.” His voice was rougher than normal, something dark tinging it.

“What the fuck are you doing in my room, Alastor?” Despite the yearning in the pit of your belly, and the aching you had suffered through for days, this was beyond not okay. Alarm bells were ringing in the back of your head, and you couldn’t fathom why he would break into your room.

“Oh, ma chérie. I have felt that burn for days, and in your absence it grew worse.” His head cocked, and his eyes flashed in the light again. His hair looked strange, as if it was nearly damp. Something in his smile was unhinged. Your chest tugged and ached, and you had to fight to focus through the tingling in your fingers. “I could smell you, and this ache, this hunger I have never known, only grew worse.”

He stood from the chair, and you leaned back on your hands, ready to twist and run if you needed to. His tall form drew your gaze up his shape. Your mind struggled to focus on any one thing, and it was hard to hold onto your anger, like this.

“It is impolite, to come in like this, but I need. And I can tell you do too.” He walked towards you, and leaned over you. Your conflicting feelings about the situation caused you to hesitate. You leaned back, your back meeting your sheets, and your knees bent, as if your legs could stop him from advancing. You were right, in that they would not, because a moment later, he was crawling over you, forearms flat on either side of your head. “I will leave if you ask it of me, my dear. But I ask that you let me pleasure you,” he whispered to you. His sharp teeth clacked as he glanced over your form. “Let me relieve us of this.”

One of his hands brushed some of your damp hair from your forehead, and the look on his face nearly flat lined you. He looked so strange. You couldn’t pinpoint what it was. His eyes were soft and gazing at you with some unknown feeling gleaming in them. His mouth was slanted, and his teeth glittering in the low light — Your train of thought halted as you realized he wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t smiling. What the fuck? What could have done that? Your eyes widened, and you could only stare as his thumb strayed to your lips and tugged at the bottom lip.

“What do you say, my dear?” His gaze caught yours, and you could barely breathe.

“I hate you,” you said. “I hate you, especially for this.”

Something flickered across his face, but he didn’t pull away. “I know, mon cœur. You have many reasons, but this isn’t about that. I merely wish to ease our suffering. Your suffering.”

You wanted to cry. How fucking dare he? How dare he be so terrible on a daily basis, and yet so kind now? You wanted to scream. You could feel tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. It felt so unfair. But you were desperate, and he was offering to touch you, something he didn’t like to do. You knew his reputation, his dislike and disregard for things of a sexual nature, and yet here he was, crossing that boundary with you. (Something in you hurt, knowing that someone who hated him would be crossing that line with him, not someone who loved him or cared for him in any capacity. Maybe that was his Hell).

“Fine. Fuck. Fine. We can fuck, just, I don’t know. No kissing. And I uh, I’d like to be on my belly.” You didn’t want to look at him. (You knew it was the thought of him that got you off so many times, but the idea of really seeing him, bothered you in a way you couldn’t explain). His face twitched, but he nodded.

“I understand, ma bichette.” He pet your hair, again, and rubbed a thumb across your forehead, and he took a deep breath in. “Alright, dear, ass up.”

Your eyes widened, and you gulped down the little moisture in your mouth. With deep, steady breaths, you turned over, maneuvering on the bed with twitching limbs. You pressed your chest against the bed, aching at the tenderness in your breasts. Your hands held onto the sheets tightly, and your ears twitched and pressed flat against your skull. Your tail sprung straight, and you could hear Alastor let out a breathy chuckle. The sound of clasps and zippers coming undone made your tail wag, and you could feel one of his hands swat at the fluffy bundle of fur at the base of your spine.

“Excited, dearest?” His voice carried in the quiet room. You couldn’t reply with words. You were so conflicted. You hated him acutely, and yet here you were. Something akin to giddiness was building in your chest. Your tail wagged harder. You hoped he didn’t take it as an answer.

You could feel his warm body lean over yours a moment later. He was so much bigger than you. It was clear with how wide his shoulders were, and how his long legs cradled yours easily. One of his forearms settled beside yours, and his face rested in the crux of your shoulder. Sharp teeth lightly grazed the skin there, while hot breath fanned over your back. Soft touches on the swell of your ass, creeping over your hip, and then cupping your mound softly. (How could he be so soft in this, and yet so harsh? Your mind was buzzing so loud).

“Stop thinking, mon trésor.” His finger grazed your clit, and your mind went quiet. Oh, you had forgotten what it was like being touched by someone else.

His fingers moved with focus from there, and your legs twitched. You huffed, and closed your eyes, letting the sensations fall over you. Soon, with the gentle touches getting firmer, and more precise, your thighs were getting slick. Small sounds left your clenched teeth. (It felt good, but the petty part of you wanted to deprive him of the satisfaction of your noises).

Alastor’s hand moved, and suddenly one finger was sinking into your heat. You groaned, and your back arched.

“Oh, continuer ma chère. Je veux vous entendre.” His voice is coarse, but his finger curls, and you can’t even try and translate his whispered words. Your body trembles as he slips in a second finger. His thumb catches your clit, and your mind is a muddled mess. Your resolve to remain silent shatters, and your voice leaves your throat with no control.

“Oh, Alastor,” you say. Your eyes flutter, and you clench down on his fingers. He grunts, and thrusts them a little harder.

“When you are ready, my dear, come for me. And then we can move on to the main event.” His words attempt for nonchalance, but the way he struggles to get them out has you internally laughing. It stops when his erection, clear as day, rubs against your ass. Your hips twitch, pressing against him. “Oh,” he grunts. “Not yet dear.”

He twists his hand, and presses his chest against your back. His hand on the bed grabs at yours, and he intertwines your fingers. Teeth scratch at your shoulder, and the sudden flood of sensory information sends you over a line you didn’t know you were near.

“Ah! Alastor,” You cry, and fire flicker up your core, and in your veins. You clench hard on his fingers, and his ever present static swells in response. (Although, with how much your hands and face tingle, it could be in your head).

“Oh, yes.” His head settles against your shoulder blade, and his hand slowly pulls from your core. His wet fingers graze your hip with soft touches, and the hand holding yours rubs softly. “So good for me, dearest. My doe. So good.”

Your chest aches, and you want to cry. How fucking dare he hit the fucking nail on the head? Your breath hitches, and you have to work to not cry.

“Oh, my dear.” He sits up, and the loss of his heat nearly makes your tears fall. You can’t fathom why you’re suddenly emotional, but it won’t waver in its intensity. His face settles in your sight line. “Are you alright, dear?” His lets go of yours, and cradles the back of your head. “Did I hurt you?”

You want to cry. Fuck him. Fuck this. How dare he. A tear slips before you can stop it, and his eyes narrow, something nearly concerned looking, crossing his expression.

“No. Fuck you. I hate you,” you can barely finish the sentence before a hint of a sob leaves you. “I hate you. I hate you. Just fuck me already.”

His brows furrow, and the red of his eyes glints as he manages a nod. “If that’s what you desire,” he says, and then he’s behind you again.

His hands are on your hips, and you hear skin against skin, and then he’s gently prodding you with the thick head of his cock. Alastor presses his cock into your soaking entrance slowly, and you worry about his size for a moment. But then, he’s pressing more firmly, and your thoughts halt. Electricity is shooting up your spine as he sinks into you. You internally thank him fro prepping you with his fingers, because he’s packing more than you would have expected.

A sharp breath from him, and then his hips snap against yours. “Hah, sorry, dearest.” His breaths are rough, and you feel his hands squeeze your hips hard. “I had intended to go slower, but this is-” He bends over you again, and his chest is against your back, and he’s grasping at the sheet with you. “You’re so good, my dear. Better than I could have ever-”

His hips snap again, and your body jolts. You gasp as he presses his hips against your ass, pushing as far he can get. You feel so tight. Everything is hot, and all you can think about is him. Your tail brushes against his belly as he starts to set a rhythm. All the pain you had been in, and you were starting to feel like it might have been worth it.

One of his hand wraps around your waist, over your breasts, and his hand settles on your neck. “Let me know if you wish me to stop,” he huffs, and then he’s squeezing your throat, just slightly.

You mewl, and roll your hips against him. “Oh yes. Little doe. You are so good for me.” The way he says makes you moan again, and you huff as he squeezes your throat again.

The pace he sets is just under what you need, and it makes you hate him more. Part of you knows what he’s waiting for, and you dread it. It’s within mere moments, though, that you cave, and open your mouth.

“Alastor, please,” you say. Your voice is weak, with how hard it is to take a full breath. Your body is pressed into the mattress, and with the stinging breaths you attempt to take with each thrust, and the light squeeze of his hand around your neck, you struggle.

His hand loosens, as if he can read your mind. “What is it, dearest,” He asks. “Use your words. I know you can.”

You sigh, and nearly yell at him when his hips stop, giving you time to speak up. You roll your eyes, and nearly beg, “Please, just a little faster.”

You can hear the smile when he responds, “Of course, my doe,” and then his pace starts up again, faster, and just a tinge harder, than it had been before. Your toes curl and your hands grasp at the sheets.

That heat was growing again, low in your belly. Your thighs were aching, and your back was as arched as you could get it. Sweat was dripping down your back, and all you could think is that you wanted more.

