#I'm just tired but I'm too afraid to sleep

[darkmatilda]

𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your boyfriend decides he’s going to start calling you a cute pet name, but the problem is, none of them seem to suit you perfectly

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: glasses reid x baumember!female reader, so sweet you'll puke, case in the background, unsub is abducting elderly people, text messages, reader is kinda clingy, use of y/n because i had to

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4k

𝐚/𝐧: requested by @trulymadlydarling <33 sorry if it ended up a bit too long again, but im starting to suspect that im physically incapable of writing a drabble lmao

"I'm tired. When will this week be over?"

"It's 9:13 on Monday."

With a groan, you leaned back against the seat in the corner of the jet, feeling the caffeine craving slowly take control of your body. 

"Just the thought of going to sleep sends intense shivers through me, caused by a heart-wrenching longing, and heavy tears slowly start gathering in my eyes," you complained, resting your head to the side.

Slightly turned, so you could look at Spencer sitting right next to you. His eyes, behind his glasses, also seemed a little tired, though he didn't manifest it as loudly. When you sat down next to him, he partially closed the book he was reading and rested it against the edge of the table in front of him.

"When you're sleep-deprived, you tend to get a bit dramatic," he pointed out in an analyzing tone, though you could catch a slight twitch at the corners of his lips.

"It's not drama, silly. It's the personification of pure exhaustion speaking through my lips."

"I love it when you try to argue with me and end up agreeing with me."

"You just love being right, don't you, smarty?" you huffed. "You love me too, but that's just a side note."

"Oh, now you're teasing. That's good. Means the sleepiness is wearing off," he diagnosed.

Sometimes you were genuinely amazed by how well he knew you, despite being together for such a short time—though maybe you shouldn’t have been. He was a profiler, just like you. Both of you were exceptionally good at reading each other, picking up on moods and small, everyday habits. You used to worry a little that this might make your relationship boring, stripped of surprises. But you quickly realized there’s nothing more captivating than another mind that matches your own and deeply understands its struggles. And sometimes, that feeling itself was a pleasant surprise.

"Next weekend, we're not going anywhere, okay?" you asked in a dreamy tone. The day before, you’d gotten back way too late, which was mostly to blame for your sleepiness. "Not even out of bed."

A look crossed Reid's face, somewhere between eagerness and a grimace.

"I’d love to," he assured with a genuine sigh, but then quickly added, "But I’m afraid I’ve already got something planned."

You tried to keep up the facade of your role, not showing too much excitement. You raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips.

"I'm starting to suspect you have plans for every weekend for the rest of our lives."

"Actually, just for the next fourteen weeks," he admitted with a slight shrug, as if it wasn’t anything to be impressed by.

You weren’t sure if he was joking, and you didn’t get the chance to find out.

"Hey, lovebirds," Morgan called from the other end of the jet, where the whole team was gathered around a small table, ready to start discussing the case. "We're waiting for you."

For a while, you kept it a secret from them that you were starting to expect, but eventually, you had to come clean. Especially when Penelope, who knew everything, started taking every chance to send you suggestive glances or drop not-so-subtle comments. The rest of the team’s reaction wasn’t particularly emotional. They didn’t start screaming in surprise or jumping up and down in disbelief. They were profilers—they had figured it out. But they had enough decency to wait until you told them yourselves. No hard feelings, sweet Penelope.

You took the empty seat next to Gideon, right across from your boss and JJ. Reid settled into a chair on the side, where Morgan immediately poked him with his elbow.

"So, how’s it going in love land today?" Morgan asked, smirking. "Are puppies falling from the sky, and is it going to rain hearts this afternoon?"

You’d gotten so used to these kinds of jabs that, in perfect sync, you both rolled your eyes and opened your mouths to defend yourselves. It wasn’t like you two were constantly all lovey-dovey, exchanging kisses and holding hands at every chance! Morgan just loved to tease you, knowing how much it irked both of you when someone accused you of being unprofessional.

“Take it easy, it’s just the honeymoon phase," Gideon warned, not even looking at you as he adjusted his small square glasses, focusing instead on the folder in front of him. "You grow out of it."

On the laptop screen, Garcia’s face appeared, complete with an orange rose headband in her blonde hair.

"Well, hello there, babygirl," Derek greeted her, a small smile spreading across his lips.

"Hello, you charming, sweet, handsome thing…

Hotch exchanged a knowing look with Gideon.

“As you can see, not always," he muttered under his breath so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. JJ, sitting shoulder to shoulder with him, briefly lowered her amused gaze, trying to hold back a smile. "Shall we get started?"

The atmosphere shifted instantly, as if with the snap of fingers, when you began discussing the case. This time, it was a series of murders targeting men around the age of seventy-four.

"Are we sure this is the work of a serial killer?" Derek asked, his earlier light tone replaced with focus and seriousness. "I mean, looking at it, these guys don’t have much in common aside from their age."

“They’re all from the same area,” you noted, flipping through the victims' files. “But yeah, they don’t have much else in common. Different jobs, some married, some not…you think age is the reason the unsub picked them?”

“Looks that way,” Hotch said.

“About two weeks ago, his granddaughter reported him missing,” JJ informed you, pointing to a photo of an older man. “Ben Murphy, seventy-six years old. He’s from the same area, and all signs point to him being the unsub’s next victim. Each of the victims was held for an estimated three weeks, so there’s a good… a good chance he’s still alive.”

A brief silence settled over the room, heavy with the pressure of time.

“But why keep them alive for that long?” Spencer muttered, his brow furrowed in thought. “None of the bodies show signs of physical torture. They were killed with a lethal dose of insulin. If he chose that method, it doesn’t seem like he wanted to hurt them directly. The motive…the motive is unclear.”

The rest of the discussion revolved around trying to find connections and similarities to other crimes you were all familiar with, but you didn’t come up with anything groundbreaking that would significantly push the investigation forward. However, this didn’t stress you. You were just heading to the place where everything had taken place; you hadn't yet spoken to the victims' families, which often turned out to be crucial.

Just before the jet landed, you found yourself next to Reid, resting your elbow on his shoulder like it was some kind of convenient armrest while you pondered which card to discard from the ones laid out by JJ. This position made it much easier for him to sneak peeks at your cards, which he took full advantage of whenever he thought you weren’t looking (you were looking), so you had to hold them in a very awkward way to prevent him from seeing.

“C’mon,” JJ urged, as the time you were taking to think started to drag on.

You bit your lip.

“Easy for you to say. You’re winning,” you huffed, to which she flashed you a confident smile. “Great minds need time to come up with a solution. Right, Spence?”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, shaking his head slightly.

“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes…”

"Ugh, I wanted you to defend me, you silly..."

“Guys, do you know what I’ve been thinking?” Morgan appeared above you, pulling his headphones off his head.

“Scientists haven’t figured out a way to peek into other people’s thoughts yet,” Reid answered him, staring at the card you had just discarded and raising an eyebrow. Seriously? You shrugged. You knew it was a pitifully bad move. “So no, we don’t, Morgan.”

“I went over the case files again…” Derek continued, completely ignoring the ironic comment from his friend. “Mr. Murphy went missing right after a date with his wife…”

“...And may I ask why you’re sharing this incredibly sad fact with us?” you interjected.

“They went to the botanical garden,” Derek continued.  Everyone stopped, staring at him with completely baffled expressions. “Then they hit up the American Revolution Museum. And I couldn’t help but think of you two. Sounds like the perfect date for you, right?”

You were the first to react, rolling your eyes dramatically. You placed your cards face down in front of you, then rested both hands on Reid's shoulder, leaning your chin on them. You let out a long sigh.

"Can we get just one day without fighting off the nerd allegations?"

"Hey, I'm not mocking you," Morgan said, raising both hands in the air. "Just pointing it out. So, what did you two get up to over the weekend?"

Reid turned his face slightly toward you, exchanging a look. Given how you were positioned, the frame of his glasses lightly brushed your forehead. Well, if you answered your teammate's question honestly, you’d be proving him absolutely right. Before you could manage to turn the question back on him, you were preempted.

"We went up to the hill to try and watch the meteor shower," Reid answered, sticking to the truth. Morgan tilted his head, staring at both of you with interest. "But the sky ended up being too cloudy, so we ended up finding a night exhibit at the museum about space..."

You could see the victorious expression slowly spreading across Derek's face.

"You’re sinking us, silly," you muttered into your boyfriend's arm.

"She's right, silly," Morgan echoed the nickname with exaggerated emphasis. "Anyway, I won’t bother you any longer. Enjoy your game. Oh, and by the way, JJ peeked at your cards when you weren’t looking…"

 "JJ!"

 "That’s a lie—"

"Did he really come over here just to compare us to a pair of retirees?" Reid wondered, watching Derek walk away.

"And to expose a cheater," you added, shooting a look at your friend across the table. You’d lifted your chin from Reid’s shoulder, but your hand still rested there, your fingertips lightly brushing against him—not that you even noticed. Did that even count as touching?

You pointed at JJ with determination. "We’re starting over."

"We’re about to land," she noted, placing her cards on the table and revealing her hand. "So I’ll let it go. But you’re getting your rematch, trust me."

 "Oh, I can’t wait."

She walked off, leaving the two of you alone in the corner of the jet. You noticed Reid had been watching you for a while, his expression unreadable. When you finally caught on and raised an inquisitive eyebrow, he just shrugged and gathered the cards from the table. His fingers shuffled them with effortless precision, the motion smooth and almost hypnotic.

You shook your head, tearing your gaze away from the cards and focusing on his face again.

“What thoughts are you hiding in that brilliant mind of yours, smarty?”

“Those exactly,” he replied almost immediately. He fell silent for a moment as he tucked the cards back into the box. You watched him closely, curiosity piqued, waiting to hear what he’d say next because you didn’t fully understand his response.

“You always call me something,” he added after a pause. “You know…”

“Pet name,” you supplied the term he was missing.

He nodded, and you stayed quiet for a brief moment, wondering if you really used them that often. You’d never given it much thought—they just slipped out naturally when you were teasing him. He’d never reacted to them before, and it had never even crossed your mind that it might cause him any discomfort.

Your expression grew a bit more serious as you shifted in your seat to face him directly.

“Does…does it bother you? Because, you know, if it does…”

“No!” he denied quickly, a faint hint of embarrassment flashing across his face, as if wondering whether he’d been too eager. He shifted into a calmer expression, letting out a small sigh. “No, that’s really not it. Actually…I like them. I like when you use them.”

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as he admitted it. But the question still lingered in your mind—if that wasn’t it, then what was?

"I just realized…" he continued slowly, with a hint of hesitation. You noticed that both of you had lowered your voices compared to the lively chatter during the card game. It was as if, unintentionally, you'd created a small bubble, separating this moment from the rest of the team.

You liked his whisper. Sometimes, it felt stronger than his regular voice, mostly because whenever he lowered it, it was usually tied to some genuine emotion.

"That I never use them myself. I mean, I don’t call you anything other than your name."

"I don’t…I don’t expect that from you."

"I know. I know, it’s not like I thought you were expecting it. I just started wondering if maybe you'd like me to... to start doing it too. I admit, it’s not something I’m used to—"

"If you’re comfortable with it," you interrupted him without meaning to, feeling the need to emphasize it. Until now, it hadn’t mattered how he addressed you; it didn’t bother you when it was just your name. After all, hey, it’s not really the most important thing in a relationship. But when he suggested it, you felt a flutter of excitement in your stomach. "I’m serious, Spence. Don’t force yourself if it feels unnatural," you added, slowing down a bit, feeling the slight tremor in the corner of your lips. You noticed how his brow furrowed slightly when he caught that movement. Usually, it meant there was an idea forming in your head, and this time, it was no different. "But if you really want to…you should know I have some requirements in this area."

"Requirements?" he repeated, sounding confused, as if he thought he misheard. "Sorry, but what kind of requirements could you possibly have when it comes to pet names?"

“Oh, you have no idea how many,” you scoffed, leaning slightly toward him with a mischievous gleam in your eye. Reid blinked, clearly both curious and a bit apprehensive. “I know you, your mind... so I guess you shouldn’t be surprised that I’m expecting you to be creative. I mean no babe. No honey. 

Spencer stared at you for a moment, a look of disbelief crossing his face, before he let out a soft laugh.

"Alright, I’ve got it. No babe, no honey. Anything else to add to your list of demands?"

"Hmm, let me think," you murmured, to which he rolled his eyes. You didn't actually have anything else in mind; you just wanted to keep him in that state of uncertainty. But then, an additional thought occurred to you. "Oh, I know. It has to really fit with me. And with you. I want using it to come as naturally to you as possible. And I don't want you complaining to Penelope later, saying I forced you into it."

"Seriously, do you think I'd complain about you to Penelope behind your back?" he asked, pretending to be offended. He shook his head as if disappointed. "It's obvious I go straight to Morgan with stuff like this..."

You lightly tapped his arm.

"Is everything clear?" you made sure to ask, keeping your hand on his shoulder.

He glanced at your hand briefly before nodding.

"As clear as the sun. Has to be original and fit," he recited the two demands in their briefest form. He left his mouth slightly open, as if he wanted to add something, as if he was about to come up with the perfect nickname, but clearly, he hadn’t thought of one yet. He let out a short sigh of surrender. "This...this might take a while."

"Take your time, babe."

"Hey, you said we're not using that..."

"I only said you’re not using that”

"So what’s the point of giving me all these demands when..."

You both fell silent only when the jet neared its landing.

*

Working on the case had put a bit of distance between you. Well, it wasn’t unusual—there were often plenty of witnesses to interview, multiple locations to visit or search, and the team simply had to split up. Whenever Hotch assigned you somewhere, he always paired you up in the most complementary way possible, ensuring that your skills and experience balanced each other out. As the youngest members, relying more on brains than brawn, you and Reid rarely ended up partnered together.

And this time was no different.

You sat in the front seat of the car beside Gideon, who was driving. The two of you were headed to one of the victims' homes in silence, and you used the moment to glance at your phone—only to spot a message from none other than Reid.

spence: I’ve been thinking about what we talked about on the jet, and I think I have a few suggestions that meet all of your conditions.

spence: Sorry for texting, but I’m not sure if we’ll get a chance to see each other today, and I wanted to tell you that.

y/n: tell me

y/n: i mean u should be thinking about the case rn not about me

y/n: but i’m just gonna assume ur brain is multitasking enough to do both

spence: Because it is.

y/n: wow so humble

y/n: so???

y/n: what’s with the pet names

y/n: surprise me, genius

spence: Sorry, I don’t have time to write proper explanations for all of them or explain why I think they suit you.

spence: But a few of them are love, dear, darling.

y/n: sweet, but kinda basic

y/n: anyway up to you

y/n: u’ll be the one saying them

spence: Yeah, but you’ll be the one called them, and it has to be something you like. What do you think?

spence: Maybe something less typical like pumpkin

y/n: pumpkin HAHAHA

spence: ?

y/n: sry, i just can’t picture u saying that out loud

y/n: u browsing some top 100 pet names for ur gf site rn?

spence: No

y/n: i’m telling garcia to check ur browsing history, silly

y/n: don’t even delete it she’ll find it anyway

spence: I admit, pumpkin is awful

spence: I really like daisy, but i know you're allergic to pollen

y/n: how do u know i’m allergic to pollen?

spence: 👍🏼

It was truly an exhausting yet enlightening response. Anyway, you didn’t dwell on it too much. Sometimes he just knew. Together with Gideon, you had already arrived at the right address, so you shoved your phone back into your pocket and got ready to get back to work.

*

The words we are ready to deliver the profile were a milestone in every case you worked on.

They marked a gathering of the entire team, where you would collectively organize the information you had gathered during the investigation. Together, you had managed to uncover the unsub’s identity, but there was still the task of determining their motive and locating where they might be holding their still, as you hoped, victim. 

"The unsub spent most of his life caring for his severely ill, mentally abusive grandfather, of whom he was the only relative, which is why he now targets victims of a similar age," Derek began, crossing his arms over his chest. "He holds them for twenty-three days, mirroring the twenty-three years he dedicated to caring for him."

"He sees it as lost time, wasted. He never finished school, he was socially withdrawn. By repeating the same pattern with his victims, he believes he's getting something back," explained Reid, standing beside you, tapping one hand thoughtfully.

"This is all we have,” you muttered under your breath. ‘But we're missing the most important thing. Where is he? Where is he holding this man?”

“Garcia is working on that,” Hotch reassured you, pressing his finger to the earpiece.

“Give... give me some time,” Penelope asked in a distant tone, drowned out by the sound of keys being pressed rapidly. “ I think I have something... I need to check...ugh, fifteen minutes!”

After those words, she fell silent, leaving you all in anticipation. With a sigh, you crossed your arms over your chest, hoping she would find something. Reid stood by your side, slightly separated from the rest. Yet when he spoke, he lowered his voice to a murmur.

You stepped closer to hear him better.

"Vivi," he said softly.

You frowned at him, and his gaze hesitantly met yours—but once it did, it refused to let go.

"From the Latin vivus," he explained. "Full of life, vibrant."

