#SOMETHING SOMETHING RIPPED AWAY FROM HER SIDE

[annievrse]

rumour has it!

trafalgar law x fem!reader —ᡣ𐭩 fic

summary: rumour has it that the surgeon of death is your boyfriend... w/c: 5.3k c/w: suggestive, secret relationship, reader wears a dress, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns.

The sun is just moments off dipping behind the horizon, the pink and orange hues meshing into subtle indigo. Since leaving the previous island, the air has been humid and sticky, but the slight breeze drifting through the Grand Line is refreshing. 

The inside of the girls' quarters smells of vanilla, salt, and Robin's rosewater incense. The waves crash against the side of the ship, seaspray making its way through the ajar porthole, and you're sure Nami will scold you for leaving it open, but you're far from caring now.

The cotton sheets of your bed, a present from Robin for your birthday, are soft on your legs as you turn over for the nth time in ten minutes. You wouldn't call your current state one of grief, since he is still alive, but the rawness of your throat and the deep ache in your chest makes it seem so.

Skipping dinners and chores was enough for Nami and Robin to know there was something wrong, but you've been holed up in the room since departing the last island, and now they're positive this is more than just feeling sick.

The door slams against the wall when Nami kicks it open, a scowl on her features as she stomps over to you and rips the sheets off. You whine at the loss of cover, your body curling further in on itself as you shove your face into your pillow.

"Leave me alone."

Nami scoffs. "You're kidding, right?"

"Nami—“

"We're worried about you," Robin's soft voice comes from the doorway. "You've never skipped out on your chores for this long before."

Shaking your head, you squeeze your eyes shut. No words leave your lips, and Nami and Robin share a concerned glance.

"Come on, dinner's ready. The crew's been waiting for you to join."

You sniffle and swallow thickly, remaining unresponsive to their words. If you were to tell them it feels as though your heart is going to explode and your limbs are lethargic because of a man, you fear they'd laugh at you.

"Has that window been open this whole time?—"

Robin says your name softly, abruptly cutting Nami off. "Please?"

You've always thought of the archaeologist as an older sister of sorts, so when she gives you an encouraging smile and a hand to take, you give in. Robin's always been more understanding than Nami, but you wouldn't trade either of them for the world.

"If this is about that rumour..."

You ignore her, your skin ablaze with apprehension at Nami's implication. The fresh air of the deck hits you in the face, and joyful screams and laughter from the galley have your stomach churning with anxiety.

"We understand if you don't want to talk about it, we know that rumours can get out of hand sometimes."

Your eyes remain on the floor while your cheeks burn with embarrassment. You're feet away from the kitchen door, and you resist the urge to run in the opposite direction.

"Seriously," Nami says, an easy laugh falling from her lips. "You can tell us anything, you know that."

Guilt bubbles under your skin, and you feel disgusted with yourself for feeling like you couldn't confide in them. You open your mouth to reply when a sharp gasp cuts you off.

"You're here!" Luffy exclaims, his contagious giggles making your lips turn upwards for the first time in a week. "I missed you!"

Suddenly, limbs are wrapped around you, and Luffy's grin presses against your cheek.

"I missed you, too," You smile and lean your head on his shoulder.

"Are you hungry?" Luffy asks, unwrapping himself from your torso. "Sanji cooked up a feast!"

And he isn't exaggerating. The cook stands before you, his eyes wide with concern as he takes your hand. "I made your favourites, mon amour."

You nod as you take in the platters and towers of food splayed on the long dining table. Brook, Franky, Jimbe, and Chopper sit on one side, and Usopp and Zoro sit on the other, all giving you reassuring smiles as you greet them.

"Thank you, Sanji."

"Anything for you, my angel!"

You take a seat beside Zoro and Luffy slides in next to you. "Let's eat!"

Dinner is as chaotic as usual, and in the week you've been hiding in your room, you've come to miss the disordered affair. Mountains of different dishes are piled onto your plate, thanks to Luffy, as Zoro pours sake into your mug. You won't be drinking tonight, but the thought that Zoro wants to share his beloved drink with you has your heart growing with warmth.

You pick up your fork and stab a piece of grilled broccoli. The flavour melts on your tongue as you chew, your gaze scanning your crewmates as they continue with their normal dinner conversations.

"So is it true?"

The room goes silent, and the only sound is the clink of Chopper's hoof on Brook's humourous. You stare into the voids of his eye sockets and swallow quickly to avoid choking on the vegetable.

"Wrong thing to say?"

Nami is the first to growl as she stands. "Yes, idiot!"

The rest of the crew groans and throws their assaults at the skeleton before he cries out.

"Okay! Okay, I'm sorry," Brook winces, his hands up in defence. "If I had a heart it would be full of remorse right now."

His usual gag makes you exhale a short laugh and the crew visibly relaxes.

"I'm fine, guys," You sigh. "I'm not going to break."

"So, Traffy, huh?" Zoro is amused, and when you look at him, he raises an eyebrow. "What? It's what we're all thinking."

"He's not wrong," Franky pipes up. "Rumour has it you're together."

"Who knew you two were such gossip?" Robin quips, a mug of tea held up to her lips. "Where'd you hear this so-called rumour?"

"Around," Usopp says, evading answering with a proper response.

"It's not true though, right?" Franky asks.

You shake your head immediately, stomach souring. "How would it be? I haven't seen that guy in forever, let alone be in a relationship with him."

"That's what I said!" Nami exclaims, slamming her hands on the wooden table. "I think I would know if my best friend had a boyfriend, especially if it were Traffy."

As the crew start discussing who they think started the rumour, you sit quietly. There's no telling who or how the rumour started, and you'd rather not think about it.

The article in the newspaper had been published a month ago, and to say it had caused waves was an understatement. With you and Law on two separate, infamous pirate crews, it was bound to affect civilians and pirates alike. The thought of the Heart Pirates and the Strawhats allying again had the world on edge, and if it was because of something as fragile as love, then it would be problematic for both sides.

You pick at your plate with no appetite. There are eyes on you from across the table, but you ignore Robin and continue moving food around with your fork. She can think all she likes, and so can the remainder of the crew, but you're not giving up your most vulnerable secret that easy; especially when the rest of the world thinks the same.

—

You have to tread lightly. Above you, a monthly meeting between the Kid Pirates, the Strawhats, and the Heart Pirates is taking place.

Nami rushes around the girls' quarters for a map she forgot before she stops and sees you at your desk. Various pens and papers are sprawled on the surface, and Nami wonders what you're writing. However, she doesn't press and scolds you instead.

"You're meant to be upstairs."

You groan and spin in the chair. "I'm busy."

Nami rolls her eyes. "Come on. This is important."

"Can't you just relay it to me when it's done?"

The newspaper and the rumour have been long forgotten. It's been two months since the dinner and a month and a half since the crew dropped the gossip, and you've been back to your old self. Nami's grateful that you're no longer affected by it, but there's something about the way your wrist flicks the pen on the page that has her suspicions surfacing again.