“Alastor,” you moaned, and grunted back. As you clenched down on his cock, the heat grew, and you could feel tight wires wrapping around your core.

“Oh, ma biche, tu es si bonne pour moi.” His fingers found your clit again, and he rubbed with focus. “So good. You are so good.” He kept repeating it like a mantra, and you couldn’t handle it anymore.

The wires snapped, and your body went white-hot. You couldn’t see, and you stopped being able to hear more than garbled syllables and the rhythmic thumping of the headboard against the wall.

Your body went taut, and you clenched down. You could hear his voice grow sharp and ragged, but nothing more as he kept thrusting.

When you finally settled enough to focus your hearing, you could hear Alastor muttering to himself. And then he went still. “Do you want me to leave my seed in you, or no?”

Your breath caught. Fuck, you hadn’t thought about that. Without thinking too much, you whispered, “In.”

You watch one of his hands tighten on the bed, sharp claws piercing the fabric. (you’d make him replace it for sure, jerk). Without much warning, he starts his pace again, his thrusts nearly brutal. His grunts and murmuring start up again, and it’s only moments before you feel him twitch, and then heat filling you. He curls around you, head pressed between your shoulder blades.

You stay sitting like that for a few minutes, before he slowly extricates himself from around you and pulls his cock from your slick entrance. When he returns with a warm, damp rag and cleans you up, you refuse to make eye contact. When he picks up the dirty sheets, and bring you clean ones, you stare at the floor. It’s when he brings you water, and tucks you into bed, you finally look up at him.

“I hate you,” you tell him.

His face is neutral, and he nods. “I know.”

“This changes nothing,” you say.

And he nods, letting his normal smile pop back on his face. “I know.”

Hi, please let me know how this was? I'm really awkward about this kind of stuff, and it makes me a tiny bit anxious. Anyways! I hope you liked it. Should I add an 18+ taglist? Also, I have a few asks and stuff that will be posted soon. House hunting has been going terribly. The market is awful, and I am just sad :(

#alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor #bun's short fics #alastor fanfiction #alastor x you #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fanfic #alastor x reader smut #smut #hazbin hotel smut

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fervidgrey · 5 months ago

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hello I've always wanted to request a fic lol sorry it's my first time 😞

Can you write a femreader x Jo Togame where Jo wants to impregnate reader and make a family with the reader haha I know I'm freaking obsessed lol 😭😭

Thank you for feeling brave! I love getting requests! 💋 While this isn't my strongest subject (fluff), but I hope you enjoy!

FOR YOU, ANYTHING

Pairing: Togame Jo x Reader

Rating: Mature.

Word count: 2700~

Note: no use of y/a, talks of pregnancy, fluff, unprotected sex, use of pet names, no beta, nurse kink if you squint, wasted pancakes because that is a crime for me...

A soft humming filled the kitchen as you folded the pancake batter in an extra large bowl. You look down at the ingredients on the counter, still on the edge of picking between blueberries, strawberries, or chocolate chips. Maybe you could arrange them all on the top instead of the inside, but your man was a bit more fickle with toppings.

You glanced over the counter looking at Togame Jo, your long term boyfriend of 3 years, he is peacefully spread out on the couch watching TV. It was a rare morning for you, he was normally out of the apartment by now, off doing work he wouldn’t tell you much about. You had an idea, the rumors about the symbol on his jacket, the way his knuckles would be red sometimes- you were sweet on him but not dumb.

You decide to go with the blueberries, knowing they're his favorite when he's in a good mood. As you sprinkle them into the batter, you steal another glance at Togame. His long frame is draped across the couch, one arm behind his head, the other lazily holding the remote. His black hair is loose today, falling around his shoulders instead of in its usual braid.

You pour the batter onto the griddle, the sizzle filling the air. Togame's green eyes flick towards you, a lazy smile spreading across his face.

"Smells good, babe." he calls out.

You return his smile, but there's a tightness in your chest. You want to ask him to stay home today, to spend more time with you, but you know better. His unpredictable nature means you never quite know which version of him you'll get, and for how long.

As you flip the pancakes, you hear him stand up and stretch. He saunters over to the kitchen, his tall frame filling the space immediately. "You spoil me," he says, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind while planting soft kisses to the back of your neck.

You lean into him, savoring the moment. "Maybe you could stay home today?" you suggest, testing your luck. For an extra boost of luck you wiggle your hips against his body. But when you feel him stiffen slightly, you immediately regret asking. After a few silent moments he relaxes, his breath warm on your neck as he speaks.

"I suppose I could be under the weather today..” He offers another kiss against your neck.

Your heart skips a beat at his words, but you try to keep your composure. You don't want to seem too eager, even though you’d been together for a few years he still made you feel shy at times. Instead of dwelling, you focus on plating the pancakes, arranging them in a neat stack.

"Well, if you're feeling under the weather," you say, keeping your tone light, "I guess I'll have to take care of you."

You turn in his arms, offering him the plate. His green eyes sparkle with amusement as he takes it, his fingers brushing against yours. "You always take such good care of me." he murmurs. “You’d make a good mother.”

You feel your cheeks flush at his words, a mix of emotions swirling inside you. The thought of starting a family with Togame was a pretty picture but you've never discussed it before, and you're not sure if he's serious or just teasing.

"Let's focus on breakfast first," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. You grab your own plate and follow him to the small dining table.

As you sit down, Togame reaches for the syrup, drizzling a generous amount over his stack. You watch him take the first bite, his eyes closing in appreciation. "Perfect as always." he says with a big smile.

You start eating your own pancakes, stealing glances at him between bites. It's rare to see him so relaxed, so unguarded. You want to memorize every detail of this moment.

"So," you venture, "what do you want to do today? Since you're feeling under the weather and all."

Togame leans back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Oh, I don't know. I was thinking we could stay in bed all day. You could nurse me back to health."

Your heart races at the suggestion, but you try to play it cool. "Is that so? And what kind of treatment did you have in mind?"

He leans forward, his voice dropping to a low, seductive tone. "I'm sure you can think of something, babe. Considering patients don’t normally set their own treatment.”

You feel a shiver run down your spine at his words, heat rising to your cheeks. You try to maintain your composure, taking another bite of pancake to buy yourself a moment. "Well," you say, setting down your fork, "I suppose we could start with some bed rest. Maybe a full body examination to check for any... issues."

He pushes his plate away, half his pancakes now forgotten. "I think that sounds like excellent medical advice. Shall we begin the treatment now?"

You stand up slowly, your heart pounding. "I think that would be best. We wouldn't want your condition to worsen." you pause looking at his pancakes “Did you have enough to eat though?” you ask quickly, normally he ate everything on his plate.

He rises without answering your questions, towering over you. In one swift motion, he scoops you up into his arms bridal style. You let out a surprised laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Togame! I thought you were the patient here!" you tease.

He grins down at you, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. "Just making sure you don't strain yourself, babe. Wouldn't want both of us out of commission."

As he carries you towards the bedroom, you nuzzle into his neck, breathing in his scent. These moments of playfulness are rare, and you intend to savor every second.

He lays you gently on the bed, his body hovering over yours. "Now then." he murmurs, his lips inches from yours, “Lets begin my treatment.” You reach up and cup his face, pulling him down for a deep, passionate kiss. His lips are soft against yours, and you can taste the lingering sweetness of syrup. As the kiss intensifies, his hands begin to roam your body, leaving trails of heat in their wake.

You break away, breathless, and look up into his green eyes. They're dark with desire, but there's also a softness there that makes your heart skip a beat. "Togame," you whisper, running your fingers through his loose black hair.

He smiles, a rare, genuine smile that reaches his eyes. "You're beautiful," he murmurs, leaning down to place soft kisses along your jawline.

As his lips move to your neck, you let out a soft moan. Your hands slide down his back, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt. You tug at the hem, eager to feel his skin against yours.

Togame chuckles, his breath hot against your ear. "So eager?" he teases, but obliges, sitting up to pull his shirt over his head.You drink in the sight of his toned chest and abs, tracing the lines of his muscles with your fingertips. Your touch lingers on a scar near his ribs, a reminder of the dangerous world he inhabits outside these walls.

He catches your hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing your palm. "Don't worry about that," he says softly, reading the concern on your face. “Hard to forget.” you mutter back, an annoying cocktail of lust and sorrow make your skin feel tight.

“I love how much you worry about me.” He dips down to suck on your neck, peppering you with hot kisses. “Maybe it’s time to split up that worry..add more to the household” He says casually. You freeze, a bit confused but his comment until you recalled the mother comment from earlier.

Your breath catches in your throat, unsure if you heard him correctly. "What do you mean?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Togame pulls back slightly, his green eyes searching your face. "I mean," he says slowly, "lets start a family. You and me."

You blink, stunned by his words. This was so far from what you expected when you woke up this morning. "Are you serious?" you manage to ask, your mind whirling with possibilities.

He nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "I've been thinking about it for a while. Seeing you in the kitchen this morning, taking care of me- settled it."

You reach up, cupping his face in your hands. "Togame, I... I don't know what to say." you were shocked but not upset, the idea of him having you forever was something you always wanted.