You remained silent for a moment, savoring the echo his words left behind and the look on his face—just a hint of uncertainty creeping in as he waited for your reaction. If it weren’t for the fact that your team members were bustling around and the circumstances weren’t exactly romantic, you might have slipped under his arm. Instead, you settled for a small, sweet smile.

"That’s really pretty, Spence," you admitted, catching the faint shimmer in his dark eyes. "You think it suits me? Do you like it?"

He nodded slowly. You couldn't shake the feeling that something didn’t quite fit, that it didn’t sound natural coming from him. Maybe it was just your imagination? Or perhaps he was distracted, lost in more important thoughts while you were bothering him with pet names? You didn’t really have time to figure that out. At that moment, Garcia’s raised voice cut through the line, announcing that she might know where the unsub is holding his victim.

In the next moment, you were already on your way to the given address, listening to instructions on how to get inside without causing harm to the elderly man being held captive. When you and Reid reached him, he was loosely tied to a chair with rope, his head hanging limp against his chest. You crouched beside him, checking his pulse. It seemed like a simple loss of consciousness, likely caused by the stress and exhaustion of being held captive for over two weeks.

"Untie him," you said automatically to Reid, even though he had already started doing it before you spoke. "Can you hear me, sir? Damn it, I think we’ll need an ambulance..."

"Since when do angels curse?" A hoarse, weak whisper escaped the man's throat.

You exchanged confused glances with Spencer, momentarily frozen in place. The man's temples twitched before he gently lifted his head. His gaze landed on your face, and very slowly, he began to regain full consciousness.

"I died. And you're an angel, right?" he asked.

You sighed with a certain sense of relief. He was a bit delirious, but it seemed nothing serious was wrong with him.

"Don't worry, you’re not dead, sir. Actually, you’re perfectly fine and will be home soon..."

"Whatever you say, angel."

You saw Reid, who was untying the man, try to hide a amused expression on his face. Even after two weeks spent in captivity, Mr. Murphy managed to muster a bit of stubbornness. He told the arriving paramedics that he would only get into the ambulance if the angel who freed him went with him. And since you felt really sorry for the elderly man who had been kidnapped and whose mind was a bit frail, you did it.

You didn’t get back on the jet until late at night. Throwing yourself into the seat next to Spencer, you struggled to suppress another yawn. You didn’t even realize when your temple lightly rested against his arm, but through your partially closed eyelids, you noticed him closing the book he had been reading and placing it in his lap.

"Long day, huh, angel?" he asked. His voice was soft, almost a whisper, brushing your ears as you leaned against him.

"So, you spent the whole day trying to come up with the perfect pet name and ended up just going with the one some confused old guy called me?"you asked, opening your eyes and turning your head to look at him. Or rather, from the position you were in, at his jaw. "Watch out, Spencer Reid. I might accuse you of being lazy."

"I'm not lazy," he denied. "I'm just looking for inspiration in unusual places. Besides, it fits, don't you think? Angel."

"Mhm. Lazy."

With those words, you closed your eyes again, snuggling against him more comfortably. Spencer shifted slightly in his seat, using his free hand to tuck the hair falling onto your face behind your ear.

"Sweet dreams, angel."

[sensitivegoblin]

Damn I need to get teased within an inch of my life so that the stress can leak out of me please

[love-too]

Hey little gay people in my phone, can you wish me good luck for tomorrow?

[playdough-plates]

i feel like fucking garbage. my chest hurts, my head hurts, no amount of water seems to be enough, i'm exhausted, i have to summon all the might of poseidon just to stand up and move around. i know i need to eat tomorrow, i know restricting this low isn't sustainable, but i am so afraid of calories right now. especially when i am this close to finally breaking my lw. this cannot continue but this has to continue but this cannot continue but this has to continue but this cannot continue but this has to continue but

[morningmask27]

Tonight, right now, not even ten minutes ago, might have been the closest I got to an outright hatecrime

[thenwethrowitonthefire]

Every time something good happens I crash and burn afterwards and feel so depressed. I wish it wasn't that way.

[xanothersideblogx]

I just want to lay in bed with someone and feel safe. To hold their hands and kiss their knuckles and know that someone loves me, too.

I want to listen to someone's heartbeat and have it lull me to sleep.

[chuluoyi]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐘

- sylus x reader

from strictly professional to lovers. everyone acknowledges you as his woman, but how far will he go for you when he realizes you are in danger?

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—brief smut, very self-indulgent, injuries, descriptions of violence and blood, hurt/comfort, fluff, assassin!reader (not l&ds mc)

note: hi i'm back! <3 and with another part of the assassin!reader series that started with strictly (un)professional :D

Your lover is, without a doubt, a sex god.

He was insatiable, and he could do it anywhere. Before you could blink, he had shed himself of his clothes, saying something along the lines of “the sun’s way too hot today.”

As soon as Sylus pulled you into the pristine bathroom, he immediately pinned you against the shower wall and crashed his lips into you in a senseless kiss. His lips, hot and demanding, pried yours open, leaving no room for resistance.

“Ahh—hah—” His hands worked with dizzying speed, undoing your skirt and blouse in one swift motion, leaving you in nothing but your bra and underwear.

A startled gasp escaped you as he pulled at the drawstring of your panties, making them slide down with ease to gather at your feet.

“—!” You rode him, pressing your body close against his bare skin. You grabbed a fistful of his hair, jerking his head back as you gasped for breath, your chest heaving. Locking eyes with him, you shot him a glare. “Incorrigible… bastard…”

“Just the way you like me, hmm?” his perfect lips curled wickedly, before going for your lush lips once again.

It wasn't long before he made you an utter mess of moans and groans—when he slid inside you, stars burst behind your eyes. The way he stretched you, filling every inch, never ceased to catapult you to the heights of pleasure.

And when you rode him, taking him deep with every bounce, that you tasted the sixth heaven.

“Do it like you mean it, sweetie.” Sylus’s velvety chuckle brushed against your ear as he pressed a firm hand against your lower back, adjusting your angle on him. His gaze never wavered, fixed on your expression as bliss overtook your every feature.

“Shut up,” you hissed, dragging your sharp nails down his back. He only smirked, unfazed by the sting, as if the pain were nothing more than a tease.

The relentless man and his fierce lady. As the sounds of sex filled the air, as the tight knot inside you burst and as he held you steady when you went limp in his arms—

In that hazy, blissful moment, a thought settled in your mind— you truly wished that you were indeed made for each other.

. . .

“Tired already?” Sylus let out a satisfied snicker, a gleam in his eyes as he lazily ran his fingers through your hair. Now fully clothed and basking in the afterglow, the two of you sprawled across his bed.

You let out a soft whine, before sighing and nuzzling your face into him. “Just let me be, please. ‘m so sleepy…”

“Boohoo.” A smile was still on his face even as your lips were pursed into a pout. The way your smaller frame curled so defenselessly next to him each and every night made that tender part inside him even more fond of you.

You were rough, you didn't mince words, and most of all, you weren't afraid of him. You grew on him day by day, no one got him better than you.

And now, before he realized it...

The night was still long for him and he was wide awake, but looking at you so peaceful like this...

It was purely by instinct. To put his arms around your waist, to pull you closer, and to press this lingering kiss on the side of your head.

“Sleep well, kitten.”

Beyond the lovemaking and tender nights was, of course, the infamous individuals. The Onychinus leader and his notorious lady assassin.

Throughout all years you had been with Sylus, you knew you were here for a reason: doing his dirty work. That reason wouldn't change even when you had become lovers. You wouldn't want it to anyway.

“I’m telling you, I’m going,” you declared, crossing your legs and lifting your chin defiantly. “I can extract the information much easier on my own anyway.”

Sylus turned to you, his glare quiet but pointed, unamused. “You won't be fast enough.”

“I can!”

“You have to learn to pick your fights, kitten. A kitten can only get out unscathed for so many times before she stumbles.”

“Don't call me kitten!”

It felt like an insult to your ability. It was strange to you how he seemingly prevented you to join him to infiltrate this black market auction. You had gone and came out whole several times already—except for that one time. So, what's different this time?

“I’m giving you the chance to sit this one out and be pretty. So why are you refusing?” he clicked his tongue, exasperated.

“I just want to tag along, why? It'll help you out too!”

“Tch.” He shot you a distasteful look, and you frowned in response. “You’re really meddlesome.”

Now you were positively irritated. “What?!”

The two of you were locked in a glare before he resigned and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Do whatever you want, sweetie. Luke and Kieran, go with her.”

The twins next to you nodded dutifully and you threw them a withering stare. You most definitely didn't need these two buffoons to protect you.

“Boss is concerned,” Luke whispered in your ear with a wide grin as soon as Sylus walked away.

Kieran chimed in, “Mm-hmm, he definitely is.”

Is he? A part of you was caught off guard by the twins’ musings, but even if he was, it didn't make you feel better in the slightest.

You were deadly— you absolutely wouldn’t let anyone mess with you, and you were going to prove just that.

“Tell me who’s behind you... or die.”

You pressed the blade coldly against the neck of one of the black market Protocore dealers you caught, yanking his hair back to force him onto his knees.

“So, it’s you—!” he spat, a manic grin splitting his face despite your grip. “The Onychinus leader's infamous slut…”

You yanked his hair harder, eliciting a sharp hiss from him. “Tell me before I make you.”

“Ha. Hahaha!” He cackled, completely unfazed by your threat. This person was definitely not right in the head; even when you were this close to snapping his neck, he didn’t even falter.

“She is scary…” Kieran whispered to his twin behind you.

“No, that weirdo is even scarier. If I were him, I’d kiss Missus’ boots and beg for my life…” Luke retorted, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes.

The man in your grasp was still undaunted though. "Do you think I'm scared of you, woman? If so, then you're damn wrong because a whore like you can—"

"You misogynistic bastard." Your patience snapped, and you utilized your speech manipulation Evol on him that instant— "Talk."

"Urk—!" He trembled under the binding pressure of your ability, his glare sharp enough to cut, but his lips betrayed him, mouthing the words you sought. "Master... of Solon... Hotel..."

Without hesitation, you drove a punch into his face, sending him sprawling across the scattered cardboard boxes. "Luke, Kieran—let's go."

Your mood had been sour since you geared up for this operation. There was this gnawing irritation inside you that made you want to lash out at everything, and it was taking everything out of you not to.

Sometimes, you thought it wasn't that big of a deal that you were just a mere sidepiece to the leader of Onychinus. Your prized Evol was your everything— after all, it was what drew Sylus to you in the first place.

But lately, you started to think that it was no longer enough. Compared to the Miss Hunter, you were a generic presence in Sylus' life. And his words this afternoon definitely struck you in a way— making you wonder if you weren't good enough all this time.

"Missus, are you okay?" Kieran asked cautiously from behind, perhaps sensing the sharp edge in your demeanor.

You swallowed the bitter knot tightening in your chest. "I am."

"If you don't feel well then you can go straight back to the base," Luke suggested. "We'll meet Boss and tell him it's the hotel master."

You slammed your heel against the ground with deliberate force. "No."

You marched towards the meeting spot with stern gaze. No way. You were going to face Sylus with your head held high, making sure he knew just how lucky he was to have you.

"Please, if something happens to you—"

Crash! A deafening explosion suddenly erupted, throwing you off balance. You stumbled back, barely regaining your footing—only to find the three of you surrounded.

“Ha...” You scoffed, your eyes locking onto the bruised man with split lips—the one you'd manhandled earlier.

But before you could say a word, he lunged, and the absolute worst happened—

“Die!”

Suddenly, your mind blanked as he seized your throat and slammed your head against the asphalt. The impact blurred your vision, and exponential panic surged in as his grip tightened, choking the breath from your lungs.

"—!" You thrashed desperately, clawing at his hands, gurgling as each second drained more strength from your limbs. Lightheadedness crept in, your thoughts scattering into fragments as pure survival instinct took over.

You would die. If this went on any longer—no, you were going to die.

“You have to learn to pick your fights, kitten.”

The agony was beyond excruciating, a crushing force that felt like it pierced straight into your soul, if such a thing were possible. Tears welled in your eyes, blurring the edges of your vision. Anything—anyone— please—

But the last thing you saw was Kieran being stabbed, his body crumpling, and Luke pinned to the ground, struggling beneath the weight of his captors.

And then—

Your body felt weightless all of a sudden along with the last of your breath.

It was a magnificent disaster.

Sylus stood there, his right eye glowing brightly as he surveyed the wreckage around him—what he brought upon just moments ago.

The destroyed grand hall would serve as a warning to the hotel master. It didn't take him long to figure out that he was behind the raid of his Protocore warehouse and sold them out to the black market dealers.

He had decided this was enough as he stalked out of the hotel— until he was greeted with another atrocious sight.

It was then he saw someone choking on another person on the ground, and even with one look he knew. The terror gripped him so fast that black and red mist shot toward that man, ensnaring him in a chokehold and pried him away from—

You. You laid there motionless.

He sprinted toward you, flipping your body to face him. You were limp, the corners of your lips were bloodied, your neck was crushed and marked with bruises, but most alarming of all—

You weren’t breathing.

“Wake up.” Sylus commanded, taking you in his arms, gently patting your cheek. “Wake up, sweetie. Hey—”

You remained still, your head lolling lifelessly. And right in this moment, the thumping in his chest felt almost painful, because you couldn't possibly do this to him.

The one person who made his days better. He felt like a human the most while being with you, and yet now, you...

“Let me go!” the man behind him snarled, his voice a scream of fury. And as if a switch had flipped, he stopped trying to wake you, turning to him with eerie silence.

Just like that, he gathered you close, standing tall with you in his arms, cradling you close to his chest. The right eye of his glowed sinisterly as he spat out the words:

“Insolent vermin. You have touched my woman.”

His voice dripped with vengeance, the swirls of his red eyes glinted under the moonlight, narrowing as he hissed, “And I’ll make you pay.”

The black-red mist that ensnared the man tightened its grip, and he let out a howl as it choked him relentlessly, desperation flooding his voice.

“No! Graagh—!”

Sylus quietly watched as his bones twist and crack, blood overflowing the hard ground, the life draining from him as he fell like a mangled ragdoll before his entire being exploded into pieces, making him an example for everyone present.

Luke and Kieran were frozen in horror at the grotesque sight, not even a squeak escaping their lips, before turning to their master, with the woman he ever cared about in his arms.

You were beautiful.

Even as you lay still, a cast around your neck and bruises marring your skin, you were still every bit as stunning as you had been before all of this.

Sylus took a seat next to you, his hand cradling your cheek silently. His mind ran through with all thoughts of how you were still going to be in pain even when you woke up.

But at least, he knew you were going to, and that was enough for now.

Twice. It was the second time in which your life was at stake and he found himself on the receiving end of devastating news. The first time, you had truly died, and by sheer luck and compatibility, your body hadn’t rejected the Aether Core. This time, you were caught in a freak accident.

The mere possibility made something inside him burn. It was a given for him to have you always by his side. He didn’t know ever since when you occupied the fondest part of his heart almost wholly— but you did.

—and to see you like this was a painful shot right through his heart.

. . .

The moment you awakened, agony filled in your senses.

Memories came back like a whiplash and adrenaline kicked in, you were about to scream when you realized—

No sound emerged from your throat. You were on the brink of a full-blown panic when a hand gently rested on your arm, and your lover came into view.

“Easy, sweetie,” his baritone voice said. “You’re fine.”

But contrary to the calming words, your body suddenly began to shake uncontrollably. You couldn't distinguish where you were or how you had gotten here; all you could focus on was the haunting image of the man who had nearly choked you to death, and it didn't help that your throat felt like burning.

“Y/N.” Sylus caught your wrists, preventing you from thrashing, worry evident in his face. “What’s wrong?”

You gasped for air, teetering on the brink of tears. Your chest heaved with every breath you could manage, yet despite your desperation, you couldn’t form a single word.

“Don’t talk,” he shushed, realizing your panic, holding your gaze firmly. “Rest for more days and you will be able to. Don't push yourself.”

His voice grounded you, and you clutched at his arm for support. You were still trying to get yourself out of this illusion of danger that kicked all your senses alive.

Seeing your distress, Sylus moved next to you and pulled you into his embrace, gently patting your back. “There, there... I’m here. Nothing to worry about, hmm?”

He is here. You reassured yourself, working to steady your breath. He is here...

His voice lulled you, strong and steady, while his chest felt like a lifeline, anchoring you to the reality you had always had.

He ran his fingers through your hair, pressing his lips on the crown of your head. “So long as I'm here, I won’t let anything of this kind ever happen to you again.”

As long as he is here... You clung to him almost desperately. This was probably the most vulnerable side of yourself you had ever shown him, and yet in that moment, you were a whirlwind of emotions and couldn’t care less.

You aren't good enough. Your Evol is the only thing you have that is more precious than anything, and your fear whispers to you that you might just not hold any special position in his heart...

Strange how any of them no longer mattered that much anymore. When Sylus had you in his arms like this, you were sure. He simply made you feel safe more than anyone ever could.

You just had no idea just how much you meant to him as he whispered his promise into your ear.

“You have nothing to fear with me by your side.”