You mumble something she can't hear and stand. Nami furrows her eyebrows when she sees the state of you—you wear one of your nicer dresses and your eyelashes seem fuller, longer. She doesn't question it, but her mind circles back to the months-old rumour.

The walk upstairs and onto the deck is a tense one, and you feel the excitement of seeing Law swirl in your stomach. It's been a while since you've seen him, and him you, so, when the sun warms your skin and the heads of all three captains turn to the creaking door, you smile.

"Hi, everyone!" You say. "Sorry, I'm late."

Luffy brushes off your apology and grins while he tells you to sit with the crew. There are multiple sets of eyes on you, but only one makes your nerves dance.

You find a spot beside Chopper and face the other crews. The silence of your arrival slowly dissipates as the pirates start chattering again. You sigh deeply and scan the crowd. A familiar polar bear catches your attention, and you wave when Bepo meets your gaze.

The mink greets you with a warm smile, one that never fails to lighten your mood, as he nudges Penguin beside him. The pirate rubs his bicep before he realises what Bepo is saying, and then he grins, promptly whacking Shachi while doing so. It's a chain reaction, and soon, all of the Heart Pirates are waving at you from across the deck.

The more you think about it, the more the reason why the rumour was started becomes clear; you're not subtle.

Ikkaku almost squeals when she sees you, and soon she's crossing the grass to squeeze between you and Chopper.

"I've missed you," She whispers, throwing her arm over your shoulders. Chopper looks at her curiously, his head tilting as the cogs in his mind turn.

Sure, you've always been friendly with the Heart Pirates, but that's because you hailed from the same island as Law, Penguin, Bepo, and Shachi before you landed yourself in the East Blue. Simple. Definitely not because you're in love with their captain and have been for the past ten years of your life...

You refuse to think about the fact that you haven't told your crew yet, though, you're confused as to how they couldn't know. Sabaody, Punk Hazard, Dressrosa, Zou, Wano... on all islands, you were attached at the hip despite trying your best to remain indifferent toward each other.

Maybe your downfall was hoping that they could figure it out themselves.

"Strawhat." His timbre is low, one you've heard countless times yet it never fails to give you goosebumps, even on the hottest of days.

"Traffy." Your captain laughs.

"May I talk to your seamstress for a minute?"

The crews fall quiet once more, and the air is thick with anticipation. A legion of owlish eyes set their sights on you, and you shift with discomfort.

Luffy nods and waves his hand in your direction. "Go ahead."

Ikkaku pats your knee before she stands and you watch her skip back to her spot beside Shachi. Law gives you an expectant look and nods his chin toward the Polar Tang.

A low whistle behind you makes you freeze and you glance at Zoro. He shrugs at your raised eyebrows, and smirks. He may not seem to be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but you know he's onto you, and from the looks the rest of your crew throw you, you know they are too.

You brush them off with a flick of your wrist and follow Law to the edge of the Sunny. He's quick to shamble you onto the Tang and lead you inside.

Once the air-tight door is shut, you release your breath.

"You okay?"

Nodding, you take a step toward him. Law watches you intently, his own shoulders relaxing.

"Come 'ere," Law mumbles, tugging you against him. You smile into his chest, your hands splayed across his back. "Missed you."

You look up at him, a smile on your lips. "Missed you more."

Law snorts and leans down, his nose brushing yours. The silence is comforting, especially when you're in it with him, a quiet kind of peace that speaks volumes without saying a word. There’s no need for conversation, no pressure to fill the air with sound. The moment stretches between you like a soft, invisible thread, binding you together without effort.

"Did you see the newspaper a few months back?" Law's voice carries an undercurrent of caution, and from the way he hesitates, you can tell he’s debating whether to bring it up. You hum, your eyes flickering briefly between his.

"The crew asked a lot of questions, but I never let it slip," You say, but there’s a tension in your words.

The need to be careful has grown more important as time passes, as the world becomes more dangerous, like a delicate dance you’ve learned to navigate without drawing too much attention. Still, the questions, the rumours, the assumptions—they're starting to take their toll.

“It shouldn't be like this,” Law murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes close briefly, as though he’s trying to block out a reality he can’t change. "But is there any other choice?"

You can hear the desperation in his words, the quiet plea for an answer that seems impossible to answer. This hidden side of you that's tucked away from prying eyes and curious minds has become both a refuge and a cage, something you never wanted it to be.

"No," You answer softly, your voice steady even as your heart tightens in your chest. "There’s no other choice."

You don't need to say more—he knows. Both of you know.

"But I’m going to tell my crew," Your voice cracks the silence, and the statement hangs in the air between you. "They're onto me."

Law exhales, and you can see the conflict in his eyes. The fear of consequences and the possibility of everything unravelling if the wrong person knows eats away at you, and from the way Law's eyes plead, you know it hurts him too.

"Of course you can," He mumbles, his voice low. "I would never tell you what you can and can't do."

His words are firm, but they don’t bring the comfort you're hoping for. You both know that telling is easy, but it’s living with the consequences of that decision that’s the hard part. It’s about what you risk losing if it all falls apart.

You lean back to look at him from a different angle, your heart beating a little faster than it should.

"But you’re scared, aren’t you?" You say quietly, knowing the answer before he even opens his mouth. You know him, you don’t need him to say it aloud. 

"Yeah," He admits softly. "I am. Because I can’t lose you. But I know you don’t want to lie to them either."

There's a raw honesty to his voice that he usually keeps under lock and key when there are other people around. But when it's just you, Law is as vulnerable as he allows himself to be, which is much more than he's ever shown to anybody else.

"It’s not about them," You whisper. "Whatever happens, we need to decide what we can live with. Because if the four seas know we're each other's weakness, there goes our cover of ambiguity, and you've always been mysterious."

There’s a flicker in his eyes, a brief spark of something, and for a second, you think maybe he’s going to speak, probably some remark to dismiss the tension or shift the conversation. But instead, Law chokes out a laugh—quick and unexpected.

It is short, but it carries relief, like an exhale after holding in too much. The tension between you lifts, just slightly, in the aftermath of it. You can’t help but smile, even though the gravity of everything is still hanging just beneath the surface. The humour is a welcome distraction, a brief flicker of light in a room that’s been dark for too long.

And you suppose it has. You haven't seen Law in a few months, and every time you do, it's like the floodgates of your heart open all at once—suddenly, there’s no holding back the torrent of everything you’ve kept buried, everything you've tried to push aside. Nights crying yourself to sleep, endless days stuck in bed replaying the memories, dealing with the longing, and suffering through the unsaid words that have accumulated in the silence between your last meeting and this one.

Law moves one hand to rub the back of his neck, his usual aloofness returning, but softened with your attempt at making him laugh.

“I suppose that would make me less... mysterious,” He murmurs, regarding you with that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "No one’s going to take me seriously as a captain if they know this side of me."