He leans into your touch, his eyes closing briefly. "Yes or no will do."

You stare at him, heart hammering against your chest. "Are you sure you're ready for that kind of change?" you ask softly. Togame's eyes open, meeting yours with an intensity that takes your breath away.

"I've never been more sure of anything." he says in complete seriousness. "I want to build something real with you, something that lasts."

Tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "Yes." you whisper, pulling him down for a tender kiss. "Yes, I want that too." you mumble into his lips.

He kisses you back with a passion that makes your toes curl, his hands roaming your body with renewed purpose. When he pulls away, there's a gleam in his eye that's equal parts mischievous and loving. "Well then," he murmurs, his fingers playing with the hem of your shirt,

"Shall we get started on making that family?" he teases.

You laugh, hoping to sound less nervous than you feel. "I thought you were supposed to be the patient here." you tease, even as you lift your arms to help him remove your shirt.

"I'm feeling much better already," he grins, trailing kisses down your neck and collarbone. "Must be your excellent nursing skills."

As his lips move lower, you thread your fingers through his hair, your mind still reeling from the sudden turn of events. You know that life with Togame will never be predictable, but in this moment felt right, felt whole.

As Togame's kisses trail lower, a shiver runs through your body. Your fingers tighten in his hair, drawing a low growl from him that vibrates against your skin. He looks up at you, green eyes dark with desire.

"You sure about this?" he asks, his voice husky. "We can wait if you're not ready."

Your heart swells at his consideration. Even in the heat of the moment, he's putting your feelings first. You nod, pulling him up for a deep kiss.

"I'm sure," you whisper against his lips. "I want this. I want- us."

His smile is tender as he cups your face. "I love you," he murmurs, the words still new and precious between you. "I love you too," you reply, your voice thick with emotion.

Togame's hands roam your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. You arch into his touch, desperate for more. As he removes the rest of your clothes, you can't help but marvel at how his gaze was different. He looked lovesick, but determined.

Your hands explore his muscular body, tracing old scars and new bruises. You want to memorize every inch of him, to claim him as yours in this intimate moment. Togame's lips find yours again, kissing you deeply as he positions himself between your legs.

He enters you slowly, both of you gasping at the sensation. For a moment, you're perfectly still, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in. Slowly, Togame begins to move, setting a gentle rhythm that soon has you both panting.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper. Your nails rake down his back as the pleasure builds, and he groans, picking up the pace. The room fills with the sound of skin on skin, punctuated by soft moans and whispered endearments.

"You're so beautiful," Togame murmurs, his voice strained with effort. "So perfect. I can't wait to see you round with my child." The comment startles you for a moment but then sends a warmth through your spine, landing in between your legs. He groans at the sudden increase in wetness between your legs, fluid dripping between your bodies.

"Fuck you feel soo good." His words send a rush of heat through your body, intensifying every sensation. You pull him closer, kissing him fiercely as your hips move in sync with his. The thought of carrying his child, of starting a family together, fills you with an unexpected longing.

"Jo." you gasp, feeling yourself getting close to the edge. "I want that too. I want everything with you."

He groans, his thrusts becoming more urgent. One of his hands slides between your bodies, his fingers finding your swollen clit. You cry out at the added stimulation, your back arching into his body.

"Come for me, baby." he murmurs in your ear, "Let go. I've got you."

You cling to Togame, crying out his name as you shudder beneath him. He holds you close, his movements remaining unbothered by your climax. You watch him stare at the sight of his cock moving in and out of you. You bite your lip, moaning at how entranced he is with the display. One of his hands moves to your waist, holding you steady while he plays with the speed, watching himself enter you slowly but deep.

You feel every inch of him as he moves in and out at an agonizingly slow pace. The intensity of his gaze makes you feel exposed, vulnerable, yet incredibly desired. Your body trembles with aftershocks of your orgasm, heightening every sensation.

"Jo," you breathe, reaching up to cup his face. His eyes meet yours, dark with lust and something deeper. You pull him down for a kiss, pouring all your love and desire into it.

The kiss seems to break his control. With a groan, he begins to move faster, deeper, head rolling back. You wrap your legs tighter around him, meeting him thrust for thrust. The room fills with the sound of skin on skin, punctuated by your shared moans and gasps.

"I'm close," Togame pants against your neck. "You feel incredible, baby. So perfect."

You run your hands down his back, feeling his muscles flex with each movement. "Please." you whisper in his ear. "Come inside me, please." you moan into his ear, voice shaking with his thrusts.

With a final, powerful thrust, Togame stills above you, groaning your name as he finds his release. You hold him close, savoring the weight of his body on yours, the intimacy of the moment.

As your breathing hitches as he pulls out, then rolls to the side, pulling you with him so you're draped across his chest. You trace lazy patterns on his skin, feeling utterly content.

"I meant what I said," Togame murmurs, his fingers gently tracing your hairline and jaw. You look up at him, heart fluttering at the sincerity in his eyes. "About starting a family?"

He nods, a soft smile playing on his lips. "I know it's sudden, but I've been thinking about it for a while. You make me want to be better, to have something real and lasting."

You prop yourself up on an elbow, studying his face. "What about Shishitoren?"

Togame's expression turns serious. "I've been making plans. Setting up legitimate businesses. It'll take time, but I want to do it right. For us. For our future."

Your eyes widen in surprise. You'd always hoped he might leave that life behind, but you never dared to ask, tried to never think about it. "Jo, are you sure? I know how important the group is to you."

He reaches up, tucking some hair behind your ear. "You're more important. Our family will be more important. I want to be someone our child can be proud of."

Tears prick at your eyes, overwhelmed by the depth of his commitment. You lean down, kissing him softly. "I'm already proud of you," you whisper against his lips.

Togame pulls you closer, deepening the kiss. When you finally part, both slightly breathless, he grins up at you. "So, ready for round two? We've got a family to start, after all." You laugh, playfully swatting his chest but don’t fight him when he rolls you onto your stomach. His stamina would be a problem in future if you weren’t careful.

#wind breaker anime #wind breaker #jo togame #togame jo #togame jo x reader #togame jo x you #togame jo smut #smut #breeding smut

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quintessenceofdust88 · 1 month ago

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You... you're glowing." "People always say that when someone is pregnant." "No, you're actually glowing." Bucktommy + preg Evan :3

This prompt kinda reminded me of the little idea that i shared with you days ago haha :3

Congrats one 500 followers

Hiiii darling! Thank you smmmm ♥

Okay, I loved this prompt so much, especially when we talked about that idea of yours! Thank you for letting me use it btw ❤️❤️❤️! I really hope to do it justice!

I hope you enjoy it, sweetheart! I had a lot of fun writing it, and I might make sth bigger out of it because the worlbuilding is just so tempting. I've never tried magical realism before, though, so we shall see!

Anyway, here you go:

Growing up, Tommy had always heard Nonna talk about La Luce. The light.

She claimed it ran in their blood, passed down through generations—especially among the women in their family. About this particular gift that made them special. There were stories of a cousin who could heal with just her hands, an aunt who whispered to animals and swore they whispered back, and her great-aunt Alessia, who conjured fireballs in the winter and carried them like candles.

Tommy had never taken it seriously. Nonna didn’t have magic. His mother didn’t either. And as far as he could tell, he was about as magical as a wet sponge.

He’d always figured if magic did exist, it had long since fizzled out in their family.

He was very wrong, as it turns out.

It's supposed to be a normal day. Tommy parks in their garage at exactly six o'clock, having finished his shift and being quite ready for a quiet night in with his pregnant husband, and Nonna's magic stories are the last thing on his mind.

The house is perfectly quiet when he comes in; not even Tara, their cat, comes to greet him, which can only mean one thing. Tommy smiles to himself, ready to enter the living room and be met by the sight of Evan and Tara napping on the couch, a very common one the last few weeks.

What he doesn't expect, however, is the aura of golden light that seems to be radiating from his husband. It's faint, and pulsating, but it's there, and it seems to be stemming from his bump. Evan is peacefully sleeping, his eyelashes gently resting against his cheeks as his chest goes up and down, as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

"Oh my God!" Tommy exclaims before he can stop himself, and that, very predictably, wakes his husband up.

Evan sits up on the couch, rubbing sleep off his eyes, and gives Tommy a very pronounced pout. He still hasn't noticed that he seems to be the human equivalent of a flashlight.

"The hell, Tommy? Is that any way to greet your husband?" He complains mid-yawn, and Tommy can't stop looking at him. Evan frowns at him. "Everything alright? Is there something on my face?"

"You're glowing" Tommy says stupidly, and Evan rolls his eyes.

"Seriously? Are you really trying to flatter me with that after waking me up?" Evan complains, and he's running a distracted hand on Tara's fur, trying to calm her protests at being so rudely yanked off their slumber. "People always say that when someone's pregnant, so you have to try har..."

"No, Evan!", Tommy interrupts exasperatedly. "You're actually glowing!"

"Tommy, what the hell are you talking abou..." He starts, and Tommy rushes to the light switch, turning it off so Evan can more easily see what he means. Once he does, Evan very bizarrely becomes the only light source of the living room, and he looks down at himself with widened eyes. "Whoa! What the hell?!"