[nanaslutt]

It's not a wet dream

cont: fem reader, somnophillia, pre-established consent, oral(m!r), dirty talk, Geto has sensitive balls, teasing, deep throating, overstimulation, cum eating

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

You winced when Suguru's door made a loud creek as you pulled it open, slipping inside his room slowly. You turned the doorknob all the way down before pushing it back, closing the door. You were enveloped in darkness once more, save for the small orange lamp in the corner of Suguru's room. He must've been too tired or drunk to turn it off last night.

Suguru was out until almost 4 am celebrating Gojo's birthday with Nanami and a few other friends of theirs. Nanami said he would keep an eye on Geto and make sure he got home and an appropriate time, but when you heard the two men drunkenly stumbling their way through yours and Geto's apartment in the middle of the night, you surmised that Nanami had gotten pressured into drinking more than he said he was going to. 

You were almost impressed. After all, it took a lot to knock Nanami Kento out. You had to be careful making your way through the living room and into Geto's room, trying not to trip on the rug and fall to the ground, afraid of waking Nanami. 

You sighed a breath of relief when you made it to his room without making a sound. You weren't sure about Nanami, but Suguru was a heavy sleeper. He could sleep through the end and rebirth of the world. Which made your little plan perfect. 

It was a little earlier than you normally get up on weekends, but a certain dream about your long-haired boyfriend woke you up with a burning fire between your thighs. You would be lying if you said you weren't nervous though. You knew Geto had told you he was okay with this kind of thing, his exact words being, "You can do whatever you want to me pretty girl, I'm okay with anything as long as it's you." but even with that, you had made no attempts to try anything. 

You shook your head remembering his prior words from weeks ago, your face heating up at the thought. Your eyes immediately found his strong body, sprawled out on the bed. Suguru was only clad in his boxers as he lay on his back, one knee bent and leg hiked up, one arm by his side, and the other underneath his head, cradling it. 

His hair was down completely, the dark strands falling gracefully down his shoulders and on the white sheets underneath him. He looked so peaceful, handsome face completely relaxed and tipped to the side, revealing his strong jawline and the perfect strong slope of his pointed nose. 

You swallowed hard, you were starting to see the appeal in this. He was completely at your mercy, and he liked it. You released a shaky breath as you dragged your eyes across his chiseled body, completely bare for you to look at. You couldn't tell if Geto had a boner or not, you could see the outline of his impressive cock from where you stood at the end of his bed, but unless you felt it, you wouldn't know. He always was a shower. 

You bit your lip before crossing your arms over your body and grabbing along the bottom of your shirt, pulling it off of your body. Your tits laid bare into the air of the room, the bottom half of you only clad in a thin pair of black panties, basic, Suguru's favorite.

You carefully placed your hand on the end of his bed and crawled onto the sheets, going as slow as possible to not wake him so soon. If he woke up once you had his cock in your mouth, fine, but you had to have some fun with him first. His legs were spread just enough to give you the perfect spot to lie down between them. Your tummy and chest rested on his soft comforter which had been shoved down the bed, only covering half of his shins and his feet.

The thought of Geto kicking off his sheets in his sleep because of the heat made you smile. His face probably looked so grumpy and uncomfortable. 

You tentatively placed your hands down on his hip bones, rubbing your thumbs in small circles against them. Geto stayed completely still, making you release the breath you didn't even know you were holding. You decided to test your luck further. You extended your arms, rubbing up his naked torso while you rested your head against his thigh, watching your hands move over his porcelain skin.

Your fingers traced the indents of his abs all the way up to the bottom of his paks before you started slowly sliding them back down, this time caressing the side of his body, over his ribs. You noticed his cock jump behind the confines of his boxers as you touched his burning skin, making a mischievous smile grace your features.

You dragged your fingers down and down until you reached his sharp v-line. Adding a little more pressure, you traced the deep indents, resulting in another twitch of his cock. You bit your lip, dropping your eyes down to his crotch which was eye level with you. It was steadily stirring to life as you ran your fingers along the hem of his boxers, teasing him.

Suguru had the sexiest happy trail that started just below his belly button, you couldn't get enough of it. You lightly scratched your nails down the trail of hair, going past the hem of his boxers and over the material, ever so slightly grazing the head of his cock before you dragged them back up, repeating that process a few more times.

Suguru's abs tightened before relaxing, his cock throbbing in tandem. He was starting to feel it. You raised your head off of his thigh and leaned forward, pressing a soft, teasing kiss to the shaft of his dick. He wasn't fully hard, but he was getting there. 

With that, you tucked your fingers underneath the band of his boxers and started sliding the material down far enough to where his cock and balls were out. His cock twitched heavily against his thigh when you exposed it to the air, removing him from his confines. Suguru turned his head to the other side of the room, his eyebrows ruffling almost unnoticeable before his relaxed expression was back on his face.

You kept a watchful gaze on his face as you reached out to grab his twitching cock. It was stirring like it had a mind of its own, eager for relief. You wrapped your hand around the midsection of his half-hard cock and slowly stroked your hand down his shaft before going back up. A bead of pre-cum dripped out from the head, smearing on your hand as you stroked him off, easing the slide.

Suguru's abs tightened repeatedly before relaxing each time you jerked your hand up and down slowly. You paused your movements, grabbing him at his midsection before you released your thumb from him and started rubbing tight circles around his frenulum. Geto's breath hitched, his eyebrows furrowing again made you wonder if he was going to wake up, but he stayed knocked out.

"Good boy." You whispered, sliding your hand up to jerk off his sensitive tip, focusing all of your attention there. A soft grunt left your boyfriend's throat, the corner of his lip twitching with it. You couldn't help but cross your legs over one another, bringing some relief to the burning heat between your thighs. 

Geto was stirring more now, legs and abs flexing, more soft, barely there sounds leaving his throat. He wasn't going to stay asleep for much longer. Geto was now fully hard, his thick cock straining strongly agaisnt your hand as you rubbed his soft tip, making more pre-cum spill from the tip. Squelching noises rang in your ears, making your heartbeat speed up. The sound was so lewd. 

Sliding your hand down to the base of his cock, you grabbed his hip with your free hand and angled his cock slightly down to your mouth. You stuck out your tongue and let your hot breath tease his cock, making it twitch harshly before you gave it a few soft taps against your tongue, the small taste of it alone making your tastebuds erupt with the salty-sweet flavor of his cum.

Wasting no more time, you took him into your mouth, wrapping your lips around his cock. Geto's body jerked violently at the feeling of you instantly taking as much of him into your throat as you could. You bobbed your head up and down on him, using the grip you had around the base of his cock to smear your saliva onto the rest of him.

Suguru groaned when his tip hit the back of your throat, the feeling making your eyes water as you fought back a cough. You pulled off of him completely, your hand jerking him off quickly and smoothly with the added wetness as you dropped your head down to his balls. You took one of his balls into your mouth, rolling your tongue around it softly the way he always begs you to when you suck him off.

You should've guessed this would be what woke him up. Geto's bent leg straightened out as he stirred from his sleep, the dark-haired man almost immediately feeling the pounding in his head from his awful hangover. But there was something else along with that sensation, something that overwhelmed it in a positive, pleasureful way.

Geto rubbed the sleep from his eyes with one hand while the other went down to grab his cock, or at least try. He was met with the feel of hair against his hand, his fingers splaying out along the top of your head. "Oh fuuuuuck, baby?" Geto groaned, his hips thrusting shallowly into the air, fucking his dick into your hand. Geto dropped his head down to look at the scene that was unfolding below him.

There was still sleep flooding his eyes, making his vision slightly blurred but he couldn't mistake the sight of your gorgeous face, sucking on his balls while you jerked him off. "Oh baby, oh fuckk..." Geto groaned, his jaw falling open at the sight before he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth.

You unlatched your lips from around his sack with a wet popping sound, turning your head right away to face him with a dopey, cock drunk smile. "Good morning Sugu, how are you feeling?" You asked, not giving him a second to answer before you replaced your hand with your mouth. You took his cock into your throat with ease, your hand that was jerking him off splaying out on his pelvis around the base of his cock as you sucked him off with no hands.

"Holy fuck, oh fuck, so tighttt" Suguru groaned, his fingers tightening in your hair at the feeling of your hot mouth around him. You kept your eyes on him as you bobbed your head up and down, humming around him. The vibrations were getting sent straight to his balls, already readying to spill his seed. "Good now baby, s-so good, ohmygod so good." Suguru groaned, trying to answer your question but getting swept away by the pleasure.

"I fucking love you so much, holy shit." The man groaned in his deep, sleepy voice. You had to fight back a smile, not wanting him to feel any teeth as you sucked him off. "Keep going, s-suck my balls again baby, please." He begged. His voice was so much deeper than usual, it was so raspy and needy, it made you grind down into the bed, rubbing your clit against the inside of your thighs pressed so tightly together.

You released his cock from your mouth with a cute "ahhh-" sound before you were leaning down again to suck his balls into your mouth. Geto's eyes rolled back in his head as he released a long groan, his hand pressing you harder against them. He caught you off guard when he wrapped his hand around yours that was jerking him off, speeding up your pace.

His hand was shaky and jerky, and it had no rhythm, Suguru just needed to feel like he was doing something because he was feeling so much. He was so overwhelmed with pleasure, and so early in the morning after drinking so much the night before- you couldn't blame him for being so overstimulated and disoriented.

"Yeah baby, yeah baby, yeah baby, harder, suck 'em harder-" Geto slurred through his teeth, lips pursing around them. His hand stiffened over your own as his body went rigid, almost on the brink of his orgasm. You moaned around him, unable to keep your own pleasured noises down from how good making him feel good felt. Geto's thighs pressed together around your body, the muscles under the skin starting to tremble as his nails scratched against your scalp.

His head thrashed back and forth against the bed, his eyes squeezed tightly together, eyebrows knit with them. His back started arching ever so slightly with his impending orgasm, his groans turning into short gasps as his mouth dropped open and closed like a fish out of water.

"Don't stop pretty don't fucking stop, 'm gunna cum, c-cumming cumming!" Geto whimpered out his words, the last word being your name coming through his lips cracked and ruined before you felt the first hot rope of his cum land on the side of your face.

You moaned around him, sucking harder and squeezing his cock tightly as you worked him through his orgasm. Geto groaned as he released his seed, his hand stilling over yours which kept jerking him off, milking all the cum out of his cock. "T-thank you, baby, ohhhh fuck- thank you-" Geto groaned through his high. His balls clenched and throbbed in your mouth as he released his seed, even more so as you ran your tongue over them, encouraging him.

Geto's, and your own hand was covered in his cum, as the last few spurts of his seed had been weaker, merely dribbling out over your fingers from his tip. Once Geto was throughout done cumming, you detached from around his balls, letting them rest empty and wet against his thighs. Geto was still fighting to catch his breath, his hand on the back of your head falling to the nape of your neck as he no longer had any strength left in his body to hold you tight.

Releasing his cock, his hand falling off of yours, you wiped his cum on the bedsheets next to him. Crawling up his body, you straddled his hips, your panties undoubtedly getting soaked with his leftover cum as his softening cock pressed agaisnt your cunt. Suguru's unfocused eyes found yours, his jaw open and a pretty deep blush spread across his cheeks.

Smiling, you swiped your fingers across the cum on your face, pulling them away to look at his mess. Suguru watched you carefully, knowing exactly what you were planning to do even despite his fucked out state. You brought your fingers to his mouth, to which he eagerly accepted. He took your cum coated fingers into his mouth, his tongue licking off his own seed and swallowing greedily before he released them, letting you pull them back.

"How did that taste Sugu?" You asked teasingly, holding his chiseled cheeks with both of your hands, wiping the long stray hairs off of his face that were stuck there by his sweat. "Fucking delicious." God he was so shameless, it made your cunt throb with need. "How did I end up with such a dirty man?" You asked, fighting back a laugh as you shook his limp head back and forth, a dopey smile on his lips.

"You love how nasty I am, get's 'ur pussy all wet," Suguru said, his words slurred together and ridden with sleep. "Damn right it does," you answered, leaning in to kiss him softly against his lips before you pulled away, sitting up on him.

You placed your hands on his chest, letting your cunt rest firmer against his spent cock, an action that made him groan deep in his throat. "You gonna help me out too? Gonna let me sit on your face for waking you up so nice?" You whispered, teasing the skin of his pecs with your nails. 

Suguru licked his lips and tipped his head to the side, his hands finding purchase on your thighs before he gave them a squeeze, his eyes squinting as he smiled. "Of course princess, come up here 'n give me a taste." 

[writersdrug]

I need, need need neeeeed to know who you would picture bar owner price with 😩 picturing bar owner price has me week in the knees. I need more, how would he be around the bar when he was there? Supporting, bossy,silly? The possibilities are endless. 🥰

I'm loving how people are requesting things for the rest of the 141!!

Bar Owner!Price isn't there every day, and most often not during the actual shift. He's there some mornings, already at his desk on the floor above the pub, setting up the next inventory order and dealing out everyone's tips before Simon climbs down from his flat on the third floor. They both grunt at each other, tired and in need of a hot breakfast and some tea.

He helps set up for the shift - he likes being in the kitchen with Soap. He feels bad the man is back there all by himself, even though he says he doesn't mind it. "I get to cuss 'n bitch all I want back 'ere, sir." Still, Price spends a majority of his time back there with him, prepping burger patties and making sure everything is stocked and ready. Gets on his case about updating the menu, but Soap insists the customers like it the way it is.

Price makes an appearance on the floor every now and then, opting to help run food or bartend on the busier nights. He checks in with the regulars, leaning his forearms on the bar with his sleeves rolled to his elbows, laughing and chatting with them and occasionally offering to refill their drinks. Simon grumbles quietly about him being in the way, but Price doesn't take it to heart.

He doesn't stay late. John isn't that old, but he likes to be back at home by a decent hour. One ruined sleep schedule and he's a shot for the rest of the week. He likes to get back to his flat, make himself a sandwich and pour himself some whiskey, and be on on his sofa and reading his book no later than ten in the evening. Routines have always been a part of his military career, and what can he say? Old habits really fo die hard.

Then you came along.

You didn't just rock Simon's world - you'd gotten Price, too. Though introductions could have been smoother (you nearly beat him with a keg when he came in through the back door and scared you), he's grown fond of you. First, as a hard worker and go-getter; then, as a pretty little waitress with a dazzling smile that likes to keep him on his toes. You love poking fun at him, calling him "bossman" or "barmaster" (doesn't make sense to him, since he's hardly behind the bar - but he finds it cute). You tease him for the way he runs your food, then gets stuck at the table for five minutes just chatting up the customers. You ask him things like, "Who do you prefer, Cardi B or Nicki Minaj?" And laugh when he just stares at you with a furrowed brow. He'll happily let you tease him for being an "old" man just to hear your laughter.

Then Simon sent that photo in the group chat, and Price felt something stir in his chest: looking at you, posing all prettily for your picture, working to push your little idea out there and bring in a crowd. He's impressed, but he's also intrigued. He's got his sights on you, and he's dying to figure out more about his waitress.

"'S the post making any headway?" He asks one night, leaning on the bar next to where you sit. Your tips are finished, money waded into the pocket of your apron as you scroll on your phone, sipping on a screwdriver.

"Kinda..." You mumble, a pout on your face, creasing the skin between your eyebrows. "People are seeing it, and there are a few likes, but no one's really engaging. Not sure if this will do well."

Price hums thoughtfully, looking at your lips while you stare at your screen. He's holding back the urge to lean in and take a whiff of your perfume, afraid it might seem just a bit too strange. "Have you tried promoting it?"

You look at him, laying your phone on the bar top. "Well... I could, but..." You wanted to finish with 'it would cost money'. But then, you'd be insinuating that you expected him to pay you. You could boost the post yourself, but you'd rather not spend money on something that might flop.

"'S there a problem?" Price asked, leaning in closer to you.

"I mean... promoting a post costs some money. Like, for it to be advertised to five hundred people, you'd pay around one fifty. And I think, depending on how far you wanted the post to reach - like, literally, how big of a geographic area - that would cost even more."

Price chuckles. "You do realize how much business you've brought in since you've joined the team, hmm?"

That makes your cheeks warm, pressing your lips into a line to avoid grinning like an idiot at the compliment. "I mean... sure..."

"Go upstairs to the office and get my wallet." he says, standing up from his seat at the bar.

You watch with a stupefied expression as he walks to the POS and prints some blank receipt paper. "You- you mean it? Are you sure?"

He sits on a barstool near the kitchen door. "Wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it. Hurry up- before I change my mind."

You don't need to be told twice. You drop your phone onto the bar and bolt towards the stairs - you stop yourself, running back to where Price sits and hugging him from behind. He lets out a surprise grunt as you do your best to smother him.

"You're the best boss ever!" you squeal. Then, just like that - you're off to the office upstairs. He preens over the compliment as he hears you leaping two steps at a time.

"Be careful." he calls over his shoulder. He sits there a moment, staring at the paper in front of him. He's surprised he hadn't accidentally thrown you off of him purely out of instinct, but he can't say he isn't absolutely delighted by the hug. It lingers in his mind, his chest still remembering your arms around him. He shakes his head, reaching forward to grab a pen from behind the bar.