Rolling your eyes, you press onto your toes and press your lips against his. You giggle against his mouth when he immediately kisses back, his response urgent, as if he’s been itching for this moment, for permission to bridge the gap between the two of you.

There’s no hesitation in him now, just the raw need that’s been held back, tightly reined in for months on end. His hands find their way to the back of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair, pulling you closer like he never wants to let go.

"They're probably waiting for us," You gasp as Law trails his mouth down your jaw. "Wondering what the hell we're doing."

Law's chuckle is dark as he continues his attack on your neck. "If they can't guess then they're dumber than they look."

Your giggle dies on your lips as Law gently pushes you against the metal wall of the Tang, his leg slipping effortlessly between yours.

"That’s a low bar," You manage through gasps. "Have you seen those guys? They think jumping in the ocean is the epitome of cleanliness."

He laughs against your skin, the sound vibrating through you. "Yeah, okay. But, if your crew don’t know by now, they’re either blind or still trying to figure out if the looks I give you are innocent."

You pull back slightly, glancing at him with mock seriousness. "Innocent? You just bit me on the neck, Law."

He grins, clearly enjoying himself. He ignores your comment, reality creeping back into his mind. "If they don't already know, you tell them, alright? I want you to be happy."

He looks at you like you hung the stars, and there's no other way you would wish him to look at you. You nod and kiss his cheek. "We're not that subtle, though, are we?"

Law furrows his eyebrows and recalls a time from your past, the memory making him smile prematurely. "Like the time you tried to sneak past Bepo and Penguin and knocked over an entire shelf of medical supplies?"

You wince and then laugh. "Well, they didn’t hear that, did they?"

Law tilts his head, his lips curling into that devilish grin. “I think they'd be more concerned if we weren’t doing this. I mean, what else would explain us sneaking away like this?”

You snort, trying to hold back the laugh threatening to escape. "Probably think we're plotting to steal the Sunny's meat stash. Honestly, I'd be more worried about that."

“Hey," Law's voice drops to a mockingly serious tone. "Strawhat would argue that meat is the only thing worth risking a mutiny for."

You burst into laughter, shaking your head. "Guess they really are dumber than they look if they don’t figure out what we’re up to."

"Exactly," Law says with a wink, pulling you back into him, his lips finding your neck again. "Now, stop talking, and let’s just enjoy the mystery.”

—

When you emerge from the Polar Tang, the noise hits you first—the unmistakable sounds of raucous laughter and clinking sake cups over the familiar lull of the ocean. The air is thick with the smell of grilled fish and meat, and the warm, comforting aroma of rice wine.

The moment you step onto the deck, you're greeted by the sight of Franky and Zoro having a challenge to see who can drink the most sake without passing out. Usopp’s telling a wild, drunken story that no one can fully believe (and everyone’s too tipsy to really care if it's true or not, it's funny as hell). Nami’s chatting animatedly with Robin, Ikkaku, and a few women from the Kid Pirates, all of them clearly amused by the antics happening around them. Sanji’s serving food, and from the looks of it, he’s already had a few cups of sake himself—he’s not even trying to hide the gleam in his eyes when he sees you.

Law is as calm as ever, his cold demeanour never faltering as you step into the crowded area, though you catch a flicker of amusement in his gaze. It’s as if the two of you are invisible in plain sight. You exchange a glance—silent communication, the kind that only the two of you can manage—and it’s clear: they don't seem to suspect the rumour to be true.

Zoro waves a half-empty bottle of sake at you as you step towards the group of girls, his grin slightly lopsided. "Hey, hey, you're back! What’s the deal? You two off somewhere plotting how to take the all the sake?"

Nami looks over, catching the tail end of Zoro's question, and you can practically feel the shift in the air as her eyes flicker between you and Law. Her eyebrow arches, the wheels in her head turning. She throws you an exaggerated eye roll, but there's something different in the way she does it now—a knowing, almost playful glint in her eyes.

"Ugh, you guys are too much," She says with a knowing smile playing at the corner of her lips. "That rumour doesn't seem so far-fetched now, does it?"

Seems your crew is a lot sharper than you wished they were.

“Wait, what?” Zoro squints at the two of you as though trying to piece it together. “Are you saying these two really have something goin' on? Thought it was just a dumb rumour..."

Nami’s grin only widens, her arms crossing as she watches you squirm under the weight of her gaze. “Oh, Zoro, you really haven’t figured it out yet? Please, it’s obvious. All the sneaking off when we meet with the Heart Pirates, the looks they give each other when they think no one’s paying attention, her constant sulking when we part from them—come on, you’re not that dense.”

You freeze as Nami starts listing off what seems to be a mental list. Had you really been that naive to think she wouldn't know? Your eyebrows triangulate as you try to catch her gaze, your eyes full of regret. Nami smiles softly when she sees the look and waves her hand. You know she'd never use this against you, but you can see the flicker of hurt in her amber eyes.

Maybe you underestimated your crew's observation skills, or maybe you deemed yourself unworthy of being the centre of attention. Whatever it is, it's making you uneasy.

On the other side of the deck, the volume of chatter softens. The Kid Pirates may not have been paying much attention to the earlier drama, but now they’re looking at you, and every single one of them has just become aware of the situation. Especially Kid, who raises an eyebrow in your direction, leaning forward slightly.

Your heart skips a beat when you realise they have also figured it out, and then the whole keeping it between your two crews turns into the Kid Pirates knowing too. Panic rises in your chest when you register the severity of the situation—if they know, then how easy is it for strangers to do the same?

"Wait, you two...?” Kid starts, his voice rough and a little too loud. His gaze flickers between you and Law, then back at his crew, who are clearly picking up on the vibe. "Huh. That’s not a surprise, but I guess it explains the newspaper thing."

Killer’s grin widens, a knowing glint in his eyes. "So the rumour was true?"

But Law, ever the picture of composure, only tilts his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"It’s really not that interesting," He says dryly, arms folding across his chest.

Kid is unimpressed with Law's deflection, his eyes flicking back to the rest of the crews, who are now too interested in the drama to look anywhere else. "Guess that rumour was right, after all. Kinda figured you two had something going on, especially after that time you both disappeared on Sabaody while the fight was going on."

You stare at Kid, trying not to let your face betray how uncomfortable the situation has become. "That had nothing to do with this."

The laughter, the teasing, the questions—everything starts to blur together, an overwhelming rush of voices and jabs that twist around in your head, all at once. Your heart hammers in your chest as you struggle to keep up with the rapid-fire chatter.

"That long?" A shocked cry comes from the other side of the deck. Sanji's dramatic approach is unmistakable, his wide eyes filled with genuine concern as he rushes over, his steps quick but careful, like he's about to witness something catastrophic. “You two... really?”