"I know!" Tommy exclaims, his voice about three octaves higher than usual. "Are you feeling okay?!"

"But you're glowing!" Tommy insists, and Evan raises an eyebrow, but he seems more curious than worried.

Evan looks at him, and then back at himself, and shrugs before nodding.

"I mean... Yes? I'm not feeling anything different." He says, and somehow he's a lot calmer than Tommy.

"...Our baby is making you glow?!" Tommy asks, and Evan shrugs. Tommy has no idea how he can be so calm, and can only assume it has something to do with the aura surrounding him.

As if testing something, he runs a gentle hand on his bump, making soothing noises. The glow instantly brightens a little, and a small smile takes over Evan's face.

"It's not me doing it, babe. It's her"

"Apparently? I mean, she was a bit active before my nap, but just the usual moving and kicking. I don't know what this is all about. But it doesn't hurt. I feel fine." He says, and then frowns. "Do you think we should call 911 anyway?"

"We are 911", Tommy reasons, but his phone is already on his hand. 'I'm calling Hen"

"Uh..." Tommy starts, not particularly sure how to continue. "Does glowing like a lava lamp on the couch counts like okay?"

Tommy's not particularly sure why he is calling Hen for this, except that she always seems to have the answers for absolutely anything, and Evan trusts her a lot. They've called her for every little pregnancy symptom that worried them so far, and she's always helped calm them down.

He's not sure she'll be able to this time. But he makes a video call anyway.

"Hey, Tommy", she greets, and her tone makes it clear she's already expecting a pregnancy related freak-out. "Everything okay with Buck?"

"...What?" Hen asks in exasperation. "Tommy, are you taking edibles with a pregnant person in the house? Cause that doesn't sound very safe"

"Peace", Evan says, and he sounds very sincere. "And it's... warm, I guess? I don't know, she seems perfectly happy to me, and I'm not in any pain. I feel totally normal, actually"

"No, Hen, I mean it!" He says desperately, and flips the camera so it shows Evan. The light is even more noticeable on the camera, and his husband gives it a sheepish wave. Hen lets out a small gasp of surprise, and Tommy feels perfectly validated. "See?!"

"Hi, Hen" Evan greets. "Learned anything about glow stick babies in med school?"

"Can't say I have, Buck", Hen says, and she sounds one second away from freaking out. "This looks... way beyond my payroll. Are you feeling anything?"

"You don't look perfectly normal" Hen offers, and Tommy finds himself nodding vigorously. 'But, um. I don't think this is health related"

"Oh?" Evan and Tommy ask in unison, and Hen takes a sigh, as if she's half expecting them to laugh at her.

"When I was growing up, my mom used to tell these stories about... The Gift. Some... some kind of magical power that could be passed through generations." She says, and even she sounds skeptical. "i know it's insane, but... Have you ever heard of anything like it?"

"Yeah!", Evan exclaims, and he sounds so enthusiastic, in that way he always does when he gets to share fun facts he learned on the internet. He comes closer to Tommy and his cellphone, as if he wants to make sure Hen can hear everything. "It's a story told in all types of cultures. Some also call it The Whisper, or The Light."

"The Light?! Fuck. La Luce!" Tommy exclaims, and Evan looks at him with realization all over his face.

"Nonna?" He simply asks, and Tommy can only nod.

"Well, sounds like I'm not the one you guys should be calling right now", Hen states. "Good luck, you guys."

Tommy and Evan thank her. Apparently, they'll really need it.

#bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #gabby writes #mpreg #pregnant Evan Buckley

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nameless-jamie · 5 months ago

Text

Been working on smth…

Jamie Tartt x ???? Fem! reader

TW: suggestive innuendos, kissing, cursing

A/N: Hi guys I’ve been working on smth new! Here’s a snippet. I wanted to see your reactions to it (and maybe you can guess what Jamie’s and Y/N backstory is) or maybe you have any other ideas for it.

The first thing Y/N registered was warmth—soft, steady, and entirely too comfortable. The second was the distinct feeling of being trapped. She blinked against the morning light filtering through Jamie’s curtains, her cheek pressed against a firm, bare chest, his arm slung lazily around her waist.

Her breath hitched.

Jamie was already awake. She could feel his gaze on her before she even looked up. When she did, he was smirking, tousled hair a mess against his pillow, eyes heavy with sleep but sharp with amusement.

“Mornin’, love.” His voice was low, husky from sleep, tinged with something else—something knowing.

Y/N swallowed. Her mind raced through fragmented memories—his hands on her waist, her name a rasp against his lips, laughter between tangled sheets, the way he had kissed her like he never wanted to stop.

She shifted slightly, and his grip instinctively tightened, fingers splayed across her back as if he had no intention of letting go just yet.

“Jamie,” she started, voice quieter than she intended.

He hummed, watching her with that infuriatingly pleased expression. “Yeah?”

Her lips parted, but no words came. What was she supposed to say? Good morning, thanks for ruining me last night?

Jamie, as always, seemed to enjoy her silence. His smirk softened, eyes flickering over her face before he reached up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“Y’look good in my bed,” he murmured. “Knew you would.”

Her stomach flipped.

She really should say something. Something normal, something casual—Haha, yeah, fun night, mate!—but she was still pressed against his bare skin, still feeling the ghost of last night on her lips, and Jamie knew it.

So she did the only thing she could.

She buried her face back into his chest with a groan.

Jamie chuckled, his hold on her tightening, his lips brushing the top of her head. “Yeah, alright,” he muttered, voice full of something dangerously close to fondness. “Five more minutes.”

Y/N had absolutely no excuse.

No drunken mishaps to blame, no moment of weakness fueled by too many shots of tequila. No, she had walked into this with full awareness, with every nerve in her body on high alert, and still—still—she had let Jamie Tartt kiss her like he had every right to, touch her like he already knew the shape of her body by heart, and pull her into his bed like this was inevitable.

And the worst part?

It felt inevitable.

She could try to deny it, but it wouldn’t change the way she had let herself lean into his touch, the way she had curled into him in her sleep like she belonged there.

Jamie’s fingers traced lazy circles against her back, warm and absentminded, like he did this every morning, like he wasn’t at all concerned about what happened next.

She, on the other hand, was very concerned.

Clearing her throat, she peeked up at him, only to find that infuriating smirk still playing at his lips.

“I can feel you thinking,” he murmured. “It’s too early for that, love.”

Her stomach flipped at the rasp in his voice, but she forced herself to focus.

“How did we even get here?” she mumbled, more to herself than him.

Jamie tilted his head like he was actually considering the question. “Well,” he drawled, his smirk widening, “if I remember right, you were lookin’ at me all night like you wanted to snog me senseless, and I, bein’ the gentleman I am, simply obliged.”

Y/N groaned, shoving at his chest, but he didn’t budge. “That is not what happened.”

Jamie arched a brow. “Oh? So you weren’t the one who dragged me back to yours last week after that pub quiz?”

She glared at him. “That was different.”

“How?”

“Because I was frustrated!”

Jamie grinned. “Yeah, and I helped with that, didn’t I?”

She let out an exasperated sigh, but Jamie wasn’t finished.

“Alright, so what about the other night? When you kept findin’ excuses to touch me? Yeah, yeah, don’t give me that look, I clocked it, Y/N. Thought I was gonna have to start chargin’ you for all the times you grabbed my arm.”

Her face burned. “It was dark, I needed to make sure you were still there.”

Jamie’s smirk softened, something flickering behind his blue eyes. “I’m always here.”

Her breath caught.

He said it so easily, like it was a fact, like he wasn’t completely rewriting the rules between them with a single sentence.

Jamie studied her for a moment before nudging her chin up with his knuckles. “You gonna run?” he asked, voice quieter now.

She should. That was the smart thing to do. But running felt impossible when he was looking at her like this, like he was waiting for her, like he had been waiting longer than either of them wanted to admit.

So she swallowed, exhaled, and did the only thing she could think of.

She kissed him.

And Jamie—smug, beautiful, impossible Jamie—sighed against her lips like he had just won the easiest bet of his life.

#jamie tartt #ted lasso #ted lasso show #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #afc richmond #jamie tartt imagine #roy kent #sam obisanya

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zaynessbeloved · 3 months ago

Text

It was always you (and us)

⟢ summary: You were always a trio—Caleb, Zayne, and you. Bound by childhood, laughter, and a quiet promise that none of you would ever be left behind. But things change. And somewhere between late-night study sessions and growing up, you start to realize your heart is pulling in a different direction. The three of you were supposed to stay the same. But you’re not kids anymore. And some feelings don’t stay quiet forever.

⟢ pairings: Zayne x reader, Caleb x reader

⟢ word count: 7.4k

⟢ a/n: TW: underage drinking, underage kissing, cursing; Besides that, maybe they act or talk a little bit OOC haha please keep that in mind. That being said, enjoy! <3

Chapter 2

Lunch period was always the same. The three of you, crammed into your usual corner of the cafeteria, Caleb rambling about basketball, Zayne pretending to ignore him, and you caught somewhere in between—wondering how life would ever be normal without this.