His eyes meet Simon's - the man is glaring daggers, his head framed by the window in the kitchen door, mask hanging from his ear. His lips are pulled down into quite possibly the angriest frown Price has ever seen. His nostrils flare as he exhales - Price wonders what sort of insults are flying through the bartender's head right now.

He glares right back. If Simon wants something, he'll give it to him. But he'll make him ask for it, like any normal human being. John isn't going to surrender just because Ghost is huffing and puffing, expecting his boss to back away from you just because he's stomping his foot and looking menacing. But how can he be sure that Simon really wants you, more than he thinks Price deserves you, if the lad won't say anything? It's only reasonable, right?

"If you want something, Simon, say something." Price calls out, never backing down from Simon's jealous gaze.

He huffs again and disappears from the kitchen window. Price can hear shuffling and banging, followed by Soap's irritated voice: "Oi, I got it! Get yourself outta my kitchen n' go your own shite, 'fore you break my stuff."

Price sighs, scribbling down some numbers on the paper in front of him. He'll cave, eventually.

[goldenstring6123]

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTNXxJ8TM/

THIS IS SO CUTE PLS I CAN SO CLEARLY SEE THE LADS MEN DOING THIS 😭 and the comment section had me dying where is evb finding these MEN 😔🙏

Lnds: Sleepy time!

Warning: No warnings, afab!reader, fem!reader

Authors note: Fluff (not a lot of it) and a bit of domestic stuff.

Sylus:

It had been 30 minutes since you left the bedroom. Sylus was already well on his side of the mattress, reading the news while waiting for you to come back. He thought you were just up and about doing your normal routine of drinking herbal tea and doing skincare, but it was taking you far longer than usual.

He settled the tablet down on the nightstand and walked out of the bedroom. He searched for you in every room he passed by, and when he arrived at the guest bedroom at the end of the hall, there you were, perfectly tucked in under the unused duvet.

You were curled into a ball and too engrossed in the video you were watching; you didn't even notice the black fuzzy threads wrapping around your weird curled-up position. You lifted off from the bed, and when you came to, the view was of Sylus' back as you involuntarily made your way back to his bedroom.

"So you're not going to put me down?" you asked, paying attention to the video again. "Are manners not a thing anymore?"

The brooding man didn't spare you a glance. "I'm not open for discussion. You're supposed to sleep in my bedroom. Our bedroom."

"I just wanted a bed all to myself," you uttered. Here you were, planning what to watch and what to eat for the whole night, and this guy managed to foil it.

"I don't share the same sentiment, sweetie. You have the bed every time I'm overseas on a work trip. It's even infested with your colorful pillows," he opened the door to the bedroom and reeled you in, gesturing to your side of the bed which had vibrant pillows and bed 'pets,' as you like to refer to them.

"You really can't sleep without me, can you, Mr. Big guy? Afraid that someone's under the bed or something?"

"I'm more afraid that you're going to ravage my food pantry when you're not in my line of sight."

"The guest bedroom is nowhere near the pantry and I don't ravage it—I simply take a few snacks," you clarified. "Greg would be sad if the food spoils."

"Either way, you sleep in my bedroom or my couch, nowhere else, sweetie."

"Admit it: You like my company, don't you?" You gave him a cheeky grin.

"Yes, yes," Sylus agreed sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "You make a good meat shield when we get attacked in this bedroom."

"Oh wow. Reduced to a shield." You rolled your eyes in return and slipped under the covers. "That's Onychinus' leader for you."

"Right. Are you done now? I still have an early schedule for tomorrow."

"Alright, alright. I'm heading to bed now. You can sleep."

"Good. Now come here." Sylus opened his arms and you found yourself huddled right into it like it was the perfect mold. You shifted a bit and could feel his muscles relax against your back.

"Why did you feel the need to sleep in the guest room tonight?" Sylus asked under his breath.

"I was planning on reading comics all night. Tara recommended a new romance comic which I like, but knowing you, you'd probably take my phone away."

"Then it looks like I will be the bad guy tonight."

"Maybe. Until you fall asleep." You shrugged.

You hear the handcuffs being pulled out.

Shit.

Xavier:

3:02 AM, it says on the clock. You weren't on the bed. It was cold and it was proof that you never went on it, which was odd considering you told sleepy little Xavier that you were going to stay over. Poor little tired hunter was exhausted after a day's work and couldn't help but doze off while watching you do your little night ritual of moisturizing and doing a facemask.

Xavier sat on the side of the bed, letting out a big yawn. He didn't know where you were, but all he knew was that he didn't like being alone. From his palm, a faint whirlpool of light emanated, enough to guide him through his dark abode. His first thought was maybe you were watching in the living room. You weren't there. He then headed to the small bedroom right beside his, a spare one for guests, but it went unused when you both shared the same bed now.

He tried his best to quietly open the door. There he saw a little bump on the mattress and it made his heart squeeze; you were adorable and looked so small. Xavier tiptoed and folded the blanket away from you. He took a deep breath and lifted you up bridal style, pressing you against his chest.

"hm?…Xavier?" you slurred, vision dark and blurry.

"I'm moving you to our bedroom," he kissed the top of your head and continued his journey to the other room.

"You were sleeping," you paused, looking for the word. The drowsiness didn't seem to go away. "didn't want to…disturb you."

Xavier wanted to say something, but he and you both arrived at the side of the bed. He gently laid you down and placed a pillow between your limbs, which you automatically hugged. Xavier crawled to his side of the bed and yanked the cover over the both of you. Though you both weren't exactly touching, the little hunter's heart eased at your presence.

Gladly, he went back to sleep, hoping to maybe see you in his dreams.

Zayne:

Zayne's house was far too quiet when he arrived. It was only 7 o'clock, and by then you'd usually be in the kitchen, peeking your head out with a ladle in hand. There was no "welcome back" nor a simple "hello," but what did he expect? You were mad at him.

It's a shallow fight, really. Zayne decided to put you on alcohol time-out and took your hidden beers that you were so ready to drink after a grueling day at work. Zayne's judgment was far better than yours because when you get drunk beyond mental capacity, you tend to make a mess of the house, and you turn into a rage-filled, feisty lady. Moreover, you'd been chain-drinking for the whole week, and Zayne was getting concerned because you kept having hangovers.

His hands twisted on the knob to the little library of his house, where he would always find you on nights like these. There you were, curled in the lazy boy sofa and turned away from him. You were awake, but you didn't want to look at your lover.

"I'm home," Zayne declared.

"Dinner's in the fridge. Heat it up," you responded and closed your eyes. Zayne's footsteps grew closer and closer to you, and you felt his palm land on your shoulder.

"Your back will hurt if you sleep in that position."

The sofa might look soft and admittedly it's pretty comfortable to sit on for a long period of time, but with the curled-up position you have, it was bound to hurt when you fall asleep.

"I'm perfectly fine," you replied.

"Don't be stubborn." Zayne decided to pick you up. You wanted to thrash and get out of his grasp, but then you would look childish.

"I don't want to be with you tonight."

Zayne kept his lips in a thin line. He's more than aware that you're saying that because you're mad, but still—It hurts to hear it from you.

Gently, Zayne settled you in the middle of the bed. "I'll sleep in the living room. Stay here," he whispered and tucked the blanket over your shoulders. It was dark in the bedroom, so you couldn't exactly see him. You rolled over to face away from your lover and patiently waited for him to leave.

1:34 AM. You couldn't sleep. A can of beer would do you some good, but your tongue wasn't craving the bitterness of it. Instead, your mind looped over to a few hours ago when you said something that you didn't mean. It was harsh now that you think about it.

Now Zayne is keeping his distance from you. The owner of the house is sleeping on the couch.

With two pillows and a blanket in hand, you made your way down the flight of mahogany stairs. The living room was in full view, and Zayne was fast asleep on the couch. You nudged the two ottomans to the space between the coffee table and the main sofa. Then you threw the pillows and spread the blanket wide, letting it flutter down while you made yourself fit on the ottoman chairs.

You left a few spaces between you and Zayne, one that was filled by the cold pillow.

2:46 AM. Zayne stirred awake and found a blanket draped over his body. Beside him was his supposedly angry lover, clutching the hem of his shirt. He stared up into the chandelier above and took the pillow that was bordering between them, used it as his own, and pulled you closer, nudging the blanket over both of you even more.

Rafayel:

He's standing by the doorway, tapping his foot while a plushie was tucked under his armpit. He was frowning, and you could even see it through the dark.

"What?" you asked, shining the phone his way.

"So you're going to leave me alone tonight? Is that how you're going to play?" He was mad-mad, but that's why you were confused.

"Hey, drama king—you were complaining earlier in the day about my bad sleeping habits—I'm giving you the bed now so you can be at ease, but now you're mad at me again. Do you want me to sleep on the floor of your bedroom or something?"

"Duh? Of course not. I'm just complaining because it's true, but I never said you should sleep in the guest room."

"Then are you going to be alright with my sleeping habits?"

"No."

"Then sleep alone."

An audible gasp could be seen on the expression of the Lemurian. He looked so offended with the end of the conversation, but you weren't having it, so you plopped back onto the bed and hid under the covers, hoping that he'd go away.

The moment you peeked back out, you were rapidly crushed under heavy weight, making you sink to the bottom of the bed. Rafayel lay spread out on top of you, keeping you in your position and crushing you underneath him.

"Get off me! You're heavy!" You struggled underneath the blanket, nudging him and kicking him, but he pretended to be a dead body floating in the water. Rafayel kept still; if verbal convincing won't work, then he'll have to make you change your mind.

"Fine! Fine! I'll sleep with you!" you screamed. He rolled to the side, propped his elbows up, and rested his head on his palm. You just wanted to rub that triumphant grin off his face. He happily scooted underneath the blankets and hogged your side of the bed, wrapping his hand around you and shutting his eyes.

You didn't want to make a big deal of it further and decided to head to bed as well.

You were stirred awake by a strain in your neck. The lids of your eyes lifted at the electrifying pain that traveled to your head. You squinted, barely able to process the faint blue outside the window. Your body was spread out again, and nearby you could see Rafayel making use of the awkward space he was left with.

Guilt washed over your tired body.

Without much thought left, you held onto two pillows and let your body slip down to the carpeted floor. You hugged the pillow and placed another one under your head, liking the furry texture that brushed the side of your bare arms and legs. You closed your eyes again and let the tiredness wash over you.

It was cold for a summer morning. A large yawn escaped your lips and you patiently waited for your eyes to focus, and when they did, your eyes widened immediately at the beautiful sight of a sleeping Lemurian. Rafayel, too, was now on the floor, using his own arm as a pillow.

You tapped on his shoulder, and he just pulled you down back to the floor. "Five more minutes," he groaned, burying his face in your collar. Luckily, it was a Saturday, and you didn't have to go to work. You could indulge him in the meantime.

Author's footnotes: lol the tiktok was very cute, something that you'd see in a rom-com enemies to lovers sort of romance story. It would be a pretty redundant snippet if every situation is the same for the love interest so I took the liberty of changing things a bit.

Layout by me, using Canva Premium | Do not repost

[knightjpg]

Brick by Brick

And like a dog who's learned a new trick Simon rings your bell the next day. Wasn't happy with how he left it, and wasn't that faucet leaking? He's got plenty of spare wood in his shed, don't you worry. What's that about the boiler making a weird noise? He'll take a look at it, might have something for the draft in the hallway too. Pay him? What are you talking about, he does stuff like this for fun. Don't sweat it, love. Just hand him that wrench.

tags: construction worker simon/neighbour reader

part 1 | part 2

Summer is the worst time of year for construction work outside. Up early before the birds are awake to try and beat the heat, arriving on site at six or earlier with bleary eyes and creaky joints from the day before. It means coming home at four or five with lots of day left to get through yet without the will or energy to do anything beside shower, eat, watch some telly, and sleep. 

The pay is good and it beats sitting in a cramped office all day, but when Simon gets home with aching knees and the thrum of a headache at the back of his skull it's hard to remember why on Earth he chose the career he's in. He's drenched in sweat, large dark patches adorning his pits and back. 

It's one of those days where very little can make him stray from his commute straight to home to collapse into his big falling-apart chair, but today it's not really up to him. A large moving truck blocks his driveway. The faded company logo against dirty white overtakes the entire view of his windshield, though Simon can see the back doors are still swung open. No one to attend to it, though. 

Simon noticed the FOR SALE! sign had gone, of course. Remembers feeling vaguely pleased, even, that the home next to his wouldn't be empty anymore, because he of all people knows exactly how quickly places can fall apart without anyone tending to it. But right now all he feels is tired, and hot, and really fucking annoyed. Just when he's clicked his belt loose to get out of the car and see if the dolt belonging to the truck is anywhere to be found, voices carry from the open front door. 

“...last. I'm afraid it's a little heavy, though, so maybe we should get the boxes out first?” 

And out steps the sweetest little thing he's ever seen. Hair tied up, tight little top, and shorts that give him ample view of your legs.  

Maybe summer's not so bad after all. 

You're talking to a bloke wearing a uniform that matches the moving truck and who looks flushed in the face from exertion. As soon as you clock Simon's car, though, you stop mid-sentence in surprise, and then quickly walk to him, brows furrowed apologetically. 

“Oh, I'm so sorry—you're trying to get past us, aren't you?” Simon gives you a nod, and you turn back to the mover. “Would you mind moving the truck up a little? I don't want it to be in the way.” 

There's precious little parking space ahead, so Simon rolls down his window and calls out to you, “Jus’ backing up a few yards s’fine.” He gestures to his driveway so you know that's where he's headed, and you flash him a smile and a thumbs-up in understanding. 

The truck is moved, Simon parks his car, and you pull another heavy-looking box from the cube. You never reach your new doorstep with it; Simon steps in and lifts it from your hands. You blink up at him, lashes fluttering sweetly with surprise. “Oh—are you sure? It's heavy...!” 

One corner of Simon's mouth tugs up. Tired as he is it weighs next to nothing, and he can't resist holding it with one arm, holding out the other. 

“Can take ‘nother if you need.” 

You laugh and assure him this is quite enough, then jog back to the truck while Simon pushes past the half-open door to his new neighbour's home. 

It's a mess, of course. Piles of boxes, scattered furniture, rolled-up carpets. Simon puts the box down in the living room, then saunters back outside to lift another from your hands. He does the same with the couch; the mover is struggling and Simon doesn't trust him not to let it fall and crash. And you're such a little thing. Just doesn't feel right, watching you rush around and struggle without stepping in. 

With Simon's help it's quick work. The mover thanks Simon before driving off, but he's not really listening. There's much more important things to pay attention to. 

You're pretty. Cheeks flushed from exertion, breathing hard, flyaway hairs from your ponytail sticking up in odd directions. Simon has to suppress the urge to smooth them away. 

"Thanks so much for the help,” you tell him earnestly. “I'm sorry we were in the way—we thought we'd have a little more time before people started coming home from work.” 

“S’alright,” Simon says. It's nearing evening, now, the sky above you glowing in pale pink and oranges hues. The little smatter of trees across from you rustles with a gust of summer wind.  

You introduce yourself and insist on giving Simon your number “in case there's ever anything you need.” Simon's more concerned about a young woman living all on her own but takes your number all the same, watching your pretty little fingers tap it in on his phone. 

“I mostly work from home, but I'm very quiet and boring,” you tell him with a smile. “You don't have to worry about noise.” 

For some reason that isn't the selling point it should be. When Simon stands inside his hallway, house empty and dark and quiet, he wishes he still lived in a shitty apartment with thin walls on the bad side of Manchester. Maybe then he'd hear your footsteps, or better yet, your voice. Instead the only thing waiting for him at home is silence. Heavy and thick, where he's ripped away from sweet sunshine and plunged underwater. 

-

Simon is halfway to falling asleep on the couch when the bell rings. He groans, drags a hand over his face, and glances up at the TV. The football match is still going. The camera pans over a cheering crowd, their cries distant and quiet. 

He mutes the thing entirely and heaves himself up to open the door. Swear to God, if this is the fucking salesman again... 

“Hi there.” 

You give Simon a little finger wave, your other hand cradling a round oven dish. When you shift on your feet the protective foil on top rustles noisily. 

You look a little more put together than you did yesterday—rested, showered, fed. Just as pretty. 

Although, speaking of fed... 

“Alright?” Simon asks, eyes on the oven pan. He's only catching a faint whiff of something, but whatever it is smells really fucking good. His stomach reminds him that the only thing in his fridge are a couple cans of beer.  

You nod and lift the dish with a shy little grin. “Yeah. Um. I wanted to say thanks again, for yesterday. And I wanted to test out my oven, so...” 

You hold the dish out for him to take. Simon's fingers brush yours, large meaty paws easily twice the size of your own. When he peels back the foil you add, “Shepherd's pie. I thought about cookies, but I wasn't sure if you'd like those.” 

The scent hits him, then, rich and hearty and buttery smooth. The dish is still a little warm. 

Fuck. When was the last time he ate something homemade? 

“No, I'll eat anything,” he says, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. He hasn't showered yet. Must look a nightmare. Does he stink? “Thanks.” 