You inhale sharply, trying to steady yourself, but your breath feels shallow, trapped in your throat. The reality of the situation hits you all at once. The entire crew—your family—along with your second family, and the Kid Pirates are staring at you, waiting for some reaction, some explanation.

"Enough."

Law’s voice cuts through the haze, louder than anything you’ve heard in the past few minutes, sharp and commanding enough to grab your attention. It’s like the snap of a whip, but it doesn’t feel threatening—just firm, steady, the sound of someone who’s done with the chaos and isn’t going to let it continue.

The silence is immediate.

"We were going to tell you soon," You say, voice quiet. “But I just don't want to whole world to know, you know, considering the positions of everyone here.”

"Wait," Usopp says, finally grasping the situation. "Are you telling me the rumour has been true this whole time? You’re… you’re really together? And we didn’t notice?!"

“What?” Luffy blurts out, voice high and incredulous. "You two? Together?" He tilts his head, processing the words at lightning speed, then grins ear-to-ear as if he’s just solved the greatest mystery in pirate history. “That’s awesome! I knew it! I knew you two were up to something! You’ve been acting all sneaky, like when I steal food and nobody sees me! I can tell, you know?!”

Nami opens her mouth to scold Luffy but is cut off by Robin. 

"Interesting," She says, but there's no judgment in her tone—just an almost quiet understanding. “I must admit, I’m curious as to how long this has been going on. You both hide it so well.”

Her gaze lingers on you and then shifts to Law. The curiosity in her voice is gentle, like a conversation you might have over a quiet cup of tea. She’s not pressing for answers; she’s just acknowledging the truth without making a big deal out of it. There’s no teasing, no grand statement, just that calm acceptance that feels like an anchor in the middle of the storm that’s just hit the Sunny.

“Few years,” Comes your vague answer, but it satisfies Robin nonetheless. 

“I’m glad you both are happy," the archaeologist says simply, and there’s a softness in her eyes that makes you feel like she truly means it. Your honorary big sister approves of your relationship, and it makes tears prick the corners of your eyes. “Don’t worry about the others too much. They’ll adjust. Just take your time.”

“Adjust, my ass,” Zoro quips, crossing his arms with a sigh, his voice dripping with sarcastic amusement. “So you two were just playing it cool while the rest of us looked like idiots? And you still managed to dodge all my questions? Impressive—"

A loud, exaggerated "yohohoho!" from the back of the crowd echoes across the grass, interrupting Zoro. You glance at Brook, who had been standing somewhat aloof in the corner, a wide grin plastered across his skeletal face. His arms are thrown dramatically into the air like he’s just witnessed the most epic romance of the century.

“Well, well, well, it seems that true love has bloomed!” He says, his voice full of glee and a touch of theatrical flair. “I can see it now!” Brook continues, hands raised to the sky. “'The Pirate King’s Crew: A Hidden Love Unveiled!' A ballad of passion! A symphony of suspense!” He pauses dramatically, looking back at you and Law with a gleam in his eye. “You two should definitely star in it... or, perhaps, just provide the inspiration. Yohohoho!"

“I’m glad someone’s enjoying this,” You say with an uninhibited giggle.

Law shakes his head, though he’s clearly amused by the skeleton’s antics. "If he writes a song about us, I'm throwing him off the ship."

“Oh, don’t worry, captain!” Brook says brightly. “I’ll make sure the song is perfectly respectful! There will be no disrespectful verses in this one! It’ll be a tale of true love!”

Nami facepalms and ignores the musician. “I told you guys they were too subtle. You seriously think you can get away with anything with me around?” Her eyes flick to Law. "But I’m guessing you didn’t exactly want to make this public right now. And with Kid's crew around, I can see why."

“Hey!—”

“It wasn’t about hiding it forever,” Law cuts in, his voice steady and calm. “We just didn’t want to deal with the... complications. Not with everyone constantly looking over our shoulders.”

“So I assume Law’s crew has known for a lot longer than we have?” Robin says. “Considering you’ve known them since childhood?”

"I'm sorry." Your nod is sheepish, though there’s no anger, only mild surprise from your crew.

“We didn’t mean to keep it from you guys…” Bepo calls from his spot on the bow with Shachi and Penguin. “It was just... well, her and Law’s business, you know?”

“We’d rather keep this under wraps,” Law announces, his glare pointed at Kid. “So don’t go running your mouth, got it?”

Kid throws his arms up in defence, a smug chuckle leaving his lips. “Don’t care that much anyway, Trafalgar. No need to get your panties in a twist.”

“Got it!” Luffy laughs, shoving a hunk of meat into his mouth. You trust your captain with your life, so his easy answer is enough for you.

Law tuts and turns to you. He looks slightly pale at the realisation that people know, but the relief in his posture is evident. 

There’s an air of collective understanding in the air as the chatter starts up again. Usopp is back telling his stories to the women, and Zoro throws another empty sake bottle at Franky’s feet before the cyborg can finish his drink.  

You wish to explain your side to Nami, but she looks content sipping on her cocktail and conversing with the Kid Pirates. You'd tell her all about it when this meeting is over and you have a clearer head.

“Well, now that that’s settled,” You say, turning to Law with a smirk. “How about we finally get some rest?”

“And give them more ammunition?” Law asks, the corners of his lips curling into a smile.

You sigh, glancing back at your crew. “Not like we’ll escape it ever again…”

And as you look around at your family, both the Straw Hats and the Heart Pirates, as well as the Kid Pirates, who are revelling in the gossip, you can’t help but feel a warm sense of relief. It’s out there now. No more secrets, no more hiding.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[cherrysolo]

this one is going to be on the angstier, sadder side but Lu's gf goes through a miscarriage. they really wanted this baby, they even found out it was going to be a boy, gave him a name but soon after she started bleeding. she's inconsolable, lu is trying his best to be strong for her but after awhile he breaks down too and lets himself cry for his gf's pain and for the son he'll never get to meet

warnings: angst, miscarriage, blood

oh, anon :( this request is so heartbreaking but it’s reality. as someone who hopefully wants to be a mother one day, this is a very sensitive topic but!!! I’m happy to share my thoughts.

lu and his gf had been together for a few years and wanted to take their relationship to the next level. you guys decided to start a family, you both wanted a couple of kids together. breeding kink iykyk… after months of trying, and many doctors appointments, the test in front of you turned positive. you guys were having a baby. you and lu had never been happier, this pregnancy had brought you two even closer. he was always showing you articles about the importance of the mother's and baby’s health, even starting to book baby classes to take you to!!!

a short three months of pregnancy had come to an end. one morning you had woken up to cramping and went to the bathroom. when you pulled down your pants there was a stream of blood. the sight causes your whole body to tense, you can’t breathe, and your eyes begin to well with tears. you choke out sobs, placing your hand on your mouth to conceal the noise, not wanting to wake up lu. your mind was racing, how were you going to tell him? he was so excited to finally meet your guys, baby, he basically told you every day. you were going to miss the feeling of his hand placed on your bump, would you guys ever get this chance again?

getting back into bed, you don’t even know what to say to lu. your face is flushed and your eyes are bloodshot from crying. he turns over and slowly opens his eyes to study your face, his face turns shocked to see the tears fresh from your face.