“I swear, if we win this game, I’ll be unstoppable,” Caleb declared, pointing his fork dramatically at no one in particular. “It’s my moment, guys. This is it.”

Zayne, flipping through a thick textbook beside him, barely looked up. “You say that every game.”

Caleb shot him a look. “Because it’s true every game.”

You snorted, taking a sip of your drink. “You’re already unbearable. Imagine if you actually became famous.”

“I’d be so famous,” Caleb agreed, grinning. “You’d be in the front row of all my games, obviously.”

Zayne hummed in disinterest, eyes still glued to his book. “I don’t have time to watch you trip over your own feet.”

Caleb gasped, clutching his chest. “You wound me, dude.”

But the truth was—Zayne never missed a game. No matter how much he complained about basketball being “a pointless sport,” no matter how busy he was with dual enrollment stress, he always ended up there—beside you in the stands, watching Caleb. Just like you always did. You glanced at Zayne’s textbook, eyeing the endless paragraphs and complex diagrams.

“…That looks like actual torture.”

“It is,” Zayne muttered.

You frowned. “Are you okay?”

He sighed, rubbing his temple. “I’m fine.”

Caleb scoffed. “No, you’re not. You look like you’re one all-nighter away from a breakdown.”

Zayne shot him a dry look. “Your concern is overwhelming.”

Caleb smirked. “That’s what I’m here for, buddy.”

But you were actually concerned. Because Zayne was always like this—pushing himself, taking on more than he needed to, carrying expectations that no one had even placed on him. And it wasn’t fair.

“You don’t have to come to the game, you know,” you told him softly. “If you need to study, Caleb will understand.”

Zayne didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll be there.”

Caleb grinned, nudging his shoulder. “Aww, look at you, pretending to hate basketball but secretly being my biggest fan.”

Zayne ignored him, flipping a page in his book. But you saw it. That tiny, almost invisible twitch of his lips. He’d never admit it—but he cared.

The gym was alive with energy, the sound of sneakers squeaking against polished floors, the sharp blow of the referee's whistle, the thunder of cheers every time Caleb made a play. You and Zayne sat in the stands, your usual seats near the front—close enough to feel the charge in the air but tucked slightly off to the side, where Zayne could avoid unnecessary interaction.

You leaned in, voice barely above the hum of the crowd. "He’s gonna get cocky again."

Zayne followed your gaze to the court, where Caleb had just stolen the ball and was sprinting down the court, fast and effortless. Right before the opposing team could catch up, he jumped, releasing a perfect shot—swish. The crowd exploded, and you groaned, already knowing what was coming.

Caleb turned toward the stands, grinning like he owned the world, and winked in your direction. He pointed two fingers at you, then at himself—a silent, teasing "That one was for you, Pipsqueak."

Zayne let out a slow breath beside you. "He’s unbearable."

"Completely." You smirked, cupping your hands around your mouth to yell, "STOP SHOWING OFF, HOTSHOT!"

Caleb only laughed, jogging back toward the game like he hadn't just single-handedly boosted the school spirit by 200%. Even with all the stress piling up—Zayne’s relentless dual enrollment courses, your own constant uncertainty about the future—the two of you never missed Caleb’s games. It wasn’t even a question. You were always there. And though Zayne barely reacted to the game, though his presence was quiet, you knew he wouldn’t be anywhere else either.

It was past midnight, and the dining table in your shared home with Caleb was a complete disaster—textbooks stacked high, notebooks sprawled open, half-empty coffee mugs dotting the surface like battle remnants. Across from you, Zayne sat with his sleeves rolled up, eyebrows furrowed as he tapped his pen against a medical textbook.

You sighed, stretching your arms over your head. "I think I figured it out."

Zayne looked up. "Figured what out?"

You exhaled, feeling the weight of your thoughts settle in. "What I want to do after high school."

That got his full attention. He set his pen down, leaning slightly forward. "Yeah?"

You bit your lip, hesitant. "I... I think I want to go into psychology."

Zayne didn’t speak right away, just watched you—really watched you—like he was piecing together everything you had ever said about the future and placing this moment neatly into its place.

"That fits you," he said finally, his voice low and even.

A small laugh left you, tinged with something softer. "You think so?"

He nodded. "You always notice things about people. The way they act. How they think. It makes sense."

You felt something warm in your chest, something solid—reassurance, maybe. Understanding.

You swallowed, voice dropping into something almost shy. "I was scared of choosing the wrong thing."

"You won’t," Zayne said simply, like it wasn’t even an option.

You looked at him then, the dim lighting casting soft shadows over his face. For all his quiet, serious demeanor, Zayne had always made you feel heard, seen—like your thoughts mattered. It was easy with him. You reached for your coffee, fingers barely brushing his across the tabletop. Neither of you pulled away. And somewhere in the house, in his room upstairs, Caleb lay awake—staring at the ceiling, feeling something unnamed and unfamiliar settle in his chest.

Caleb didn’t understand why hearing you and Zayne study together made him feel off. He didn’t understand why he liked it better when you were bickering with him instead—when your attention was his. He didn’t understand why he suddenly noticed how different you looked lately—why he had started remembering the way your face lit up when you talked about your future.

And Zayne? He didn’t understand why your happiness felt like something he wanted to protect at all costs. He didn’t understand why your warmth, your presence, was starting to feel like something irreplaceable. He didn’t understand why he didn’t want to pull away when your fingers brushed his anymore—or why he was suddenly so aware of every single time you smiled at him. They didn’t understand it yet. But something was changing.

It was Zayne’s graduation trip. The cabin was tucked deep in the mountains, where the world was silent except for the whisper of the wind and the crunch of snow under your boots. It was something you had done a few times before—a winter getaway with Grandma and Zayne’s parents in the background, letting you have your fun while they enjoyed their own quiet retreat.

The air was bitingly cold but invigorating, the kind that stung your cheeks and made every breath feel sharp and fresh. The landscape stretched in endless white and pine, the ski slopes bustling with movement as people zoomed past in streaks of red, blue, and black. And as always—Zayne was effortlessly the best at it.

"You have to be cheating," Caleb grumbled, pulling off his gloves as they all stood near the base of the slope. His snowboard was still strapped to his feet, and his entire body was coated in snow, courtesy of his latest spectacular fall.

Zayne, standing like a statue of grace on his skis, merely raised an eyebrow. "How exactly would I cheat?"

"By not being human," Caleb huffed. He turned to you, still sitting on the snow, catching your breath from laughing too hard at Caleb’s previous wipeout. "Did you see that? He barely even tries."

You nodded solemnly, eyes glinting with mischief. "It’s true. I think we need to stage an intervention."

Zayne exhaled through his nose, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips. "You’re both terrible at this."

"You could teach us instead of judging," you shot back, shivering as you dusted snow off your jacket.

Zayne gave you a look—one you were all too familiar with. That dry, unreadable stare that always made you feel like he was internally sighing. A second later, he skied smoothly over to you, bending slightly to offer a gloved hand. You hesitated for a second before taking it, letting him pull you up. His hand was firm, steady—warmer than you expected despite the cold.

"You have bad balance," he muttered.

"Gee, thanks."

"You lean too much to the left when you turn. It messes up your center of gravity."

Caleb scoffed. "Yeah, okay, genius, what’s my issue?"

"You have no technique," Zayne said flatly.

You burst into laughter, and Caleb dramatically clutched his chest. "Wow. Betrayed in the snow."

But even through the teasing, through the laughter, something was shifting—something was lingering in the background, just waiting to be noticed.

That night, after the exhaustion of skiing all day, the three of you sat near the fireplace in the cabin’s cozy lounge, wrapped in thick blankets, flushed from the warmth. The adults had long since retreated to bed, leaving you alone with the soft crackle of the fire and the freezing winter night pressing against the windows. And, of course, Caleb had somehow managed to sneak in a flask of alcohol.

"Where did you even get that?" you whispered as he triumphantly pulled it from his jacket pocket, his grin absolutely devious.

"I have my ways, Pipsqueak," Caleb said smugly, twisting the cap off and taking the first swig. He coughed, shaking his head. "Oh, that’s strong."

You laughed as he passed it to you. "You’re such an idiot."

"And you love me."

You rolled your eyes, but you took a sip, the burn of alcohol spreading down your throat, settling warm in your stomach. Then you handed it to Zayne, who hesitated before taking it.

He stared at it for a second. "This is a bad idea."

"And yet, here you are," Caleb said, smirking.

Zayne sighed, but he took a sip anyway.

The three of you passed it around, the warmth growing—not just from the fire, but from the quiet intimacy of the moment.

Caleb leaned his head back against the couch, exhaling slowly. "Kinda crazy, isn’t it?"

You blinked at him. "What?"

"That we’ve always been like this," he mused. "Like... no matter what changes, we’re still here."

You glanced at Zayne, who was staring into the fire, his profile sharp and thoughtful in the flickering glow. It was true. Through everything—childhood, school, stress, late nights spent cramming for exams, lost sleep, laughter, small fights, silent moments of comfort—you had always been together. But something felt different now.