Your whole face lights up, and Simon's neck feels hot. He averts his eyes to avoid your gaze and pretends to inspect the pie instead. Jesus, what is he, twelve? “I'm glad. I'll leave you to it, then.” 

D’you want to come in for a drink?  

It's on the tip of his tongue, but he can't get the words out quite right and gives you a brusque nod, watching you walk back to your own home before closing his door all the way. 

He eats at his kitchen table and finishes the whole thing in one go. Chases bits of flakey crust with his finger, licks up every leftover crumb. The meat is tender and juicy and for a while after the only things he smells is golden-brown potatoes seasoned with rosemary. 

He mourns it when it's gone, of course. Has half a mind to go over right now and ask if your cooking is for hire—Simon can't remember the last time he felt satisfied. When he ate not just for the sake of fuel or convenience but because someone wanted him to have something nice, something special. Is it special? Is he special? Are you going around the neighbourhood handing out cookies and pies to just anyone? 

Simon's sigh is loud in the silence and sticks to the kitchen walls. 

The pre-made frozen meals are fine, of course. Empty plastic containers fill up the rubbish bin. They're easy and cheap and most days Simon's glad just to have something warm in his stomach.  

And yet. 

The next day Simon stands at your door at six in the evening sharp, holding the clean dish in his hands. You invite him in for a cup of tea, because unlike him you have good manners, and you sheepishly apologise for the stacks of boxes everywhere. 

“S’alright,” Simon says, carefully manoeuvring around a large pile of books. “I don't mind.” 

And he doesn't, though he does feel like a bull in a china shop. Large and much too coarse for the little tea cup you hand him while the kettle whistles on the stove. 

“I'm afraid I don't have much to go with it,” you say with a flutter of your hands. “Do you like ginger snaps? I think I've got a pack somewhere.” 

You don't wait for his answer and pry open one of the cupboards. First come the ginger snaps, then the box of Earl Grey, which you hold up to him with a triumphant smile. “Unpacked the important stuff first.” 

Simon frowns and jerks his chin to the cupboard. “S’it stuck?” 

“Oh—yeah. They all are.” You give the wood a little knock. “It'll take me some time to get to fixing everything. The house went for a good price, but only ‘cause it needs some love.” You give him a rueful smile and get up, wiping your hands on your thighs. “I'm not all that handy, so I'll have to take it bit by bit.” 

Simon rises before you finish your sentence. "Let me see.” 

“Oh, no, it's okay. It's not a big deal, really—” 

Simon crouches down, slowly, to spare his knees, and tests the hinges. The wood is rotten in certain places, the hinges old and rusted. Rather than fixing it up it should be replaced entirely. You really better had gotten this place for good money, because this will take more than a bit of elbow grease to repair. He prods at the hinges, tuts, and looks up at you. 

“Ready to fall apart, this one. You said they're all like this?” 

You nod, worry creasing your brow. “I—yes. Well, the kitchen is. The bathroom seems alright. Is it worse than I thought?” 

“Might be. You have anyone look at this?” 

You shake your head. “I'm starting to feel silly about it now, but I was going to look up how to do it myself.” 

Simon straightens. “I'll go get my kit.” 

-

It's not as bad as he feared. Two cabinets need tearing down completely, but the others are worth saving. Simon warns you the repair job will fuck the wood, but you tell him it's no problem; you'll paint over it anyway. 

You feed him tea and ginger snaps while he works, asking him several times if he wouldn't like a break, hasn't he done a lot already? You feel terrible about having him work on his day off. Didn't he say he worked construction? He must be so tired, poor man. You insist he stay for dinner. “You've been so helpful—it's the least I could do.” 

Simon takes a breather to watch you cook. Chicken, pasta, summer salad. The sun sinks lower and hits you straight on from the kitchen window, painting the edges of you a dazed red-gold. An angel's halo. 

“You big on reading, then?” 

You turn down the heat and put a lid over the pan to join him at the table. Simon's eyeing the many books strewn about on top of boxes that say “pans” and “kitchen supplies”. Le Morte D’Arthur. Histories of the Kings of Britain. Beowulf. There's even one that prompts a vague, long-forgotten memory from his school days— The Canterbury Tales.  

“I am. Always have been.” You nod to the books. “I teach at university—medieval literature. But I'm working on my own research on the side.” 

Simon lets out a low whistle. His pretty bird is a clever one. Smarter than him, that's for sure. He might be big and strong but he's got bricks for brains. 

That's what his dad always used to say, anyway—that he's stupid. Those always were his kinder moments. 

“That explains all the books y’got.” 

“There sure are a lot of them, aren't there? I swear moving really makes you realise just how much stuff you own...” You shake your head. “I'll have to get a bigger bookcase.” 

“Think it's impressive.” 

Your eyes crinkle with a smile. “Not as impressive as knowing how to fix my cabinets! I don't know how I would've managed by myself.” You hop up from your seat to check the food, then ask over your shoulder, “Is that something you do a lot for work, too? Carpentry and the like?” 

Simon shakes his head. “We do the heavy lifting. Clearing a place out, laying the foundation. Johnny—my coworker, he's mostly on machinery. Kyle does transport and plumbing. I do the heavier handiwork.” 

You hum and start plating the food while asking him more questions. Is the pay good? Is his boss fair? Are his coworkers nice? 

Price's fairly strict is what he is, Simon answers, and you laugh again. He likes that. Likes that he gets you to do that. 

He wolfs down a plate of his pasta and devours the chicken. It's fragrant, roasted with lemon and thyme, bursts between his teeth. He tells you more about Johnny, that he's a cocky bastard who likes playing with electricity way too much, but that he's also a loyal friend. That he's a hard worker—that all of them are. 

When his plate is empty and he's eyeing what's left in the pans you push them closer without saying anything, and prompt him to tell you about that time a plumbing line exploded and Kyle got soaked from tip to toe in disgusting gunk. He smelt like sewage water for weeks. 

Simon doesn't even realise how much he's talked until his throat starts feeling rougher than usual. You make it easy somehow. If he'd thought you would look down on him because of your own job he needn't have worried. You're not at all like what he imagines when he thinks of professors, none of the stuffy superiority complex he's used to weathering when people find out all he does all day is chafe his fingers on hard cement.  

Maybe you're just good at faking it, but he doubts it. The sparkle in your eyes when you listen to him so intently has to be real. 

You send him home with a warm thanks and dessert, and Simon feels something in his chest lurch when you peer up at him through your lashes in the doorway, smiling and sweet. Can't remember the last time he went out for dates. Can't remember having the time or energy for it. 

And like a dog who's learned a new trick Simon rings your bell the next day. Wasn't happy with how he left it, and wasn't that faucet leaking? He's got plenty of spare wood in his shed, don't you worry. What's that about the boiler making a weird noise? He'll take a look at it, might have something for the draft in the hallway too. 

Pay him? What are you talking about, he does stuff like this for fun. Don't sweat it, love. Just hand him that wrench. 

There are days when it's hard, of course. Simon is only human, and spending days and days on sizzling hard concrete would wring anyone dry. The project is coming along nicely, but at the height of summer there's plenty of times when even the promise of your smile isn't enough to keep him from falling asleep on his couch—often on an empty stomach. 

But during the weekends he rings your bell dutifully. Six o’clock becomes something sacred in his mind, sweet relief after praying on his knees for hours smoothing out cement. It gets to the point where he turns down Friday drinks with the guys more than once because he's got something to go home for now, his pretty little bird that's never once mentioned a boyfriend of any kind. 

“You really should let me pay you.” 

Simon gives you a look before pushing his large shoulders further into the cabinet under the bathroom sink. “Should be the one payin’ you. I know I'm doubling your grocery bill.” 

He eats more at your place than his own these days. It gives him incentive to rush through a shower, dress like something resembling a human, then wait at your doorstep to be let in. Wagging tail and everything. 

Your cheeks darken and you duck your head. “No, um... It makes me happy. To see you eat my cooking, I mean,” you confess a little shyly. “I feel like I'm the one getting everything out of this. I hope I'm not keeping you from—from spending time at home, or with your family.” 

“S’just me, love.” Simon pauses, pretends to inspect the pipes. “Less you don't want me coming ‘round anymore.” 

“No, no,” you say hastily. “No, I like—I like the company. Really.” Your voice softens. “And I'm not just saying that because I appreciate the help.” 

Simon exhales, shifts a little to accommodate the strain in his boxers, and holds his hand out for the screwdriver. 

[imsofreakingtired]

sevika gets drunk and ends up forgetting about her own wife and ends up in the brothel, and reader end up knowing all, but dont have courage enough to confront her, but she noticed the changes on your behavior like, dont wanting kisses often, dont wanting to cudlle at nigh or worried when she tells you that she have to work and etc.

(I am obsseeeed how you write angst, mwah mwah)

- 🧸

ohh absolutely. i love that idea<3 also tysmm!

leave you with nothing

content warning(s): idiot lesbians (slight angst) (not too bad i swear)

"are you sick of me? would you like to be? i'm trying to tell you something something that i've already said"

~~~

i think she would get drunk only when work was really stressing her out. or if her sense of self-worth is just at an all-time low (i’m thinking of the time silco dead up ordered her to help with a dead body, which was shocking even to renni, who was literally the mother of the victim.) when she feels trapped, hopeless, powerless, like the enterprise isn’t getting zaun anywhere closer to its ultimate goal. she doesn’t want to confide in you about this, she wants to keep up a front of stoic confidence to you, because she’s afraid if she reveals herself to be vulnerable you will leave her. 

so she drinks her troubles away and tells herself she’ll clear everything up to you in the morning if you ask why she came home late, she tells herself she’ll just play a round of cards or two with her drinking mates, that you’ll never know the difference (never thinks she’s more sober than when she’s stinking drunk.) 

one drink leads to another and she’s vaguely aware of her desire for something else that night - a woman’s touch, a woman’s voice, someone to hold her and tell her she is doing alright. she’s too drunk to remember where she’s felt this before, who has held her like this, and all she is aware of is an all-consuming loneliness that threatens to devour her alive. she’s thrown back into the old days before she met you, when all that awaited her after a hard day’s work was an empty apartment strewn with emptier liquor bottles. she doesn’t want to go back to this home. 

so she makes her way to babette’s, incredibly calm and collected—she’s good at playing sober when she wants to, and babette is surprised to see her check in— isn’t she married? — but she asks no questions and Sevika sees a woman who kind of looks like you. the eyes. the shape of the face. the hips, the way she moves in the dusky light. she picks her immediately. 

she’s too drunk to care about how it might look, asking the woman if it’s alright if she just lay with her head in the woman’s lap. telling her to stroke her hair and let her sleep for a while. even on the walk here she was hot with desire, but now she just wants to rest and hear the pretty words you would whisper in her ear when you thought she was asleep. 

she comes home at around 4 in the morning and promptly passes out on the couch, not even bothering to change. smelling of someone else’s perfume. you find her there in the morning and she doesn’t remember a single thing except that the coins in her pocket are gone. 

you know the signs; you’re not stupid, but you don’t want to think the worst. until you overhear Chuck talking to some of the patrons at the last drop. 

“yeah, Sevika was here, swept the table and then left in the middle of the round talking about Babette’s.” “Babette’s?? doesn’t she have a wife?” 

you wander through the rooms in a daze for the rest of the day as you wait for Sevika to come home. you’re furious at first, then you’re cold with dread. was it you? had you done something wrong to make her want something else, someone else? 

you don’t want to confront her, you’ve convinced yourself by now that whatever it was, it must have been something you did wrong, and even though you can’t think of a single time Sevika seemed angry or even unhappy with you, you can’t bring yourself to start the conversation. 

she comes home tired and her eyes light up when she sees you. when she tries to kiss you, you turn your face away. her hand reaches for your waist, you dodge her touch. 

“baby, what’s with you?” she asks. “i smell funny or what?”

yeah, you smell of babette’s. you smell of liquor. you smell of lies. 

“nothing. i’m tired. you want dinner?” 

“i ate already,” she says. “i’m going to bed.” 

okay, so we’re playing ignorant, you think. two can play at that game. 

as the days go on you avoid her more and more. you still clean up after her in the apartment, cook her meals, wash and mend her clothes as usual. but you don’t stay up waiting for her to come home, and you don’t let her kiss you in bed. Sevika’s at a complete loss—she’s never seen you this way before. unlike you, she’d never wonder if maybe she were at fault. if she feels she hasn’t done wrong, she’d stick to that conviction to the bitter end. but it exasperates her, the way you elude her touches, answer her with monosyllables, stare at her with a strange apprehension in your eyes when you think she isn’t looking. 

“i’m working late tonight,” she tells you one day. “don’t wait up.” 

you feel your heart drop. she’s already a regular for someone at babette’s, you know it. 

“what time do you think you’ll be back?” you ask, a little too quickly. 

she looks at you oddly. you’ve never asked her this before. “i’ll be back when i’m back.” her brows furrow in concern. “why, is something wrong?” 

“no,” you say. 

after she leaves you pace the apartment for about an hour before making up your mind and running out into the street. hood over your face so you won’t be recognized, you run straight to Babette’s and burst through the doors, ignoring the strange looks you receive. no one deters you—you were also a frequent patron before you met Sevika, but you see the workers look at you and whisper to one another. it only confirms your suspicions. you reach Babette’s office and she looks up at you in surprise. 

“can i help you, hon?” 

“Sevika,” you say breathlessly. “how many times has she checked in here?” 

her brows lift. she checks her records. “i don’t do this for anyone, you know - confidential information. but since you’re her wife…”

“how many times, please?” 

she looks up at you. “just once. a month ago. she seemed inebriated. stayed only for two hours.” 

just once? and drunk? Sevika, drunk? you couldn’t imagine it if you tried.

you walk back out of the brothel, barely thinking of where you’re going, barely thinking at all, when you hear a familiar voice call out your name. 

Sevika’s walking swiftly down the street towards you, her eyes dark. 

“what are you doing here?” she asks, grabbing your wrist. 

“what am I doing here?” you shoot back. “i’m here finding out what you were doing here!” 

she looks up at the sign of Babette’s place, as if she can’t understand what you mean. “i haven’t stepped foot in this place,” she growls. 

“Babette’s records say otherwise.” your voice is cold. 

then it all comes back to her at once. Sevika’s lips part slightly as she recalls that night, the desperation, the way she had lain in another woman’s lap. 

“baby,” she says. “listen.” 

“i’m done listening,” you snap, and turn on your heel. you walk away from her, leaving her behind on the street outside Babette’s.  