“oh baby, what’s wrong? did something happen?” he practically leaps into you, holding you in his arms. you break down into hysterics, babbling what had just occurred. you apologize even for what happened,

“amore mio no, this is not your fault. this is natural, it could just be hormonal imbalances,” he says to try and comfort you. you know he’s hurting too, the tears welling in his eyes. you feel like something had just been ripped away from you, it wasn’t fair. it broke your heart even more to see how lu was trying to stay strong to comfort you, but he was hurting aswell.

a couple of hours after breaking the horrible news, lu broke down too. his sobs were inconsolable, he held on working through the shock as well, and he held onto you so tight. you placed kisses across his forehead and whispered assuring murmurs in his ear. you knew that at the moment that you two needed to be together more than ever, you would work through this together.

[aphroditelovesu]

Hiya! Hope ya don’t mind me dropping in on your inbox, I’m craving some angst currently so I was hoping you could write Yandere Finnick Odair with a darling that’s pregnant with his child and what goes on through his mind during the 74th hunger games. I wonder how it would affect how the games would go since I feel since he would be a yandere and darling is pregnant that he would prioritize her over everyone else

(author did him dirty when they killed him and he never knew she was pregnant😭😭)

❝ 🏹 — lady l: I focused more on what he feels and since it's been a while since I've done this, I hope it turned out okay. I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! Also, he's more of a soft yandere for his darling 💚 he's hate is for the others! :)

❝tw: angst, slight canon divergence, mention of pregnancy (but it doesn't really show).

❝🏹pairing: soft yandere!finnick odair x female!reader.

❝word count: 1,128.

When you announced your pregnancy, Finnick felt for the first time what it meant to be completely overcome by the purest happiness. Well, maybe it was the second time, because he had already felt something like that the moment he met you. In that moment, when your eyes met for the first time, he knew that his life would never be the same again. But the true explosion of happiness came when you accepted being his, when you made it clear that you shared the same deep and unshakable love that he felt for you.

For Finnick, you were more than the woman he loved; you were the center of his universe, the reason why he could endure the horrors that the world had imposed on him. And now, with the news of the arrival of a baby, everything seemed to finally make sense. That little being growing inside you was living proof of the love between the two of you, a piece of both of you, inseparable and eternal. For him, the baby was not just a symbol, but the confirmation that you were completely his — and he, yours, in every possible way.

Finnick knew, at that moment, that he would protect you both with everything he had. You were his reason for living, his happiness, and nothing in the world could change that.

But then, the Hunger Games ripped him away from you, like a storm that destroys everything that is precious. He was separated from his growing family, forced to leave behind the dream of a peaceful future by your side and the hope of being present at every moment of the baby's arrival. The cruel and relentless duty imposed by the Capitol took him away from everything he loved most, and the weight of this separation was almost unbearable.

Finnick knew that every second away from you and the baby was a second stolen from a happiness he might never be able to recover. He left with a broken heart, taking with him the image of your smile and the promise that he would do whatever it took to return to you. Even if the Games were relentless, even if the Capitol tried to destroy him in every way, he would fight with all his strength to survive and return to the family that was waiting for him.

In the arena, every step, every strike, every strategy was not just for survival. It was for you. It was for the baby. It was for the promise of a future that he refused to give up. The only way he'll give up on you, on your child, is if he dies.

But Finnick couldn't focus on what he was supposed to do. How could he? You were on his mind all the time. No matter how hard he tried to focus on the arena, his mind always kept returning to you and the baby. His heart felt torn between two worlds: the brutal chaos of the Games and the home he dreamed of building with you. His soul, his very essence, was with you. He felt like he was living a nightmare, unable to protect the two people he loved most.

He desperately needed to make sure nothing bad would come to you. The thought that the Capitol might use you or the baby against him tormented him at every moment. But in this situation, he was powerless. Trapped in the arena, surrounded by enemies and manipulated by forces much greater than himself, Finnick felt useless. He, who had always been strong, fast, skilled, was now completely at the mercy of fate — and it was destroying him inside.

He remembered the moment he swore to protect you for the rest of his life, the silent words that carried the promise that nothing would ever harm you as long as he was by your side. And now, here he was, unable to fulfill that oath. The weight of that helplessness crushed his spirit, but at the same time, it fueled a fire inside him. Even though the odds were slim, he knew he had to survive. Not for himself, but for you. For you and the baby. He would fight, even if he was broken, because giving up would never be an option.

And he was broken without you.

Anguish gnawed at Finnick like a cold, relentless blade. Every second in the arena felt like an eternity, every heavy breath a cruel reminder of his distance from you. He saw himself surrounded by enemies, but none of them were as threatening as the thoughts that haunted him. What if something happened to you? What if the Capitol decided to hurt you as a form of punishment? What if he could never again hold your hand, hear your voice, or meet the baby that was part of him, part of both of you?

These questions consumed him, making it impossible to focus on anything but his fear and guilt. Finnick had always been a survivor, a fighter, but now he felt weak, broken in a way that even the original Games had failed to do. He was a man divided, struggling to maintain the appearance of strength while inside, everything was falling apart.

He relived the moments with you over and over in his mind, as if he could cling to them to keep from succumbing. The first time you smiled at him, the feel of your fingers intertwined with his, the night you told him about the baby. He remembered the sparkle in your eyes, the hope you shared in that moment. And now? Everything seemed so distant, so fragile.

He hated himself for being here, for not being by your side, where he should be. Finnick had always believed that his strength lay in protecting those he loved, but now he felt helpless, unable to fulfill the most important promise of his life. The guilt was suffocating, a weight that made him question his own usefulness. How could he be the man you needed, the father the baby deserved, if he couldn’t even be there?

Yet, amidst the despair, there was a spark of determination. He knew he couldn’t give up, no matter how much he was hurting. He had to survive, he had to get back to you and the baby. Because even if everything seemed lost, the love he felt for you both was the only thing keeping him going. And he would hold on to that with all the strength he had left.

And he would get back to you, to your baby. The only way he would give up was if he died, and Finnick was determined to survive, no matter what.

You, your baby, were worth any cost.

[lovelycreativecrafts]

Flirting | Gojo x Black Female Reader

Word Count: 1,020

Synopsis: Gojo flirts with a woman who has a resting-mean face.

Warnings: None

Author Notes: I had this scenario in my head for a while. I feel like it could have been written better but I still wanted to post it. I'm still learning about Gojo's character. If you liked the short fanfic, please Like, Reblog, and Comment your thoughts.

Gojo POV

I walked out of the building as my 3 students followed behind me. 

“Where are we going, sensei?” Itadori asked. 