Caleb wasn’t sure why he noticed it, but as he looked between you and Zayne, as he caught the way Zayne’s eyes softened—so subtly, so naturally—when he looked at you, something unspoken settled in his chest. And maybe Zayne wasn’t sure why he noticed it, but as he glanced at Caleb, he caught something too. A shift. Because Caleb had always been touchy, playful, affectionate—but lately, it had been more. His arm stayed around you longer. His teasing had softened at the edges. His protectiveness had grown sharper. Neither of them understood what it meant yet.

But for the first time, something unspoken stirred between them, pressing against the walls of their friendship, waiting to be acknowledged. The fire had burned low, casting the cabin in a warm amber glow, the three of you curled up in a tangle of blankets on the floor, the alcohol buzzing just beneath your skin. The flask lay empty between you, discarded after too many shared sips and quiet laughs. Somewhere along the way, the conversation had shifted, the warmth of the fire and the haze of drunken honesty loosening your tongues, your inhibitions.

"I don't wanna go to college without ever having kissed anyone," Caleb had blurted out, head lolled back against the couch.

You had snorted, stretching your legs out. "That's your biggest concern?"

"I'm just saying!" he shot back, waving a hand lazily. "Everyone in college is gonna have experience, and we're gonna look like—like losers!"

Zayne, who had been half-draped against the armrest, lifted a slow, unimpressed stare. "That's stupid."

"You just say that 'cause you don’t care."

"Because it doesn’t matter."

Caleb groaned dramatically, turning his head to look at you. "Back me up, Pipsqueak."

You shrugged. "I mean... I get it."

Zayne gave you a look, and you raised your hands in defense. "Not the loser part, but like... college is a big deal. And I don’t wanna look like an idiot who doesn’t know what she’s doing either."

Caleb pointed at you, triumphant. "Exactly!" Then, a slow, devilish grin crept across his lips. "So, we should fix it. Right now."

There was a pause.

You blinked. "...Fix what?"

Caleb waggled his eyebrows. "The whole 'never been kissed' thing."

You stared at him. "Caleb."

"I'm serious!" he said, already shifting to sit up straighter. He gestured wildly between the three of you. "Look, it'd be weird if just one of us did it, right? That’d make it, like—a thing. So either we all do it or no one does it."

Zayne’s head tilted, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You’re drunk."

"And so are you!"

Zayne looked vaguely like he was regretting every life decision that had led him here.

You, on the other hand, felt a ridiculous kind of giddy amusement bubbling up. It was so Caleb—stupid and reckless, but also oddly inclusive in a way that made sense, like the thought of leaving someone out was simply unacceptable in his head.

He was grinning, that wild, excited gleam in his eyes. "Think about it—"

"I am thinking about it," Zayne muttered.

"And?"

Zayne exhaled, slow and long, running a hand down his face. "You're impossible."

Caleb smirked. "Not a no."

Your stomach flipped unexpectedly. This was stupid. This was stupid—but it was also kind of hilarious, and maybe the alcohol was whispering bad ideas into your head, or maybe it was just the way you felt so safe with them, the way you knew nothing would ever be weird between you three. So why the hell not? You met Caleb’s eyes, then Zayne’s, feeling a slow, mischievous grin curl at your lips.

"Fine," you said.

Caleb’s eyes widened slightly, like he hadn't expected you to actually agree. Zayne let out the heaviest sigh known to mankind.

"...I hate you both," he muttered.

Caleb cackled, and before anyone could overthink it, Caleb turned to you first, eyes gleaming with something almost daring. "Alright, Pipsqueak. Let’s go."

You rolled your eyes but leaned in, and just like that—his lips were on yours. It was... warm. Easy. Playful. The alcohol buzzed between you, and the kiss wasn’t deep or overly serious—just curious, unthinking, something light and fleeting that had you both grinning against each other’s mouths.

When you pulled away, Caleb licked his lips, nodding approvingly. "Not bad, Pipsqueak. Not bad."

"You act like I was trying to impress you."

"You totally were."

You swatted his arm. "Shut up."

Then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, you turned to Zayne. He was already watching you, his expression calm, but unreadable—that classic Zayne stillness, like he was waiting for something.

"You in or what?" you teased.

He exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly before finally muttering, "You’re both idiots."

And then, before you could react—he leaned in and kissed you. It was different. It wasn’t Caleb’s easy playfulness, the teasing and lighthearted fun. Zayne kissed you like he wasn’t thinking about it at all—just moving, just existing in the space between you, like it was natural. Like it didn’t mean anything.

But there was something about the way his hand brushed lightly over your jaw, something about the way your breath caught just slightly, something about the way he lingered—just a second longer than Caleb had. When you parted, you swallowed, feeling your face warm despite the alcohol. And then, before the moment could stretch into something dangerous, something too quiet, Caleb let out a mock gasp.

"Zayne," he whispered dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "I never thought you’d actually do it."

Zayne rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Caleb."

"Wait," you blurted, barely able to contain your laughter, your heartbeat still racing for reasons you didn’t want to think about. "If we’re really doing this... then it’s your turn."

Caleb blinked. "...What?"

Zayne arched an eyebrow, his first real smirk of the night tugging at his lips. "You said all or nothing."

Caleb’s eyes widened in horror. "Oh, hell no—"

But before he could escape, Zayne—for the first time in his life— took initiative and grabbed Caleb’s face. You died laughing as Caleb let out a very undignified noise, barely processing what was happening before Zayne planted the fastest, driest, most dismissive peck on his lips possible and then promptly shoved him away. Caleb looked absolutely scandalized.

"WHAT THE—"

"You wanted to make it fair," Zayne said, completely deadpan.

You were wheezing, clutching your stomach.

Caleb covered his mouth like he had just been personally victimized. "That was not what I meant, you bastard."

"You asked for it."

"I hate you!"

"You love me."

Caleb groaned, face-palming so hard it echoed. And just like that, the night exploded into laughter, the three of you sprawled out by the fire, breathless and giddy, alcohol buzzing in your veins. It was stupid and reckless and ridiculous, but it was yours—this moment, this memory, this thing that the three of you shared, something untouchable, something completely safe. But under the surface, the seed had been planted. Neither Zayne nor Caleb would ever admit it, but something shifted that night. And soon, they'd realize it.

The kiss? It was never spoken of again. It became one of those things, brushed off as a drunken mistake, a hazy memory lost somewhere in the embers of that night by the fire. It was easier that way—easier to pretend it didn’t matter, that nothing had changed. And for a while, nothing did. The three of you still moved like clockwork, like the universe had built you to fit together—a perfect trio, just like always. But time had other plans.

Zayne graduated first. It should have been expected—he was the oldest, the one who had always been a step ahead, the one with his entire future already mapped out. But that didn’t mean it hurt any less. You tried not to let it show. Tried not to let the hollow feeling in your chest consume you. The day he left for medical school, you and Caleb helped him load his car. The trunk was packed tight with boxes, his entire life neatly folded into suitcases. The three of you stood outside the house, the weight of something unspoken settling between you.

Caleb nudged him with a smirk, trying to keep it light. "Guess we finally get a break from your grumpy ass, huh?"

Zayne gave him a flat look, but the corner of his mouth twitched—just barely. "Doubt it. You’ll still find ways to be annoying from miles away."

You forced out a laugh, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Zayne glanced at you then, and for the first time that morning, his expression softened—just slightly. "You gonna be okay?"

You swallowed past the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to smile like this wasn’t the end of something. "I’ll be fine."

And at first, the texts were frequent. The calls were semi-regular. You tried to hold onto that. But slowly, little by little, Zayne started slipping away. He was always busy. Exams. Labs. Clinical rotations. And soon, the replies became shorter, the calls became less frequent. Before you even realized it, he had become a ghost in your life. And suddenly, for the first time since you were eight years old, your world was no longer a trio. It was just you and Caleb.

At first, nothing really felt different. You and Caleb still had lunch together, still went to basketball games, still navigated high school side by side like you always had. But there was an absence, an undeniable gap where Zayne should have been. Every time you laughed, it felt a little emptier. Every time you studied, it felt a little quieter. Every time you looked at your phone, waiting for a text that never came, it felt a little lonelier.

Caleb noticed. Of course, he noticed. But he didn’t say anything—because what was there to say? So he filled the silence. He stayed closer than ever, slinging an arm around your shoulders when you sighed too much, dragging you to parties when he thought you needed a distraction. And for a while, it worked. Until it didn’t. Caleb leaving wasn’t as abrupt.

Maybe because you had time to prepare, to know that it was coming. Or maybe because, deep down, you knew that at least he wouldn’t disappear the way Zayne had. Aviation Academy was only a few hours away. He still came home every few weekends.

But it wasn’t the same. The house felt quieter. The days felt longer. And you? You felt utterly, suffocatingly alone. Caleb still texted often, still called at night just to check in. But he wasn’t there. Not in the way he had always been. You were used to being part of something bigger than yourself—a trio that had shaped your world, your childhood, your memories. And now, piece by piece, that world was fading away.