~~~

note: pt. 2 is here!

~~~

taglist~ @notlores @demothers-empty-blog @theyluvbix @archangeldyke-all @prettyinpink69 @beatdariceee @sevikaaaalover @intrnetrbl @00valentina-writes00 @zelluna @mamas-evil-hag @sevikassluttywaist @justhereforsubsevika

[the-winter-spider]

I miss you, I'm sorry

Bucky x Reader AU

Word Count: 10k+

Warnings: Toxic, angst, smut

A/N: I love Gracie, and was like fuck it gonna toss something together based off my fav songs by her

The air feels heavy, even though the room is quiet. You sit cross-legged on your bed, your phone resting beside you, the screen dim and blank. The minutes bleed into each other, but you can’t stop glancing at the clock, as if willing it to rewind to before it all.

It’s been three days. Three days of no texts, no calls, no nothing. That’s how it always goes with Bucky. He’s there, and then he’s not. And every time, you tell yourself it’ll be the last time you wait for him to come back.

It never is.

You hate him for how easy it is to disappear. You hate yourself more for letting him.

The phone rings.

The sharp sound cuts through the haze of your thoughts, and for a moment, your heart skips. You snatch the phone up, seeing his name flash across the screen. The sight of it sends a rush of relief, anger, and something softer, something stupidly hopeful, all at once.

You answer, but don’t say anything.

“Hey.” His voice is quiet, gravelly. Tired.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Hey.”

The silence stretches, brittle and uncomfortable. You can hear him breathing on the other end, steady and soft. It reminds you of the way his breath felt against your skin the last time he stayed over, the last time he let himself get too close before pulling away again.

“I shouldn’t have called,” he mutters finally, his voice tight. “I just… couldn’t sleep.”

You close your eyes. There it is again, the push and pull. The way he says he shouldn’t but always does. The way he drags you back into his orbit every time, knowing you’ll stay.

“What do you want, Bucky?” you ask, keeping your voice steady. It’s a question you’ve asked a hundred times, and you already know the answer.

He exhales sharply, like he’s frustrated—at you, at himself, you’re not sure. “I don’t know.” Another pause. “You were right, okay? About everything. I just…” His voice trails off, and you can picture him sitting on the edge of his bed, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always does when he’s trying to find the words. “I hate this.”

“Hate what?” you snap, the simmering frustration bubbling to the surface. “Hate that you always come back? Or hate that you can’t figure out what the hell you want?”

He doesn’t answer. He never does when you call him out like this.

The silence makes your chest ache. You shake your head, even though he can’t see you. “You can’t keep doing this, Bucky. You can’t keep pulling me back just to push me away again. It’s not fair.”

“I know,” he whispers. And he sounds so broken, so genuine, that it cracks something inside you. It always does.

You take a shaky breath. “Then why do you do it?”

“I don’t know,” he says again. His voice is quieter now, softer, like he’s afraid of breaking you more than he already has. “Because you’re the only thing that feels real. And I don’t know how to hold onto it without screwing it up.”

Your throat tightens. You wish you didn’t understand. But you do. He’s always been good at giving you just enough to stay, but never enough to feel whole. “Its not enough Buck”

“I know,” he says, his voice breaking slightly. “But it’s all I’ve got, you're all i truly have."

You sighed running your head through your hair “Do you wanna come over?”

“I’m already on my way”

You don't have to wait long. The sound of his motorcycle pulling up to your place makes your stomach do a little flip, even though you're still mad at him. You hear his heavy boots on the stairs, and then a soft knock at your door.

You take a deep breath before opening it. He's standing there, his hair tousled from the ride, his face tight and tired. He looks at you, and for a moment, it's like all the walls come down. He reaches out, cupping your face with his hand, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice rough. "I'm so fucking sorry."

And just like that, you melt. You lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed. His other hand comes up to wrap around your waist, pulling you close. He smells like leather and cigarettes and something uniquely him.

"I missed you," he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours. "I hate not seeing you."

"I hate it too," you whisper back. "But you can't keep doing this, Bucky. You can't keep hurting me."

He makes a soft, broken sound. "I know. I'm trying, okay? I'm really trying."

The door closes softly behind them, the click of the lock echoing in the charged silence. Bucky's hand is still cupping your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. You lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed as you breathe him in. He smells like leather and smoke, like home and danger all rolled into one.

You press yourself against him, feeling the hard planes of his body through his clothes. He's solid and warm and real, and it's been too long since you've felt him like this. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you flush against him as he claims your mouth in a hungry kiss.

You moan into it, your fingers tangling in his hair. He kisses like your fights- fierce and intense, like he's trying to claim every inch of you. You kiss back just as fiercely, your tongue sliding against his as you lose yourself in the feel of him.

He walks you backwards towards the bed, his hands roaming your body as he goes. He breaks the kiss only to yank your shirt over your head, tossing it aside carelessly. His mouth is back on yours before you can even blink, his hands cupping your breasts through your bra.

You arch into his touch, your nipples hardening under his palms. He groans low in his throat, his hips pressing forward to grind against yours. You can feel his hardness through his jeans, and it makes you ache with need.

He breaks the kiss again, trailing his lips down your neck as his hands work to unclasp your bra. It falls to the floor, joining the growing pile of clothes. He takes a moment to look at you, his eyes dark with desire as they rake over your naked breasts.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," he murmurs, his hands cupping the soft mounds. You gasp as his thumbs brush over your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

He leans down, taking one of the hardened peaks into his mouth. You cry out, your fingers tangling in his hair as he sucks and licks and nibbles. Your hips buck against his, seeking friction, and he groans around your nipple, the vibrations making you shiver.

He gives the other breast the same attention, lavishing it with kisses and bites until you're writhing beneath him. Only then does he move lower, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach as he kneels before you.

His hands hook in the waistband of your jeans, tugging them down along with your panties. You step out of them, kicking them aside as he looks up at you from his knees. The sight of him there, kneeling before you like you're a goddess to be worshipped, makes your knees weak.

"Bucky," you breathe, and it's half plea, half prayer.

He grins up at you, a devilish glint in his eyes. "Patience, baby. I'm going to take my time with you."

And then his mouth is on you, his tongue delving between your folds to taste you. You cry out, your head falling back as pleasure crashes over you. He licks and sucks and teases, his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place as he devours you.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him to you as he drives you closer and closer to the edge. Just when you think you can't take anymore, he pulls back, leaving you gasping and empty.

"Bucky, please," you whimper, and he chuckles darkly.

"Please what, baby? Tell me what you want."

"I want you," you pant, looking down at him with desperation in your eyes. "I want you inside me."

He stands up, pulling you flush against him as he captures your mouth in a searing kiss. You can taste yourself on his lips, and it makes you even more aroused. His hands grip your ass, kneading the flesh as he grinds his hardness against your bare core.

"Bed," he growls against your lips, and you nod frantically, tugging him towards the mattress.

You tumble onto the bed together, a tangle of limbs and desire. He breaks the kiss to sit up, yanking his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. You take a moment to admire the hard planes of his chest, the scars that crisscross his skin like a roadmap of his past.

He crawls back over you, his hips settling between your thighs as he reaches for his belt. You watch, transfixed, as he unbuckles it and shoves his jeans and boxers down, freeing him.

He settles back over you, his head brushing against your entrance. You shudder at the contact, your hips lifting to try and draw him in.

"Tell me you want this," he whispers, his voice rough with need. "Tell me you want me."

"I want you," you breathe, wrapping your legs around his waist. "I want all of you."

And with that, he thrusts into you, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth motion. You cry out at the sudden fullness, your nails digging into his shoulders as you adjust to the stretch.

He pauses for a moment, letting you get used to him. Then he starts to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in. You meet him thrust for thrust, your hips rising to take him deeper.

The bed creaks beneath you as he sets a relentless pace, driving into you again and again. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts of pleasure.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groans, burying his face in your neck. "So perfect."

You clench around him in response, and he curses, his hips snapping forward harder.

"I'm gonna come," you gasp, your body tensing beneath him. "Bucky, I'm gonna-"

But he cuts off your words with a kiss, swallowing your cries of pleasure as you come undone beneath him. Your body spasms around him, milking him as he follows you over the edge with a hoarse shout of your name.

He collapses on top of you, both of you gasping for breath as the aftershocks of your orgasms roll through you. He presses soft kisses to your neck, your jawline, your lips as you bask in the afterglow.

"I love you," he murmurs against your skin, and you hope it's just not the sex talking.

Later that week, you’re sitting at a bar with Natasha. She watches you nurse your drink, her sharp green eyes narrowing as you tell her what happened.

���He called,” you say, staring down at the condensation on your glass. “And like an idiot, I picked up, and he came over, we had sex and he was gone in the morning”

Natasha doesn’t say anything at first. She just leans back, crossing her arms. “What do you want me to say?” she asks finally. “That he’s going to change? That this time will be different?”

You shake your head. “No. I just…” You trail off, struggling to put the feeling into words. “I just wish I didn’t miss him so much. I wish I could stop.”

She sighs, leaning forward. “Listen to me,” she says, her voice soft but firm. “He’s not going to fix this. You know that, right? He’s not going to wake up one day and suddenly figure out how to love you the way you deserve. That’s not who he is, you have to know that babe…"

“I know,” you whisper. But the ache in your chest doesn’t go away.

Natasha exhales deeply, tilting her head as if trying to decide whether to push further. Finally, she sets her drink down and leans across the table, her voice quieter but no less serious. “So, what’s the plan? You gonna keep answering when he calls? Keep letting him come over, screw you and your head, and leave like nothing happened?”

You don’t answer, just trace the edge of your glass with your finger. The truth is, you don’t have a plan. You’re not even sure you want one. “He said he loves me, he's never said that before”

Natasha leans back in her chair, crossing her arms as she studies you. Her sharp green eyes narrow slightly, but there’s no satisfaction in her expression. She doesn’t look impressed, doesn’t look relieved, like you’d hoped she might. Instead, her face softens, just slightly, in that way that means she’s about to say something you don’t want to hear.

“Okay,” she says slowly, her voice calm but pointed. “And what does that change?”

Her question hits like a bucket of cold water, and you blink at her, your fingers freezing mid-trace on the rim of your glass. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, so what?” Natasha continues, leaning forward now, her elbows on the table. “He said the words. Great. But what does that actually mean to you? Did it make you feel better? Did it fix anything?”

You open your mouth to reply, but no words come out. The truth sits heavy in your chest.

“It’s not enough just to say it,” Natasha presses, her tone still steady but with an edge of frustration. “Love isn’t just words. It’s showing up. It’s consistency. It’s choosing someone, not just when it’s convenient, but every single day. Did he do that? Or did he just say what you’ve been waiting to hear and then disappear again?”

The ache in your chest tightens, and you look down, your fingers clutching the glass like it might hold the answers you’re searching for. “He—he’s trying,” you say weakly, but even you don’t sound convinced.

Natasha lets out a breath, her voice softening again. “Babe… I know you want to believe him. I know you love him. But this?” She gestures vaguely, as if to encompass all of it—your tears, the late-night calls, the endless cycle. “This isn’t what love is supposed to feel like. Love doesn’t leave you questioning your worth every time the sun comes up.”

The words settle over you like a weight, and you swallow hard, blinking back the tears that threaten to spill. You don’t want her to see you cry. Not here. Not like this.

“Nat…” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. But she shakes her head, her expression soft but unyielding.

“I’m not saying this to hurt you,” she says gently. “I just… I want you to be happy. And you’re not happy right now. You haven’t been for a long time.”

Before you can respond, the stool next to her screeches, and Sam slides into it, his energy a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere between you and Nat. He plunks his beer on the table and gives you a once-over.

“Well, you look like someone stole your puppy,” he says, his tone light but his eyes sharp.

Natasha shoots him a look. “Not the time, Sam.”

“I’m just saying,” he replies, leaning back and gesturing to you. “She’s been sitting here all night, looking like a sad indie song, and you’re just gonna let her wallow?”

You glare at him, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “Do you have something to say, or are you just here to make jokes?”

“Both,” Sam says, taking a sip of his beer before setting it down. “Look, I love you, but this thing with Bucky? It’s killing you, and everyone can see it. Hell, you can see it, but you’re still pretending like it’s gonna work itself out.”

“Sam,” Natasha warns, but he holds up a hand.

“No, let me finish,” he says, his voice more serious now. “I’ve been where you are, okay? Hanging onto something that’s breaking you because you’re scared to let it go. But you know what happens if you keep holding on?” He pauses, meeting your eyes. “You lose yourself. And I don’t want that for you.”

His words hit harder than you expect, and for a moment, all you can do is sit there, blinking back the tears threatening to spill.

“I don’t know how to let him go,” you admit finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know who I am without him.”

Sam leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Then it’s time to figure that out. Because you deserve better than waiting around for someone who doesn’t see how amazing you are—not someone who only comes around when it’s convenient for him.”

After Sam and Natasha head home, you find yourself walking through the quiet streets, your hands shoved into your coat pockets. The city hums around you, but you feel untethered, like you’re floating between who you are and who you want to be.

Before you realize it, your feet take you to Bucky’s building. You stop at the corner, staring up at the windows. The lights in his apartment are off, but you know he’s there. He’s always there.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You pull it out, your heart sinking when you see his name.

Bucky: You up?

The message is simple, familiar, and infuriatingly tempting. Your thumb hovers over the screen.

You: Yes, just leaving the bar.

Bucky: Ill see you in 20.

You see his light flick on.

You: Okay.

You’re sitting in your apartment with Steve. He’d shown up unexpectedly, a bag of bagels in one hand and a concerned look on his face. Now, he’s watching you carefully as you pick at your food, the silence between you growing heavier by the minute.

“I heard about last night,” he says eventually, breaking the stillness.

You glance up, narrowing your eyes. “Natasha?”

“Sam,” he admits with a small smile, but his expression stays serious. “He’s worried about you. We all are.”

You sigh, leaning back against the couch. “I’m fine, Steve.”

“You’re not fine,” he says gently, setting his coffee down on the table. “And it’s okay to not be fine. But you need to stop punishing yourself for wanting more than what Bucky can give you.”

Your chest tightens, and you look away, your voice barely audible. “He’s not a bad person, Steve. He’s just… broken.”

“I know he is,” Steve says softly, his tone patient but firm. “And I know he cares about you, even if he’s too scared to show it. But that doesn’t mean you have to keep hurting yourself to save him.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words get stuck in your throat. Instead, you ask the question that’s been clawing at you for days. “Is he seeing anyone else?”

Steve freezes mid-bite, his jaw tightening. “Yes.”

You nod slowly, your hands trembling as you set your plate down on the coffee table. “Are they… are they having sex?”

Steve’s shoulders sag slightly, and he shakes his head. “No.”

The relief you feel is fleeting, quickly replaced by another ache—something deeper, sharper. “He told me he loves me, y’know,” you whisper, your voice cracking.

That makes Steve freeze completely. He sets his bagel down, staring at you with wide, startled eyes. “He said that?”

You nod, the words pouring out of you now, unfiltered and raw. “He’s never said it before. And I didn’t know what to do. Because it felt… real. For a second, it felt like maybe this time was different. But then he was gone the next morning, like always.”

Steve leans back in his chair, his brow furrowed, like he’s trying to process what you’ve just said. “Did he mean it?” he asks finally, his voice cautious.

You let out a bitter laugh, wiping at your eyes. “I don’t know, Steve. Does it matter? He says one thing, but everything else he does just…” You trail off, shaking your head.

“It matters,” Steve says firmly, leaning forward. “If he loves you, that’s something. But love isn’t enough if he can’t show it, if he can’t make you feel it.” Steve is quiet for a long moment, his expression pained. “You deserve more than that,” he says finally. “You deserve someone who’s not afraid to fight for you. Someone who doesn’t make you feel like you’re asking for too much just by being yourself.”

-----------

The music is loud, pulsing through the crowded bar in a steady rhythm that matches the pounding in your chest. You're friends are off dancing their cares away, while you sit at a small table near the corner, nursing your drink, half-hidden in the dim lighting. The condensation from the glass drips onto your hand, but you barely notice.

Your eyes keep drifting to him.

Bucky is across the room, his arm slung casually around another woman’s shoulders. She’s laughing, tilting her head toward him like he’s just told her the funniest joke in the world. He looks… relaxed. At ease in a way you haven’t seen in a long time, and it’s like someone’s taken a knife to your chest, twisting it deeper with every passing second.

You force yourself to look away, staring into the amber liquid in your glass like it holds answers to questions you’re too scared to ask. But it doesn’t work. Your gaze flickers back to him, almost involuntarily.

They’re dancing now, swaying to a song you don’t recognize. His hand rests lightly on her hip, his fingers brushing against the fabric of her dress in a way that feels too intimate, too familiar.

And then he kisses her.

Not on the lips, but on her head, his lips lingering against her hair as she leans into him. It’s tender, effortless, the kind of gesture that feels natural, like it belongs to someone who knows how to love without hesitation.

Your chest tightens, and you swallow the lump forming in your throat, forcing yourself to take another sip of your drink. The bitterness burns your tongue, but it’s nothing compared to the ache spreading through you.

You tell yourself you don’t care. That this doesn’t matter. That he’s made his choice, and it isn’t you.

But the truth is, it matters too much.

You drain the rest of your drink, the cold liquid going down in one sharp swallow. You set the glass down harder than you mean to, the dull thud lost in the noise of the bar.

You glance over at him one last time, just to confirm what you already know. He’s still there, his attention focused on her.

But then his eyes shift.

He sees you.

For a split second, your gazes lock across the room, and the weight of his stare pins you in place. His hand pauses on her back, and something flickers in his expression—guilt, maybe, or regret.

You can’t tell, and you’re not sure you want to.

The heat of his gaze follows you as you stand, slipping your bag over your shoulder and making your way toward the door. The noise of the bar fades into the background as you weave through the crowd, your footsteps quick and purposeful.

You don’t look back, but you can feel him watching you, his eyes lingering like a phantom touch that burns even after you’re gone.

The cold night air hits your face as you step outside, and you inhale deeply, trying to push the ache in your chest away.

But it stays. It always stays.

That night, you’re curled up on your couch, a blanket wrapped around you as the city lights flicker through the window. Your phone sits on the coffee table, dark and silent.