I looked over my shoulder, “A place where you all will be doing some training. It shouldn’t be too hard since you all have gotten stronger.” I looked back in front of me. 

“Why do I feel like it’s going to be very hard.” Nobara mumbled. 

Once we made it to the track, there was a group of people already there. Students ran across the track while a familiar woman stood on the side with her arms crossed. 

“Is that the new sensei?” Itadori asked. 

“Yeah,” Megumi answered.

Nobara expressed, ”You do not want to get on her bad side. One time I was chewing gum in class and the way she looked at me was so scary I thought she would rip the gum straight out of my mouth.” 

I held back a chuckle as I listened to Nobara’s opinion. People often mistaken her words and actions just because of how her face naturally rested in a mean expression. Before, I once thought she always had a bad attitude or was angry at the world but after being teamed up with her a few times I grew to understand that was just her natural face. 

“Really?” 

Megumi added, “I would have to agree with Nobara. I mistakenly fell asleep in her class the other day and she had me stay after class. She told me to make sure I get enough sleep at night so I don’t miss anything in her class but her expression basically said the next time I fall asleep in her class, I will never wake up again.” 

“Woah, she really does sound scary. Then I’m glad our teacher is Gojo then,” Itadori said.

I turned toward my students and they all nodded in unison. 

I pointed toward myself, “Hm? Do you not think I’m scary?” 

“No.” All three of my students said at the same time. 

“But I’m the most powerful one here?” 

“That doesn’t mean you’re the scariest,” Megumi said. 

“She’s actually not that scary. Once you get to know her. Just watch.” I turned away from my students and began making my way closer to the track. 

Reader POV

I watched my students run across the track. After evaluating them a few times, I noticed that their stamina wasn’t all that great despite their amazing abilities. I told them there goal was to finish 5 laps and to take breaks if needed but ever since they started they haven’t taken one break. In fact, they ran full speed the whole time. 

As much as I appreciate their dedication, I’m going to have to stop them soon. One of them already looks like they're about to pass out. 

Something brushed past my ear, “Hello Beautiful,” a male voice whispered. 

I quickly covered my ear and jumped away from the voice. My heart raced as I turned and recognized the familiar white-haired man. 

Gojo chuckled, “I thought you would have gotten used to that by now.” 

I blinked at him, “And I thought I told you to stop doing that.” 

A smirk spread on his lips, “And why would I do that?” 

I sighed and removed my hand from my ear. Of course, it was Gojo. He’s the only one that would tease me.

I looked up at Gojo, “Why do you keep calling me that? You really shouldn’t say things you don’t mean.” 

Gojo leaned toward me, “You think I’m lying?” 

I narrowed my eyes at him, “What else would you be doing?” 

“Wow, you really should improve your confidence. I’m not really one for lying, you know.” 

“What do you mean by that?” 

“Let me put it bluntly, I think you’re very pretty. Not as pretty as me of course but still pretty.” 

My cheeks warmed and I looked away from him. There he goes again. 

Gojo let out a chuckle, “You’re so cute when you blush.” 

My cheeks grew hotter as I continued to not meet his eyes, “And how would you know if I’m blushing? It’s not like you can see it with my skin tone.” 

Gojo lightly grabbed my chin and turned my head toward him, “Well for one, every time you do blush, you always turn away from me.” 

My heartbeat quickened as he leaned closer to me, “Two, your pupils in your eyes tend to expand just slightly, and three . . .”

He paused and I waited for him to answer. How long has he been observing me like this? 

“I think I will keep the last one to myself.” 

“So, you’re able to see all of that with your blindfold on? That’s hard to believe.” 

Gojo removed his fingers from my chin but kept the closeness between us, “I’m able to do a lot of things with this blindfold on and it’s no exception to seeing right through you. Honestly, you’re like an open book to me.” 

Gojo leaned away from me and a smile spread across his face, “You didn’t have to mention my blindfold just so you could see my face, you know.” 

“What? That’s not why I-,” 

“Honestly, you could have just asked and I would have gladly given you a quick glance.” Gojo placed one of his fingers under his blindfold. 

I quickly looked away from him as the blush on my cheeks spread to the rest of my face, “That-That’s not why I-I mentioned your bl-blindfold.” Why am I stuttering?

“Tell you what, I’ll let you see my beautiful face if you let me take you out on a date.” 

“What?” My eyes widened as I looked back at him. He’s doing it again.

 “Shouldn’t you ask someone that you actually like?” 

“How dense can you be? I do like you and not just because you’re pretty. Oh and by the way, I think one of your students just passed out.” Gojo pointed toward the track. 

I turned toward the track and saw one of them lying flat on the ground. I quickly ran toward my student. I thought I told them to take breaks. 

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 26: Do You Love Me

Summary: As Lucy continues to pull further away, Tommy tries to bridge the growing schism between them.

Word Count: 6,398

Warnings: Angst, insecurity, suicidal thoughts, chronic pain, sexual harassment, and references to infidelity and sexual content.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 11: Kiss Me Where I Break

Tommy was beginning to worry that he might have broken her.

She said next to nothing the entire train ride from Birmingham to London, all his attempts at initiating conversation met with one word answers or just quiet hums in acknowledgement while she stared out the window. Eventually, he just gave up and decided to leave her alone.  

The past few days had been utterly hellish. He kept forgetting that Lucy wasn’t at the house anymore. He’d be in the throes of work, and call out for her, only to realize a second later that no one was coming. She wasn’t a simple holler away anymore.

He missed her almost more than he could bear. He had gotten so used to her always being there. Right by his side. To help him, to talk to him. To just…be there when he needed her. It was like someone had amputated one of his limbs.

But being around her during the workday did little to soothe the ache of her absence. Both because of the guilt that chewed away at him at every glance into her sad eyes, but also because something had undeniably changed between them. There was a schism between them now, ever since he had told her about Lizzie’s deal. Lucy was more distant, more subdued. Like the bright spark that she always carried with her had been suddenly snuffed out. He missed her, even when she was standing right in front of him. 

He wanted his Lucy back. 

For a while, he had thought that perhaps she was immune to him and the darkness that he carried. And yet in the end he had sapped out her light; broken her like he did everyone else close to him. 

He rolled his unlit cigarette between his fingers as he strode down the hallways of Westminster. Frustration crackled beneath his skin. His meeting earlier that day with Aberama had gone well. Aberama had agreed to postpone his planned killing of McCavern. And he was planning to propose to Polly. But despite the recent string of accomplishments, Tommy felt no joy or relief. If anything, he felt even worse.    

He couldn’t help the prickle of jealousy he felt towards Polly and Aberama. How fucking lucky they were, to actually be marrying someone that they truly loved. 

He eyed the golden band on his left hand disdainfully. It felt more like a shackle than a wedding ring.