Caleb still visited, still felt like home—but he wasn’t there every day anymore. His presence became a comfort you couldn’t always reach. His voice was still warm, still familiar—but it wasn’t the same as him sitting beside you, laughing, teasing, existing. And somehow, despite all of it, he still felt closer than Zayne did.

Zayne? Zayne became someone you used to know. The calls stopped altogether. The texts became scarce. And then, one day, they stopped coming at all. He was still out there. Still alive, still moving forward, still becoming something greater. You knew because you checked, even though he didn’t talk to you anymore, you made sure to keep up with his achievements, and it hurt finding out from different sources that were not him. But you weren’t part of that world anymore. And maybe that was the hardest part of all. Time had a strange way of softening pain without ever truly erasing it.

Five years had passed since that winter trip, since the last time you, Caleb, and Zayne had sat around a fire, laughing in the haze of alcohol and youth. Five years since your world had slowly unraveled, piece by piece, until all that remained was you and Caleb—two instead of three.

You had moved on. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself. College had given you a new life, a fresh start filled with new friendships, new routines, new experiences. Your dorm was cozy, your classes challenging, your weekends filled with plans that kept your mind busy enough not to dwell. You had friends now—good ones. Ones who cared about you, who made you laugh, who kept you grounded. But it wasn’t the same. Nothing ever was.

Caleb was still Caleb, still your rock, even from a distance. His life at the Aviation Academy had kept him busy, but somehow, he always made time for you when it mattered. There were fewer visits now, less time spent together, but you both still went home for Christmas and New Year's—a tradition that remained untouched, a promise neither of you dared to break.

And then there was Zayne. Or rather, there wasn’t. Zayne had become nothing more than a name in the back of your mind, a whisper in the quiet moments when you least expected it. At first, you had held on—checking your phone for his name, hoping for a call, a message, anything that proved he hadn’t let go completely. But as the years passed, reality settled in. Zayne was gone. He wasn’t coming back.

His parents still came to Christmas dinner, still laughed and reminisced with your grandma like nothing had changed. But he was never with them. Always busy. Always working. At least, that’s what they said. You could have asked. You could have looked them in the eye and said, How is he? Where is he? Does he ever ask about me? But you never did. Because deep down, you already knew the answer.

What if he was doing better now without you? What if he had moved on—found someone new, built a life that no longer had room for the past? You had decided that the less you knew, the better. Even if it still hurt. Even if it still felt fresh, even after all this time.

It was Caleb’s graduation from the Academy. The wind carried the scent of fresh blossoms and something distant, something nostalgic. You sat in the crowded rows of chairs, hands folded neatly in your lap, watching as names were called one after the other in alphabetical order.

Grandma sat beside you, her usual warmth tucked into the fold of her coat, and across from you sat Zayne’s parents, exchanging soft, proud whispers as they waited for their son’s best friend to receive his degree.

Your mind had wandered, lost in the way the spring breeze danced with the falling petals, when suddenly— A presence. It was subtle at first, a shift in the air, a weight pressing at the edge of your awareness. But the moment you turned, the moment your eyes landed on him—your world tilted.

Zayne. Your Zayne. Except he wasn’t yours anymore, was he?

You stared, mouth slightly agape, the words frozen on your tongue as he greeted his parents with a quiet familiarity, then turned to acknowledge your grandmother with a polite nod. And then—as if the last five years had been nothing but a blink, as if time hadn’t carved a canyon between you—

"Sorry I’m late," he said smoothly, his voice unchanged, steady, deep, casual. Casual. Like he hadn’t been gone for half a decade. Like he hadn’t left you behind without a single explanation. You swallowed the sudden rush of emotions—anger, confusion, something achingly close to grief—but this wasn’t about you. This was Caleb’s day.

So you forced the words past your throat, cool and dismissive. "It’s okay."

Zayne held your gaze for half a second longer than necessary, as if searching for something in your expression. But before you could dwell on it, before you could demand answers or let the hurt crawl to the surface, the graduation continued, the sound of names and applause filling the silence that stretched between you. He didn’t stay long.

You caught snippets of him mentioning something about work, his usual unreadable tone making it impossible to tell if it was the truth or an excuse. And yet—Caleb was ecstatic to see him. When they embraced after the ceremony, Caleb grinned like nothing had changed, like his childhood friend hadn’t vanished into the ether for years.

He didn’t seem to feel the resentment sitting heavy in your chest, so you let it go. And just like that, before the day had even ended, Zayne was gone again. Disappearing just as easily as he had reappeared.

One year later, the day had finally arrived—your big day. The moment you had worked tirelessly for, pushing through every challenge, every late night, every doubt. As you stood at the edge of the stage, the weight of your achievement settling in, it felt impossibly vast, stretching before you like the culmination of years of effort.

The auditorium was filled to bursting, voices blending into an overwhelming hum as the next name was called. You stepped forward, heart pounding—a mix of excitement and relief, of accomplishment and anxiety—but mostly, an overwhelming sense of finally. It was over. You reached for your degree, the weight of it settling into your hands like the culmination of everything you had fought for, everything you had worked toward. And then—

"YEAH, PIPSQUEAK!!" You nearly flinched at the volume of Caleb’s voice, the unmistakable thunder of his enthusiasm crashing over the sea of murmurs and polite applause.

A laugh almost slipped out, warmth blooming in your chest at his usual, unfiltered energy. But as your eyes flickered toward the crowd, toward the section where you had heard him, you saw him. Sitting next to Caleb. Zayne. Clapping, his face unreadable save for the glint in his eyes, something almost too soft, too subtle. Your brain short-circuited. For a brief moment, the stage, the audience, the speech you were supposed to be paying attention to—it all disappeared.

Because what was he doing here? Why now? Why, after all this time, was he still showing up only when it was convenient? Focus. Today is about you. You inhaled sharply, forcing your eyes away, forcing yourself to move forward, to walk off the stage, to push the ache in your chest deep, deep down.

Zayne had a habit of walking into your life only to leave again. You wouldn’t let him ruin this. Not today. Focus. Today is about you. You repeated the words in your head, pushing down the ache that had settled deep in your chest. Not now. Not today. The moment the ceremony ended, Caleb found you first, grabbing your wrist and spinning you around, his excitement practically radiating off of him.

"Congratulations, Pipsqueak! I knew you could do it!" he shouted over the hum of the celebrating crowd, his grin wide, eyes shining with pure pride. You laughed, breathless, letting his energy pull you back into the present. Caleb was always like this—loud, familiar, unwaveringly there.

And then— "Congratulations, Doctor." The voice came from behind you, calm, steady, unmistakable. You turned. And there he was.

Zayne. Standing there, holding a bouquet of jasmines. Something lodged itself in your throat, a lump you couldn't quite swallow. Your fingers curled around the delicate stems as you took the bouquet from him, the scent of fresh petals filling the space between you. You forced yourself to smile, but it felt strange—tight, slightly forced, uncertain.

"...Thanks." It was all you could manage. Because what else was there to say to someone who had been gone for so long—only to show up now, as if nothing had changed? That night, Caleb was the one who insisted.

“Come on, Pipsqueak,” he grinned, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “One night. Just like old times. No serious shit, no weird tension—just us.”

You hesitated. Everything in you screamed that this was a bad idea, but then you saw that familiar boyish excitement in Caleb’s eyes, the one he always had when he was up to something reckless. Then, out of the corner of your eye—Zayne. He wasn’t looking at you. Not directly. Just watching, as if waiting to see what you would say. A challenge, maybe. Or a test. “Fine.”

Caleb whooped in victory, already pulling out his keys. “I know just the place.”

It wasn’t a dingy college bar. It wasn’t some loud, overcrowded club. It was something in between—something mature, sleek, dimly lit, with glasses that weren’t made of plastic and music that didn’t make you want to claw your ears out.You sat in a booth, tucked into the corner, the three of you alone in a sea of strangers.

Caleb slid in first, right next to you, his presence unmistakably close, intentional. You weren’t stupid—you knew what he was doing. Marking his territory. Whether or not there was anything to claim. Zayne sat across from you, leaning back against the booth, one arm resting on the table. He had been quiet most of the night, not tense exactly, just… watchful.

The drinks came, and for a little while, it felt almost normal. Caleb cracked jokes, teased you endlessly, filled the space with laughter and easy conversation. Zayne added in dry comments here and there, but he wasn’t like he used to be. The old Zayne would have rolled his eyes, maybe smirked, let himself be pulled into Caleb’s chaos. But this version of him? This Zayne?

He was holding back. And Caleb noticed. The drinks flowed, the tension simmered beneath the surface, and for a while, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—you could fake normalcy. But the thing about history is that it doesn’t stay buried. Not forever. And all it took was one sentence to shatter the illusion.

“Oh hey, man, congrats on getting the Starcatcher Award,” Caleb said, leaning back against the booth, swirling his drink lazily. You stiffened. Your grip on your glass tightened ever so slightly.

Zayne, who had been resting his forearm on the table, barely reacted. He gave a short, indifferent nod and muttered, “Thanks.”

It would have ended there. If it weren’t for you. The words slipped out before you could stop them, before you could weigh the consequences, before you could shove them back down where they belonged. “Would’ve been cool to hear about it from you instead of Grandma.”