Until it’s not.

The screen lights up, and Bucky’s name appears. The voicemail notification lingers like a ghost, and your hand trembles as you reach for it.

You press play, his voice cracking through the silence.

“I know I’ve screwed this up. I know I don’t deserve another chance. But I miss you, and I don’t know how to do this without you. Please… just call me, I’m sorry”

-------

You find him outside on the balcony, leaning heavily against the railing, his shoulders hunched like the weight of the world is pressing down on him. The cold night air bites at your skin, and the faint glow of the streetlights below casts shadows that dance across his face. He doesn’t turn when you step out. He never does. That’s the thing about Bucky—he always knows you’re there, but he’s mastered the art of pretending not to.

The sound of the sliding door closing behind you feels final, like you’ve just stepped into a space you won’t come back from. Your arms wrap around yourself, a weak defense against the cold—or maybe against him—and you take a hesitant step forward.

“I thought you left,” you say, breaking the fragile quiet. Your voice wavers, as unsure as the ground you’re standing on.

He finally looks over his shoulder, his eyes heavy and rimmed with shadows. He looks wrecked. Tired in a way that no amount of sleep could fix. “Almost did,” he says softly, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of the city.

You step closer, your chest tightening at his words, at the way he doesn’t move, doesn’t shift to let you in. “Why didn’t you?”

He shrugs, turning back to the skyline, his fingers gripping the railing. “I haven’t heard from you all week.”

The ache in your chest sharpens at his tone, a flicker of hope you hate sneaking in despite yourself. It’s always like this: just enough vulnerability to keep you tethered. You stop a few feet away, the space between you feeling like a canyon, impossible to bridge.

“This isn’t working,” you say, finally voicing the thought that’s been clawing at you for weeks. “Whatever this is. It’s not working, Bucky.”

He doesn’t react at first, just keeps staring out at the city, like it holds an answer he’s too afraid to look for. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and rough. “I know.”

The simplicity of his admission steals your breath. It’s not that you didn’t expect it. You did. You’ve been here before, standing on the edge of this same cliff, waiting for the inevitable fall.

“So why are we still here?” you ask, your voice trembling, tinged with a desperation you wish you could hide.

He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. The motion is frustrated, exhausted, like he’s tired of his own indecision. “Because I don’t know how to stop,” he admits, his words cutting through the night air with brutal honesty.

You take another step closer, close enough to see the tension in his jaw, the way his knuckles turn white as he grips the railing. “Bucky,” you say, your voice soft but breaking. “I need more than this. I need to know if you’re ever going to stop running every time things get hard. Because I can’t keep waiting for you to figure it out.”

He turns to face you then, his blue eyes locking onto yours. There’s something in them—something raw and fragile and so heartbreakingly familiar. For a fleeting second, you think this is it. The moment he’ll finally tell you what you’ve been waiting to hear.

But then he looks away, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know if I can.”

The nausea hits you like a punch, twisting your stomach into knots. You take a shaky step back, wrapping your arms around yourself like it might keep you from falling apart. “Do you even want to try?”

His silence is deafening, an answer in itself.

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow and sharp. “You’re unbelievable,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him. “I’m standing here, practically begging you to tell me you care, and you can’t even do that.”

“I care,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “You know I care.”

“Do I?” Your voice rises, anger bubbling to the surface, breaking through the pain. “Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it. You say you care, but you act like I’m something you can pick up and put down whenever it’s convenient for you.”

“Stop,” he says, his voice suddenly firm, his eyes snapping back to yours. There’s something desperate in his tone, something pleading that makes your breath hitch. “I don’t… I don’t know how to do this.”

“No, Bucky.” You shake your head, your voice trembling with fury and heartbreak. “You just don’t want to. And there’s a difference.”

The words hang between you, heavy and suffocating. He opens his mouth, like he’s about to say something, but then he stops. His eyes dart back to the city skyline, and you see it—the war he’s waging with himself, the battle between what he wants and what he’s too scared to reach for.

“Say something,” you whisper, your voice cracking under the weight of the moment. “Say anything.”

“I’m seeing someone,” he says suddenly, his hands gripping the railing so tightly you half expect it to snap. The words hit like a freight train, knocking the air from your lungs.

The world around you tilts. Your hands tremble as you take a step back. “Of course you are,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. The bitter laugh that follows feels like it belongs to someone else. “I’m done.”

You turn toward the sliding door, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it might shatter. Your hand trembles as you reach for the handle, pausing for just a second, hoping—praying—he’ll stop you. That he’ll fight.

But the silence stretches on, heavier and colder than the night air.

When you glance over your shoulder, he’s still standing there, staring down at the city like he’s already let you go.

Your throat tightens, but you force yourself to slide the door open and step back inside. The warmth of the apartment hits you like a slap, but it does nothing to ease the chill in your chest.

The door slides shut with a quiet thud.

And Bucky doesn’t follow.

You’d just moved into a new apartment, one that wasn't tainted with all the places he'd touched, places he'd been. It made things easier it wasn't the reason for your move but it helped. Natasha had decided you were both done unpacking for the night so naturally she had dragged you to a party. Steve’s place, of course. The apartment was alive with the energy of too many people crammed into too little space. Natasha had disappeared into a circle of friends near the kitchen, leaving you to nurse your drink in a corner. That’s when you noticed him.

Bucky.

He was leaning against the wall, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. Dark hair falling into his eyes, a leather jacket slung over his shoulder despite the heat of the crowded room. He didn’t see you at first, but when he did, his gaze lingered just long enough to make your pulse race.

You told yourself you wouldn’t approach him, but an hour later, you were pressed against the wall in Steve’s hallway, his lips trailing down your neck, his hands gripping your hips like he couldn’t get close enough. It was messy, impulsive, and thrilling.

“We probably shouldn’t,” you’d whispered, your breath catching as his mouth moved against your collarbone.

He’d laughed softly, his voice low and rough. “Yeah. Probably not.”

Neither of you stopped.

There were moments after that—moments that felt like everything you’d ever wanted. Late nights in his apartment, the room dimly lit by the glow of the city outside. He’d lie next to you, his fingers tracing absent patterns on your arm as you talked about everything and nothing.

He’d tell you about his childhood, the things he rarely told anyone. The weight of his past. And you’d listen, feeling like you were peeling back layers of him that no one else had ever seen.

“You don’t have to fix me,” he’d murmured once, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I like being around you.”

You’d smiled, brushing his hair back from his face. “I’m not trying to fix you, Bucky.”

And in those moments, you weren’t lying.

But then there were the other moments. The ones where he pulled away so fast it left you reeling.

You remember the first time he didn’t text you back. It wasn’t just hours—it was days. Days of overanalyzing every word you’d said to him the last time you saw him. Days of your stomach twisting every time your phone buzzed, only for it to not be him.

When he finally did text, it was so casual it made you want to scream.

“Hey. You good?”

No apology. No explanation. Just like that, he was back. And you let him back in because you didn’t know how not to.

And then there was the jealousy. The way you’d catch him talking to someone else at a party, his body language so open and inviting in a way it rarely was with you. You hated how it made you feel, the bitterness that bubbled up, the way you wanted to pull him aside and demand to know if he cared about you at all.

But you didn’t. You never did.

“Do you even want to move on?” Wanda asks, her tone soft but pointed. “Or is this just who you are now?”

You blink at her, her words cutting through the haze of your thoughts. “I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

She sighs, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “You deserve better, you know that, right?”

The door swings open, and Natasha walks in, dropping her bag on the counter. She gives you a look, one that’s equal parts sympathetic and exasperated.

“Let me guess,” she says, crossing her arms. “You’re thinking about him again.”

You don’t answer, but the way your jaw tightens is enough for her to roll her eyes. “You know he’s not good for you. Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

“I don’t know,” you snap, harsher than you mean to. “Maybe because it’s not that simple.”

“Actually, it is,” Natasha retorts, her voice sharp. “You stop calling him. You stop answering when he calls. You stop letting him treat you like an afterthought.”

“Nat—” Wanda starts, her tone soothing, but Natasha holds up a hand.

“No, she needs to hear this.” She looks at you again, her expression softening just slightly. “I know you care about him. But caring about him isn’t enough if he doesn’t care about you the same way. At some point, you have to start putting yourself first.”

You glance away, her words hitting too close to home.

“I don’t get you,” you’d once said your voice trembling with frustration. “One minute you’re here, and it feels like—like maybe this could be something. And the next, you’re gone.”

He’d run a hand through his hair, pacing the room. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is, Bucky,” you’d said, your voice rising. “You either want me, or you don’t. So which is it?”

He’d stopped then, turning to look at you. And the look on his face—it wasn’t anger or indifference. It was fear.

“I don’t know,” he’d said finally, his voice breaking.

And that was the worst part.

“You’re spiraling,” Sam said. He wasn’t harsh about it, but he didn’t sugarcoat it either. “This isn’t love. It’s self-destruction.”

Even as you think it, your phone buzzes on the coffee table. The sound feels too loud in the quiet room, pulling everyone’s attention. You glance at the screen, and your heart skips when you see his name. Just his name—no message preview, no context, just him.

Wanda notices, her brow furrowing as she leans forward. “Don’t,” she says softly, but there’s a weight behind the word, a plea. “You’ll just end up back where you started.”

You stare at the screen, your thumb hovering over the notification. The silence in the room grows heavier, charged with unspoken tension. Your chest tightens as your mind races. It would be so easy. Just one tap, and he’d be there again. One tap, and you’d hear his voice, feel the pull that always brings you back.

“I just…” Your voice falters, your eyes flickering to Wanda and then to Sam, who watches you with a mix of concern and frustration. “What if this time it’s different?”

Sam lets out a bitter laugh, running a hand over his face. “You think this time is different? Come on. What’s he going to say that he hasn’t already said a hundred times before?”

“It’s not about what he says,” Wanda interjects, her voice gentle but firm. “It’s about what he does. And what has he done, really, except hurt you?”

You look back at the screen. The notification is still there, a glaring reminder of the mess you can’t seem to escape. Your thumb presses down slightly, not enough to open it but enough to feel the weight of the choice.

“But I love him,” you whisper. The words tumble out before you can stop them, raw and unfiltered.

Sam exhales sharply, standing up from the chair and pacing across the room. “Yeah, we know. Everyone knows. But does he love you? Because if he does, he’s got a real shitty way of showing it.”

You flinch at his tone, the harshness cutting through your defenses. “He does love me,” you say quietly, more to yourself than to him.

“Then where is he?” Sam snaps, turning to face you. “Why isn’t he here, fighting for you instead of blowing up your phone every time he feels lonely? Why is it always you doing the heavy lifting?”

Wanda places a hand on Sam’s arm, pulling him back gently. “Sam…”

“No, I need to say it,” he says, his voice softer now but still firm. “Love isn’t supposed to feel like this. It’s not supposed to feel like you’re drowning every damn day just to keep him afloat.”

The bar is too loud, too crowded, and too filled with memories of Bucky for you to feel at ease. But you’re here because it’s Steve’s birthday, and Natasha had insisted. And of course you came it was Steve.

You’re leaning against the bar, talking to a man you barely know. His smile is easy, his laugh smooth, and even though you’re trying to focus on him, you can feel Bucky’s eyes on you. From across the room, his gaze burns into your back, searing through your dress like a brand.

You glance over your shoulder, meeting his eyes for a split second. The tension in his jaw, the way his drink sits untouched in his hand—it’s the most emotion he’s shown all night. But it’s not enough to stop you.

If he wants to act like he doesn’t care, you’ll give him something to not care about.

The man beside you leans in, his hand brushing against your arm as he says something you don’t quite catch over the noise. You laugh, even though you barely hear the joke. You laugh because you know Bucky is watching.

It doesn’t take long for him to snap.

Before you realize what’s happening, his hand is on your wrist. Firm but not rough, his grip sends a jolt through you. “Let’s go,” he says, his voice low and clipped.

“Excuse me?” You pull back, glaring at him, but his grip doesn’t loosen.

“We’re leaving,” he says, not looking at you, not giving the man beside you so much as a glance.

“Bucky—” you start, but he’s already pulling you through the crowd, weaving between bodies with single-minded determination.

By the time you reach his apartment, you’re seething. He slams the door shut behind you, the sound echoing through the dimly lit space.

“What the hell is your problem?” you snap, crossing your arms.

“My problem?” he fires back, pacing across the room like a caged animal. “My problem is you acting like that guy meant anything to you!”

“Oh, and you would know what means something to me, right?” You take a step closer, your voice rising. “Because you’re so good at showing me how much I mean to you.”

He stops, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t turn this on me.”

“Why not? It’s always about you, isn’t it, Bucky? What you want, what you feel. You drag me into your mess every time, and I let you, because I—”

You stop yourself, your breath catching.

“Because you what?” he demands, his voice sharp.

“Because I care about you!” you yell, your chest heaving. “And all you ever do is hurt me for it.”

His face twists, like your words hit him somewhere deep. For a moment, you think he’s going to say something, that he’s going to explain or apologize or do something, but instead, he grabs a plate from the counter and hurls it against the wall. The sharp crash reverberates through the room, the pieces scattering across the floor like jagged confessions neither of you are ready to face.

You flinch at the sound, but the fire in your chest burns brighter, fueled by the chaos. “Oh, real mature, Bucky. Breaking dishes? That’s your solution? Just break things until you don’t have to feel anything anymore?”

He grabs another plate, his hand trembling as he grips it, his knuckles white. His voice breaks as he yells, “You think this is easy for me? You think I don’t know I’m screwing this up? That I don’t hate myself for it?”

“Then stop!” you shout back, your voice raw and cracking under the weight of it all. “Stop hurting me, stop dragging me back, stop—just stop!”

The plate shakes in his hand, and for a second, you think he’s going to throw it again. Instead, he slams it down on the counter with a hollow thud. His shoulders slump as he leans over it, his head bowed like he’s trying to hold himself together. His breathing is ragged, his hands gripping the edge of the counter so tightly you think it might break under the strain.

“I don’t know how,” he whispers finally, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it. “I don’t know how to be what you need.”

The vulnerability in his voice slices through you, but it’s not enough. Not this time. The ache in your chest is unbearable, your heart breaking as you look at the man you love and realize he’ll never love you the way you need him to.

“Then let me go, Bucky,” you say, your voice trembling but resolute. “If you can’t give me what I need, let me go.”

He finally turns to face you, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “I can’t,” he says, his voice breaking like the plates he just shattered. “I don’t want to let you go.”

Your chest tightens, the pain twisting deeper with every word. “Aren’t you seeing someone?” you ask, your voice sharper than you intended.

He shakes his head, his jaw clenching. “She’s not you,” he says, his voice trembling. “They’re never you.”

The admission stuns you into silence for a moment. The tears you’ve been holding back spill over, hot and heavy. “Then why can’t you give me that, Bucky?” you whisper, your voice shaking with anger and grief. “Why can you give it to them but not to me? Why is it always me who’s left bleeding for you? It’s not fair—I give you everything! And you just take, take, take! What’s left of me after this?”

Your words hang between you, raw and unfiltered, and for a moment, he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t try to defend himself, doesn’t even try to apologize. He just stares at you, his eyes wide and desperate, like he’s drowning in the mess he’s made.

Then, without warning, he steps forward, grabbing your face in his hands. His touch is rough, almost frantic, his fingers trembling against your skin. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

And before you can say anything, before you can even catch your breath, his lips crash into yours.

The kiss is desperate and messy, his tears mixing with yours as he pulls you closer like he’s afraid to let go. His hands shake as they cup your face, his lips pressing against yours with a fierceness that makes your knees weak.

You hate how easily you give in, how quickly your hands find their way to his chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. The anger and pain and longing all bleed together in that kiss, every unspoken word, every broken promise, every piece of you he’s taken without giving anything back.

When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm and ragged against your skin. “But I can’t lose you. Please… don’t leave me.” He whispers his voice trembling

Your heart shatters all over again. “Okay”

Bucky’s hands tighten on your arms, his breath warm and uneven against your face. His lips hover just above yours, his eyes searching yours for something—permission, maybe, or forgiveness he doesn’t deserve. You don’t give it to him, but you don’t pull away either.

Instead, your hands move on their own, sliding up his chest and curling into the fabric of his shirt. The tension between you snaps like a live wire as he closes the distance again, his mouth crashing against yours with a desperation that leaves no room for hesitation.

The kiss deepens, his lips parting yours, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that sends heat pooling low in your belly. His hands roam down your sides, fingers gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. You press closer, your body molding to his as the frustration and anger between you melt into something darker, hotter, and infinitely more consuming.

Bucky backs you up until your hips hit the edge of the counter, the cool surface biting into your skin through the thin fabric of your dress. His hands slide up your thighs, his touch firm and deliberate as he lifts you onto the counter. You gasp against his mouth, your hands tangling in his hair as he steps between your legs, his body pressing against yours in all the right ways.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough and breathless. “If this isn’t what you want, tell me now.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, your chest heaving as you meet his gaze. His blue eyes are dark, filled with a mix of longing and uncertainty that tugs at something deep inside you. “Don’t stop,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need.

That’s all it takes. He grips the hem of your dress and pulls it up, his hands sliding over your thighs, rough and calloused against your skin. His lips trail down your neck, his stubble scraping lightly against you as he kisses the sensitive spot just below your ear. Your head tilts back, a soft moan escaping your lips as his hands and mouth make you forget every argument, every broken moment that led you here.

His fingers find the edge of your underwear, his touch teasing as he looks up at you, waiting. You nod, your breath hitching as he slides them aside, his fingers exploring with a skill that leaves you trembling. He watches you intently, his gaze locked on your face as he learns every reaction, every sound you make.

When his name slips from your lips, low and needy, it’s like something inside him snaps. He lifts you effortlessly, carrying you to the couch with a strength that leaves you dizzy. The world blurs around you, your focus narrowing to the feel of his body against yours, the weight of his hands, the intensity of his gaze.