Pushing open the door to his office, he chanced a glance at where Lucy was sitting, bent over a few documents with her fists pressed to her temples, elbows on the desk in front of her. Her lips were tilted downwards. Next to her, the fresh bouquet of sunflowers he’d sent was perched on the edge of her desk. He opened his mouth, considering asking her if she wanted to go out to dinner, then closed it. Why bother? He already knew that she was going to say no. 

Still, worry festered at the edges of his already frayed mind, longing to fix what he had so stupidly broken. He needed her. Everything was ten times harder without her there to lighten the load. He hadn’t even fully realized just how much he’d come to rely on her emotional support until it had been ripped away.  

He didn’t know what to do to make any of this better. They had never had problems before. Sure, they’d had their squabbles and arguments from time to time, but they never lasted long. When it came to Lucy, this was entirely new territory for him.     

Wandering into his own office, he tossed the folder of papers he was holding down, reaching for the decanter usually filled with whiskey only to find it empty. Scowling, suddenly deeply irritable, he opened a drawer and snatched the large bottle inside, taking a slow swig. A soft sigh left his lips, eyes briefly slipping closed as the cool liquid slid down his throat.

With the meetings with McCavern, Chang, and Aberama, he had barely had time to stop to catch his breath.

Without even so much as a knock, the door to his office opened, and, of all people, Mosley came slithering in. Tommy quickly stashed the bottle back into the drawer and wiped at his mouth, turning to face him. Those dark eyes of Mosley’s narrowed, voice doing little more than to set Tommy’s teeth on edge as he discussed the invitation Tommy had extended to him to the ballet performance at Arrow House for Lizzie’s birthday. As the conversation continued, Tommy moved to sit in his chair behind his desk, suddenly eager to have some sort of barrier between them. 

Mosley eyed him up like an animal waiting to pounce when he started speaking of his past acquaintance with Lizzie. No doubt hoping for some sort of reaction from his words. Tommy kept his hands laced tightly in his lap, hoping that the other man didn’t see the way his fingers tightened against each other.  

“Well, if you recognize her, maybe you can talk about old times, eh?”

“Maybe, if we have met before, your wife and I could even renew our acquaintance. I am invited to stay the night, yes?”

It was becoming increasingly hard for him to remember why he continued to tolerate Mosley’s presence. With each passing moment the temptation was growing stronger to grab the gun in his drawer or use the blades in his cap to slice the man to pieces. Or to perhaps call Lucy in and have her deal with the fascist piece of shit. That could be fun.

Speaking of Lucy, perhaps now would be a good time to let Mosley know about the research he’d asked her to do on the MP.

“I too have done some research, Sir Oswald,” he allowed his eyes to narrow a fraction. “Yeah. I researched your wife. And your wife’s younger sister. And your wife’s stepmother, Lady Curzon. All of whom you are fucking. If such things were to take place on a narrowboat, the church would get involved.”

“But…” Mosley’s voice was but a whisper, “it’s not happening on a narrowboat.”

“No. It’s taking place in your apartment, in your country house, sometimes even in your office here in the House of Commons.” He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “So no secrets. And yes. Yes, you are invited to stay the night with whichever member of your family finds favor. Now, if you don’t mind, I was about to leave. I need to lock up my office.”

Mosley looked at him for a long moment, smoking casually. “Funny,” he said finally, “how disapprovingly you speak of my liaisons. Considering that lovely redhead that you always keep so close to you. Pretty thing. A bit plain, for my taste, to tell you the truth, but still. Lovely.” Tommy’s stomach churned. “Tragic past too, poor thing. She’s been working for you for many years now, hasn’t she?” Mosley cocked his head. “And I hear that she has quite the array of talents. Tell me, was it her that you had do your research on me?” He didn't wait for a response. “Wonderous job, if it was. Very few people know about my particular relationship with the Lady Curzon. Perhaps I should borrow her, at some point. I’m sure that she could be of the utmost use to me.” 

Tommy felt like he was going to throw up. Mosley took another long, slow drag from his cigarette, eyes not once leaving Tommy’s.

“Actually, I will come alone,” he said, finally, in response to Tommy’s invitation. “In society, you are judged by your hospitality. I will expect adventure.” He leaned across Tommy’s desk to put his cigarette out in the ashtray. Tommy was certain that if he had to hear that man lecture him one more time about the ‘rules of society,’ he was going to scream. Mosley straightened. “Such rogues we are, aren’t we? Sing like songbirds in the House. And then afterwards, relieve ourselves in the bodies of whomever we choose. Two men for whom forbidding is forbidden,” he raised the little paper that was his invitation, “should be quite the party.”

Tommy managed a smile that was more of a grimace, and Mosley finally, finally slunk his way out of the office. He pressed a hand to his face once the door closed, mind whirling. The idea of letting Mosley near Lucy or Lizzie made his skin crawl and stomach heave. And yet he was going to do it. To let the man waltz right into his home on an invitation. His hand trembled. Neither of them deserved him. Lucy’s sad eyes and Lizzie’s resentful gaze danced in his mind. He should have left them both alone. They would be better off now, if he had. Rather than latching onto them and dragging them down with him into the depths of hell. He’d only wanted to help them, and yet all he had accomplished was ruining their lives. And that wasn’t even counting this current mess he had made. A mess that he had no idea how to fix without hurting at least one of them.              

His eyes flickered down to the topmost right drawer of his desk, hand pulling it open almost of its own accord. The gun sat atop the papers stacked inside. Tommy let his hand fall from the handle, eyes still fixed on the gun. He leaned forward with an exhale against his desk, head bowed and eyes squeezed shut. There was a breath echoing in his mind. Slow and steady with its inhales and exhales. He rested both hands on the back of his head, rubbing at the skin in an attempt to quell the swirl of self hatred that he was drowning in. The room was suddenly very dark and cold.

“You have to listen to the voices that you hear.”

His head snapped upwards, eyes wide open. No.

“Do what they tell you to do.”

The breaths were continuing. Her breaths. Her last breath as she died in his arms. Yet another one of the women in his life that he failed despite the amount in which he cared for her.

“You don’t even have to rub the lamp anymore to summon the genie,” Grace continued to speak from where she was standing in the corner. A shiver ran down Tommy’s spine. Grace raised a hand, and dangling from her fingers on a chain was the massive blue sapphire, the one he had locked around her throat. His greed having sealed her fate. “It wasn’t the blue stone, Tommy. It was you,” she pressed the necklace to her chest. He could hear her heartbeats now, a rapid thumping in his head. The drip of blood running from her chest to the floor. Tommy’s hand tightened into a fist. He couldn’t look at her. At those accusatory eyes. “It was you.”

There was a soft knock on the door. “Tommy?” Lucy’s voice called.

The breaths and heartbeats faded away. Grace vanished from sight. Tommy leaned backwards, squeezing his eyes shut tight and exhaling. “Just a minute, Luce,” he choked out. He forced deep breaths to pass through his lips, pushing the panic attack down with each one. Eyes finally opening, he pushed the open drawer with the gun in it closed, sitting up and straightening himself out. “Yeah?”