Silence. Caleb visibly tensed beside you, his casual slouch stiffening as he very subtly reached under the table, his fingers brushing against yours in a quiet attempt at reassurance—a silent plea of hey, not here. But it was too late. Zayne finally looked at you. Not the way he had before. Not passive, not distant, not politely detached. No. This time, his gaze was sharp, calculating—like he was carefully assessing the damage, like he wasn’t sure how deep the cut had gone.

You didn’t let him look away. Your heart was pounding, your skin hot despite the chilled whiskey in your veins. And suddenly, you realized—fuck this. Actually, fuck this entire night.

You weren’t going to sit here and play pretend. You weren’t going to drink and laugh and nod like everything was fine, like he hadn’t vanished off the face of the earth for half a damn decade.

You weren’t going to let him waltz back into your life at his convenience, offering empty congratulations and half-hearted appearances like it was enough.

It wasn’t. And you were done pretending. You scoffed, setting your glass down with just a little too much force, the sound sharp against the wooden table. “You know what? No. Fuck this.” Zayne’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if he had expected you to drop it. The curse and your sharp tone actually taking him by surprise. That only pissed you off more. “I don’t wanna sit here and pretend we’re all cool when you haven’t given a single fuck about either of us in the past five years.”

Caleb sucked in a sharp breath beside you, running a tense hand through his hair, like he was preparing for impact. Zayne? He didn’t react right away. He just stared at you, expression unreadable, perfectly calm. Like he knew this moment was coming. Like he was waiting for it. The weight of your words hung in the air, heavy, undeniable. The bar, once a warm haze of laughter and drinks, now felt too small, too suffocating.

Caleb softly called your name, his voice low, careful—as if trying to maintain the peace that had long since shattered. His hand reached for yours again, a familiar comfort, a tether to hold you back. But you yanked your hand away. Not out of anger toward him. Just… done.

“No, Caleb.” Your voice didn’t shake. It was steady, sharp, cutting through the false sense of normalcy like a blade. You turned back to Zayne, facing him fully for the first time in years. “He needs to hear this.” Zayne was still, his hands loosely clasped on the table, shoulders tense but expression unreadable.

“None of this is fair, and you know it,” you continued, voice gaining momentum, pushing past the years of swallowed pain, unanswered questions, and unspoken goodbyes. “How can you sit there, talk, pretend like there isn’t a gigantic fucking elephant in the room? Since no one else wants to take the first shot, it might as well be me.” Your chest rose and fell, but you didn’t waver. “Why did you do it?”

Zayne blinked. For the first time that night, he looked genuinely speechless. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out—because what could he say? There was no defense. No justification. No excuse that would ever be enough. His eyes flickered toward Caleb, as if silently asking for help, for backup, for anything. But Caleb only sighed, running a hand over his jaw.

His voice was quieter this time, not playful, not dismissive—just… tired. “She’s right.”

And that was it. That was the moment the last thread of pretense snapped, the moment all three of you were forced to acknowledge what had been festering beneath the surface for years. You and Caleb—mirroring each other in your anger, in your frustration, in your expectation. Waiting for a response.

Zayne exhaled, jaw tensing, his fingers drumming once against the table before he muttered, “Maybe we should talk about this somewhere else.”

No. You shook your head, leaning forward, your tone firm. Unrelenting. “No, Zayne. You are going to answer right here, right now.” Your heart pounded, but your voice didn’t shake. “You have had more than enough chances.” And now? You weren’t going to let him walk away again.

Zayne felt trapped. The booth that once felt comfortable now felt too tight, too suffocating, like the walls were closing in around him. There was no escape. And maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the way you were looking at him—that unwavering, sharp, almost glassy stare that burned straight through him. He swallowed.

"I don’t know, okay?" His voice came out hollow, almost desperate. "I’m sorry. I really am." His eyes flickered between you and Caleb, searching—for what, he wasn’t sure. Forgiveness? Understanding? A way out? But all he found was two sets of unwavering stares, expecting more. Demanding more. Sorry wasn’t good enough.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly, trying to steady himself, trying to find the right words—if they even existed. "At first, I was just busy with work," he started, voice quieter now, as if saying it out loud made it sound even more pathetic. "I really was trying to balance it out, but then things started getting more and more chaotic, and once I realized what I was doing…" He hesitated.His gaze flickered toward you again, then Caleb, then down to the table. "It felt too late to apologize." Silence. You and Caleb didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared. Expecting more. So he gave it to you. "You guys seemed to be doing just fine without me," he muttered. "And maybe… maybe I thought I was keeping you two—away from each other."

The moment the words left his mouth, it felt like the final piece of an unsolved puzzle had clicked into place. Caleb’s entire posture shifted. His hand, still resting against his drink, stilled completely. Your breath hitched—just barely. You blinked, like the meaning behind his words was too big, too heavy, too impossible to process all at once. And you stared at him.

What?

The word barely registered in your mind, let alone made it to your lips. For the first time tonight—for the first time in years—you were the one left speechless. Zayne’s words weren’t just words. They had weight. They lodged themselves somewhere deeper, picking at something buried—something you had ignored, pushed down, brushed off as nothing.

But now? Now, it was surfacing. You felt it all at once—the slow, subtle changes over the years, the things you had never truly questioned. Caleb had always been Caleb—loud, teasing, fiercely protective. That was just who he was.

But then there were the things you had ignored. The way he always touched you more than before. The way he lingered closer, longer, making sure there was never a space between you that Zayne could step into. The way he marked his place at your side, as if someone was trying to take it. The way he stared a little longer whenever you mentioned Zayne, even in passing.

Maybe it was all in your head. Maybe. But then—Zayne said it. And suddenly, you weren’t so sure anymore.

Did Caleb do something? Your mind raced, piecing together every interaction you could remember, every moment in the past five years that might have meant something more than you realized. And then—a horrible, impossible thought crept in. What if Zayne did try to reach out?

Your stomach turned. Caleb was still silent, but you could see it now—the way his fingers tensed against the glass, the way his jaw ticked, the way he suddenly wasn’t looking at Zayne or you. He knew something. Something you didn’t. Did he—? No. He wouldn’t. Would he?

You turned to Caleb, finally finding your voice again, but barely above a whisper. “…Caleb?” Your mind was still reeling, trying to make sense of Zayne’s words when your voice finally found its way out. “What is he talking about?”

Zayne’s gaze was steady, unreadable, but weighted. That only made your stomach turn more. And then, it hit you—a memory you hadn’t thought about in years. Your heart pounded against your ribs. You turned to Zayne.

“Are you seriously talking about that night?” You let out a sharp, breathless laugh, half in disbelief. “We were kids, Zayne. It meant nothing.”

But even as you said it, something felt off—something about the way he looked at you, the way his fingers curled against the edge of the table, like he was bracing for impact. Instinctively, you turned to Caleb, needing him to confirm it, to reassure you— “…Right?”

But Caleb didn’t answer. He didn’t say a word.Instead, he just sat there, his shoulders rigid, his jaw tight, his expression twisted into something between guilt and regret. Your stomach dropped. The cards had been flipped, and suddenly—it was Caleb under fire. Your breath came out uneven. Your pulse pounded in your ears.

“…Caleb, what is he talking about?” His silence was unbearable. Then—finally, a breath. A slow, shaky inhale, like the weight of everything he had buried for years was finally rising to the surface.

“I’m sorry, Pipsqueak…”You flinched. Not because of the words themselves—but because of the way he said them. Soft. Fractured. Defeated. “I—I just…” Caleb swallowed, his voice cracking slightly. “I saw the way you always looked at him instead of me. And the way he always looked at you.”

He let out a bitter laugh, but there was no humor in it—just pain, just honesty that took too long to come out. “And I just—I couldn’t bear it,” he admitted. “I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. Not when you are all that I have.”

The weight of his words crashed over you like a tidal wave. For a moment, all you could do was sit there, completely, utterly stunned. Your heartbeat pounded against your ribs, your breath shallow, your hands cold despite the warmth of the alcohol still lingering in your system.

This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t—You pushed yourself up from the booth, shaking your head, needing to breathe, needing to escape.

“I can’t,” you whispered, more to yourself than to them. Then, louder—sharper, each word laced with the rawness of everything hitting all at once: “I can��t fucking do this right now. Not on my graduation day.”

You didn’t give them a chance to stop you. You grabbed your bag, shoved your way past the crowded bar, ignoring the sound of Caleb calling your name, ignoring the way your vision blurred as you stumbled into the night air. You didn’t stop walking until you reached home.

And when you did? You broke. Tears burned your eyes as you sank onto your bed, fingers digging into your bedsheets, trying so damn hard to keep yourself together.

Everything was ruined. The foundation of your past—cracked. Your friendship—fractured. Everything you thought you knew—completely, utterly shattered. And just when you thought you were finally alone—

There was a knock at the front door. Your breath hitched. For a second, you thought it was Caleb. But then, from the other side— A voice. Low. Familiar. Unsteady.

“…It’s me.”

Your heart stopped.

Zayne.

⟢ a/n: next part may or may not include sexual content:) I will put a trigger warning at the beginning!

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