“You’re all I think about,” he says, his voice raw as he settles over you. “Every damn day.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. The only response you can give is the way you arch into him, the way you pull him closer, needing him as much as he needs you. And when he finally joins you, it’s slow and deliberate, every movement designed to pull you deeper into the storm of him.

The morning light seeps through the curtains as you stand by his window, fully dressed, the quiet hum of the city below serving as your only company. Bucky is still asleep in the bed, his arm draped across the pillow where you had been just hours ago. You glance at him one last time, your heart clenching in your chest. For a fleeting moment, you consider crawling back into bed, letting yourself believe in the softness of this moment.

But you can’t.

You quietly grab your things and slip out the door, the sound of it clicking shut behind you feeling heavier than it should.

By mid-morning, you’ve buried yourself in mundane errands—anything to keep your mind from circling back to him. You’re at the farmer’s market now, weaving through the stalls of fresh produce and flowers, the air filled with the faint scent of lavender and bread. You clutch a tote bag tightly in your hand, trying to focus on the vibrant colors of the fruit in front of you.

You pick up an apple, turning it over in your hand absently. It’s almost enough to distract you from the ache still lodged in your chest. Almost.

Until you see him.

You freeze, the apple slipping from your grasp and thudding softly onto the wooden table in front of you. Your breath catches, and the world seems to narrow until it’s just him, standing only a few stalls away.

His dark hair catches the sunlight, and for a moment, it feels like nothing has changed, like the night before never ended. His eyes are locked on yours, wide and filled with a mix of emotions you can’t quite place—shock, guilt, something softer that makes your chest tighten painfully.

For a moment, it’s just the two of you, suspended in time. Everyone else around you fades into nothing, their chatter and laughter muffled like the background of a dream.

But then your gaze shifts.

To her.

The woman standing beside him.

Her hand is clasped firmly in his, their fingers intertwined in a way that feels too familiar, too intimate. She’s beautiful, her expression warm and open as she looks up at him, clearly unaware of the storm brewing between his gaze and yours.

Your stomach twists violently, and the apple you’d forgotten about rolls off the edge of the table and hits the ground.

Bucky’s face changes when he sees you notice her, his eyes softening with guilt, his mouth parting as if he wants to say something, anything. But he doesn’t.

He just stands there, holding her hand, while your chest caves in.

You swallow hard, your throat tight as you force yourself to look away, your vision blurring with unshed tears. You clutch your tote bag tighter and turn, walking away without another word.

You barely make it out of the market before the tears spill over. You wipe them away furiously, your hands trembling as you duck into a side street, out of view from the crowds.

The weight of his gaze lingers on your back, like a hand reaching out but never quite touching you. You can feel him watching you, but you don’t dare turn around. You can’t.

You stop for a moment, your chest heaving as you lean against the wall of a brick building. The morning sun feels too bright, the world too loud despite the hollow silence pounding in your ears.

He didn’t follow.

You told yourself you didn’t want him to, but the ache in your chest says otherwise.

When you glance back toward the market, just for a second, you see him standing at the edge of the stalls, his hand no longer in hers, his face etched with something that looks like regret.

But he doesn’t move.

And neither do you.

With a deep breath, you wipe your face one last time, adjust the strap of your tote bag, and walk away. The weight in your chest feels unbearable, but your feet keep moving anyway.

The apartment is quiet that night, the silence pressing down on you as you sit by the window, staring out at the city lights. You tell yourself you’re not waiting for him, but your phone sits beside you on the windowsill, the screen dark but heavy with possibilities.

It’s almost midnight when the buzz breaks the silence. You glance at the screen, your heart stopping when you see his name.

The message is simple. “Please, can we talk? I miss you…I’m sorry”

[shiyosugi]

IMAGINE, Sae who either rarely voices his love for you or acts like he loves you. It's just out of character of him if he acts like a lovesick fool right? You never really thought about it because you two were busy with each other's business. Both of you have a busy life. However, when you got a few days of rest from work recently, all of the sudden, the shared apartment became too silent and lonely for you. This led to you overthink about your relationship and how will you manage if anything happens.

As a result, when Sae arrived home, you couldn't help but asked him; "Don't you get tired of me?" That question certainly caught him off-guard. He just finished his bath, why would you ask something like that so suddenly? He gave you a confused look, but seeing your curious expression he just gave a straight answer which was a "no". You wanted to ask more, but you felt something weird in your chest so you decided to brush it off for tonight and went to sleep.

For the next few nights of your week off, Sae noticed how you were getting... distant. At first, he didn't think much of it, but it was getting hard to ignore your sudden change of behavior. One night, he sat next to you on the bed while you were busy with your phone. He hesitated but eventually reached out to touch your hair. Feeling startled you almost slapped his hand, but he grabbed your wrist before you could do anything.

"It's just me," he spoke softly. You looked into his eyes and the weird feeling came again, which made you looked away. "What's wrong? Talk to me."

You wanted to say that it was nothing and brushed it off, but for some reason, you can't lie and he knew how bad were you in lying. "Don't you want to break up with me?"

He shook his head.

"Don't you want someone better than me?"

He shook his head.

"Aren't you tired of being with someone like me?"

He shook his head.

"Do you still love me?"

He didn't give any response and that made you scared. Upon seeing your worried face, he sighed then moved you so that he could lay his head on your stomach and hugged your waist.

"Sae?" head tilted as you witnessed him doing something you didn't expect he could.

"I never said that I don't love you. I never said I'm bored of you and I never said that I'm tired of you. Where did you get that idea?" he raised an eyebrow.

"It's just... you never do or say anything to show me that you still love me. You are famous Sae. A famous soccer player with pretty face and I know damn well I am out of your league. You could have cheated-"

"Hold it there. Cheat? I would never," he frowned, holding you tighter.

"But-"

"No. I would never do that and stop thinking about that. I love you alright?" he held you even tighter as if afraid that you will disappear if he let go. "Please [F/N]*, believe me when I said I will never cheat or do anything bad that you are thinking right now," he caressed your back as he saw the small tears in your eyes.

He who thought you were as nonchalant as he was, now understood that you are as just as sensitive as he is.

[F/N]* = First name

[enhaniki-san]

exes - reader x niki ✶⋆.˚

warnings: very suggestive content, cursing, angst, break up, etc.

it's first day of school for everyone but it would also be the first time you will see niki after the break up.

before, you just suffered alone. uninstalling all social medias so you wouldn't see anything about him but every time you close your eyes, he's just there. you would imagine his laugh in your head, the warmth of his touch, his smiles...

you will scroll through messages. his texts that are full of teasing words and reassurances, it's there, all untouched. your fingers would hover over his name, your chest tightening as you debated whether to reach out or not.

"i lost him." you'd whisper to yourself then you would cry and cry and cry every night you wake up with a headache.

the hardest part is realizing that deep down, you just might be replaceable cause he's niki, he can get whoever he wants without even trying so hard.

niki though, he didn't just became distant. he became irritated and short-tempered like... the smallest things would just set him off.

teammate joking about something? niki would snap with his sharp words enough to silence the entire locker room. accidentally bumping into him? his glare would freeze them in their tracks.

and at home, niki would push his food around on his plate, appetite gone. his mom would ask if he was okay and he'd just nod without looking up, muttering a quick, "yeah, i'm fine." sometimes, he wouldn't even eat at all.

he would also sleep too much, oversleeping so often that his friends stopped bothering to wait for him in the morning. the mornings where he usually wake up crying.

you were his first girlfriend, one person he actually loved.

you were sitting at your table, surrounded by a group of people from your class, all of whom were currently losing their minds over something you'd said.

"wait, wait- say that again!" one of them choked out, clutching his stomach from laughing too hard.

you smirked, leaning back in your chair with that effortless confidence that somehow came and went depending on the situation.

the table erupted into another round of laughter and you couldn’t help but grin, enjoying the attention.

across the room, niki can't help but to watch. he leaned back in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest while one eyebrow raised in a mix of confusion and irritation.

he saw the way you had those guys wrapped around your finger. loud laughters, they leaned in a little too much...

he rolled his eyes, "the fuck?" he muttered under his breath.

"bro, are you mad again?"

niki looked away from you for a second, glaring at his friend. "i'm not mad."

"you're mad." his friend shot back, smirking. "and for what? don't you realize you could get literally anyone you want? like, just pick someone and boom, problem solved."

niki scoffed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. he's becoming very tired of hearing it. "you think i care about that? i don't want anyone."

niki looked back to you. he watched the way you casually flicked your hair over your shoulder and how your eyes sparkled as you delivered another punchline that sent the guys around you into another laughter.

it annoyed him sure but more than that, it reminded him of why he fell for you in the first place.

when niki first transferred to the school, he was used to people staring. everyone wanted to know him, talk to him, be close to him. it was almost exhausting how predictable it was... girls blushing when he walked by, guys either trying to be his friend or acting threatened.

then you came.

you like him, just like everyone. you were shy at first but you weren't afraid to flirt with him in your own way.

you had this maddening ability to make him actually feel something, even when you were just teasing him.

one moment, you'd barely meet his eyes, acting like he was just someone you know.

the next, you'd hit him with some sly remark that left him wondering if you actually like him or if you were just messing with him.

and even after you got together, you didn't stop. you flirted with him at every chance, sometimes so casually that he didn't even realize it until later.

it drove him insane, in the best and worst ways.

you didn't know it but you made him need you. you were niki's constant, his balance, someone he always look forward hanging out with, and person who could make him smile even when he didn't want to.

and that’s why it makes him so much angry now.

whenever niki look at them, he saw himself. the way he used to hang on your every word and the way you could light up a room just by being there.

he sighed, dragging a hand through his hair as his friend nudged him. "you're staring again."

you were both invited to a small house party. it was alive with music and chatter when you walked in.

some of them greeted you, casually mentioning how good niki looked, unaware of the what had unraveled between you and him. others, who knew, just exchanged awkward glances.

niki was across the room and yeah, he looked good, like always. he was leaning against the kitchen counter with a cup in his hand as he nodded along to whatever one of his friends was saying. then he was approached by a girl right after another.

"niki, are you even listening?" she asked, pouting slightly.

he blinked, realizing she was still talking. "uh, yeah." he said though it was obvious he wasn't.

the girl huffed, crossing her arms. "you know what? never mind." she rolled her eyes and walked away, leaving niki standing there and barely noticing her departure.

niki decided to left the party the moment he saw you talking to another guy again. the rain started to pour hard just when he got outside. he cursed under his breath, pulling his jacket over his head as he jogged down the street.

he spotted a convenience store up ahead and stayed under the shed outside, shaking water off his arms as he muttered to himself about the miserable weather.

after a while, he heard the sound of hurried footsteps splashing through puddles.

you were running towards the convenience store, your arms raised over your head in an attempt to shield yourself from the harsh rain. and when you were about to reach the shed, you saw niki standing there. you froze.

your eyes met, niki gulped. you turned around quickly and ready to just go back at the party.

niki rolled his eyes, muttering a curse. of course, he wouldn't let you stay out in the rain.

grabbing an umbrella from the corner of the shed, he ran after you. "y/n!" he called, but you didn't stop.

he reached you in a few quick strides, grabbing your arm and pulling you to a stop.

"what?" you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

"you're gonna get soaked, idiot." he said simply, opening the umbrella and holding it over both of you.

the two of you stood there for a moment, and without waiting for your response, he started walking, his hand still loosely holding your arm.

you followed him. not because you wanted to but because it felt easier than standing in the rain arguing with him.

when you reached the shed, niki released your arm and leaned against the wall, keeping the umbrella angled to shield both of you. you crossed your arms over your chest, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.

niki then sat down down on one of the available chairs, his back's facing you.

and it wasn’t long before you felt someone watching you. you glanced up and saw a man who's clearly drunk, swaying slightly as he approached. his bloodshot eyes were fixed on you with an unsettling intensity.

"hey, there." he said, his words slurred but grinning wide. "what's a pretty thing like you doing out here all alone?"

you took a small step back, clutching your phone tighter. "i'm fine, thanks." you said, trying to keep your tone polite but firm.

he didn’t take the hint, though. instead, he stumbled closer, shamelessly scanning you up and down. "c'mon, don't be like that." he said, reaching out and grabbing your arm. his grip wasn't harsh but it was enough to make your heart race.

"let go!" you said while trying to pull your arm free but his grip tightened slightly.

niki turned around at the sound of your voice. he stood up immediately, chair scraping against the wet concrete. "back off!"

the drunk guy barely had time to process what was happening before niki shoved him back with enough force to make him stumble. "i said back off or i'll beat the shit out of you."

the drunk guy ran, stumbling away.

you blinked, slightly stunned at niki's sudden aggressiveness.

"you okay?" he asked.

you just nodded, still trying to process what had just happened. "ye- yeah, i'm fine. thanks."

niki looked at you for a moment, his eyes scanned you to make sure you were really okay. he exhaled then sat again as he ran a hand through his damp hair. clearly tensed.

he patted at the chair. "can you sit here?"

"no."

niki shook his head and his lips twiched in disbelief. "yeah, stand there so your legs will ache."

you scoffed. "why do you care?"

"oh, i don't. i really don't." he said. laughing dryly as if the idea itself was ridiculous.

"i shouldn't have stayed here." you muttered but niki heard it.

"then leave." niki said bluntly. you were about to let it go but of course, he just couldn't stop there. "you're good at that, aren't you?"

you jaw tightens. "oh, don't start with that. you're the one who-"

"you think this is all my fault again?" niki interrupted you, raising his eyebrows.

you exhaled harshly, holding back whatever retort was on the tip of your tongue then niki just looked away. you both fell into silence.

you both calmed down and ignored each other. but he's right... you're legs were starting to ache from standing. you glanced over at niki who's comfortably leaning back as he dried himself, you sighed. hesitating but eventually, you sat down beside him.

"when did you start beating people up?" you asked, half-joking just to break the tension.

he looked at you with a serious expression. "few months ago."

your eyes widened as you leaned backwards. "seriously?"

niki gave you a confused look. "no, of course not."

you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head at his ridiculous joke. you watched him dry his hair, damp strands were messy over his forehead... you bit your lip, staring at his face longer than it should have while letting your thoughts wander too far.

you can't believe you had that face between your legs before- shit.

niki turned to you suddenly, squinting as if he could read your mind. you stuttered. "i- i swear i'm not thinking about anything weird!"

but he knows you too well. you gulped and just looked away.

however, niki did not stop staring. at first, it was just like "this girl..." then suddenly questions started running through his head. wondering when's the last time he heard your laugh, when's the last time you're this close to him...

and before he could stop it, he leaned in, pressing his face to the side of your neck. and his hands crawled to your legs, gripping it gently.

"what are you doing?" you asked, caught off guard.

"who told you to wear this short-ass dress?" niki whispered.

a small smile formed at your lips despite the ache in your chest. slowly, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, your fingers brushing his neck and one hand found its way to his hair, twisting the strands softly between your fingers.

he pulled back just enough to look at you. his eyes started searching yours, desperate and unguarded. then slowly, niki started to lean in.

you leaned too, meeting his lips halfway and his hand gripped your legs harder. niki kissed you like he was making up for lost time, pouring every ounce of his frustrations and longing into each movement.

he groaned softly against your lips. tilting your head gently, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

and while his lips pressed harder against yours, your own lips started trembling. the weight of everything... the breakup, the pain... it hit you all at once and you could fill tears forming at the edges of your eyes.

you tried to hold them back.

"i miss you so much." niki said between the kisses.

the you just broke down, a sob escaped your mouth and the tears began to fall freely. niki pressed a quick kiss. "why are you crying?" he whispered.

"because!" you choked out, the words catching in your throat.

he smiled. he didn't want to see you cry but somehow, the sight of you crying filled him with relief. to him, it meant that you still care and that you still feel something. for him.

he cupped your face carefully and his thumbs started wiping your cheeks. he kissed you again and again, very slow like he's savoring every moment with your lips.

niki hugged you, your arms wrapped around his waist as you cried. then he gave you multiple kisses on top of your head.

you started touching his body, his chest up to his neck and jaw, everywhere as you rested your head in his chest. "there's no one like you." you said, adding "i was so lucky."

he's just perfect. truly one of one in the world

after hearing those words, niki kissed you again, smiling. "please be my girlfriend again."

you nodded and laughed. "but i think i'll actually kill myself if i lose you one more time." you continued.

niki just smiled again. doesn't matter if you lose him 'cause he'll just always find his way back to you.

you both began walking down the street, still hugging and touching each other as if you couldn't bear to let go. niki’s hand would occasionally grab your arm or he'd wrap an arm around your shoulders or your waist just to pull you close.

"you should sleep at my place tonight."

you bit your lip, shaking your head while smiling. "mmhm, i can't."

"huh? why not?" he stopped walking, turned your body to face him.

"because... i might not be able to walk for weeks if i go with you." you said with a smirk.

his heart started racing for a second before laughing, he leaned in close, breath warm against your ear. "you're right." he whispered, arms snaked around your waist. "it's gonna be so rough."

you pulled back, your mouth dropping open in shock. "i... i can't believe you just said that."

niki shrugged with a cheeky grin. "hey, when it's you saying things like that, it's fine. but when i say it, it's weird?"

"no... it's not weird." you muttered, looking away with a small smile. "i know you're sexy but you just became even sexier. what the hell?"

niki smirked when he heard your last comment, and before you could take another step, he bent down and scooped you up effortlessly into his arms.

you squealed, your hands instinctively grabbing onto his shoulders for balance.

"what?" he said with a teasing grin, holding you like you weighed nothing. "your legs are going to hurt anyway. might as well save you the trouble now."

a/n: alexa please play exo - the first snow

read part-timers!niki x reader

read part-timers!niki x reader part 2

read snitch - reader x niki

read touché - niki x reader

read touché - niki x reader part 2

read Nishimura Riki as your boyfriend