The door cracked open and Lucy poked her head in, a folder tucked under her arm. She stepped into the room, walking to his desk and holding the folder out to him. “I need you to sign these.”

He took the folder from her, scribbling his signature on the dotted line of the documents inside. Lucy passed a hand over her hair. 

“I sent Adam home. What did Mosley want?”

“To talk about ballet.”

She snorted. “He’s really coming then?”

“Yep,” he handed her back the folder.

“Goody for us,” her voice dripped with sarcasm. Tommy grunted in response. Lucy tucked the folder back under her arm. Her brown eyes swept over him, carefully. “Are you alright?”

Tommy rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah. Just been a long day.”

She didn’t look like she believed him, but nodded, heading back towards the door. “I’ll go get these filed.”

He watched her disappear out the door. “Thank you.” 

He remained reclined back in his chair for a few more minutes, until his breathing had fully evened out and he felt a little less like if someone touched him he might collapse. He glanced back towards the door that led to Lucy and Adam’s office area. When this business was done and the mess between them straightened out, he needed to do something nice for her. He tried to think back to the last time they had done something, just the two of them, that didn’t have anything to do with work in the past several weeks. His brow furrowed at the conclusion that he couldn’t think of anything outside of stolen kisses and touches in dark corners or in her room at Arrow House. Tommy frowned, lips pursing together, another wave of guilt slicing through his being at the way he had been unintentionally neglecting his lover. He realized, with a shuddering of utter horror, that he could not remember the last time he had even simply held her.     

Shaking his head, Tommy reached into his pocket to check the time on his watch. It was getting late. He stood from his chair, locking up the drawers in his desk that housed sensitive documents, stuffing a few files into his briefcase, and heading out the door, locking that too behind him. Lucy was sitting at her desk, riffling through some papers. He gently touched her shoulder.           

“It’s getting late,” he said softly. “We should lock up.”

She looked up at him, nodding wordlessly and beginning to stack the papers she had been working on, slipping them into a folder and locking them away in the filing cabinet kept in the corner. Tommy watched her cautiously. He reached out a hand to wrap around her wrist, brow furrowing at how cold her skin felt. 

“We could go to the apartment tonight,” he offered. He knew it wasn’t much. Certainly not enough considering what he was putting her through. But it was the best he could think to offer at the moment. 

Lucy looked down at the floor for a moment, and when she looked up at him those dark brown eyes were shiny. 

“Lizzie’s bringing Charlie and Ruby up to visit the office tomorrow,” she reminded him gently. Tommy blinked. He had forgotten. He’d promised to show them around Westminster and then take them all out to lunch.

“So?” he asked, fingers remaining wrapped around her wrist. Lucy gave him a look.

“I’m assuming that you’d like to be able to hold your daughter’s hand while you show her around?” 

Alright, he definitely deserved that one. 

“And you have an appointment this evening with Dr. Brooke.”

“I remember,” he sighed, letting go of her wrist and shoving his hands deep into his pockets, eyes glancing out the window while he frowned. “It’ll be too late after I'm done to go back to Birmingham.”

“I was thinking that while you’re at your appointment I’d follow up on some research on Mosley’s associates,” Lucy added. “And I need to pick up Lizzie’s birthday presents.”  

“And what did I get her this year?”

“A diamond necklace she’s been eyeing in the magazines. Part of the same collection as those earrings you got her in Paris that she likes so much.” 

He touched her face lightly. “Whatever would I do without you?”  

Her lips twitched upwards into a small smile, though her eyes still looked sad. Tommy let his thumb stroke over her bottom lip. He just wanted to see her smile again. A real smile. The kind that she would often shoot at him from across the room at family meetings or during the workday. Mischievous and bright and warm enough to thaw even his ice cold heart.

“Alright, I’ll go to my appointment and run some errands in town. You go pick up the gifts, do your work. We’ll meet back at the apartment.” At her raised eyebrow he held up his hands. “We just won’t fuck. I promise that I won’t try to maul you.”

That earned him a small, amused snort. “You think Lizzie will believe that?”

He sighed deeply. “Let me worry about Lizzie.”

Lucy nodded. “Okay,” she went to grab her coat from its hook. Tommy wetted his lips as he watched her, reaching out again to touch her arm lightly.

“Maybe…maybe after Lizzie and the kids have gone back home…”

“A day on either side, remember?”

“Yes, but we could still plan on the day after…”

“Why does it matter so much?” she asked, voice suddenly sharpening. “It’s not like you’re not still getting any.”

Tommy had to suppress a flinch. “It’s not the same…” he tried to argue softly. Lucy sighed and looked away, fiddling with her rings. He cocked his head, taking a cautious step towards her. “And what about you, eh?”

Her breath came out in a shaky exhale. “I’m fine.”

“You’re clearly not…”

“Can we talk about this later, please?” she looked around the office, shifting uncomfortably. “Not here.”

Tommy wanted to argue, because not speaking of it was driving him mad. But he held his tongue. He was worried that if he pushed her too hard on it, she’d just retreat even further away inside herself. Besides, it would give him the opportunity to keep working on Lizzie and coming up with his own solutions to the problem. Any conversation that they had about it was surely to go better if he came to her with a potential fix already in hand. 

“Okay.”

She gave him a grateful look, shoulders relaxing at the reprieve. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he cocked his head. 

“What time do you think you’ll be back?” 

“Late. Probably around midnight. Maybe one.” That wasn’t uncommon when she was doing her spy work for him. 

“Be careful.”

She smiled another smile that still did not quite meet her eyes. “Always.”

He watched her leave with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, worried frown set like stone onto his face.

∗ ∗ ∗

Lizzie sighed, flopping down onto the couch in one of the large sitting rooms in Arrow House, the children playing in front of her on the rug near the fireplace. She smiled softly as she watched them, appreciating the way Charlie played so gently with his half-sister. Such a sweet kid. She wondered, sometimes, if that was what Tommy was like. Before the war.

Long fingers adjusting on her cigarette, Lizzie’s eyes caught on the chessboard sitting on the table, the little pieces all arranged into their starting positions. A memory of Lucy sitting down unceremoniously in front of her one evening, chessboard clutched in her hands, played within her mind.

“Play with me, Lizzie?” she had asked, widening those big brown eyes at her. Lizzie had shifted uncomfortably, suddenly embarrassed.

“I don’t know how to play,” she admitted. Lucy shrugged.

“That’s alright. I’ll teach you,” she spoke without missing a beat. At Lizzie’s apprehensive look she groaned dramatically. “C’mon Lizzie, please? I’m bored. Tommy’s busy. No one else will play with me,” she had flashed her that teasing, mischievous smile. “I’ll be your best friend.” 

It had been hard not to relent, when Lucy was looking at her so hopefully, eyes dancing and playful. One game turned into several, and soon it had become a sort of tradition between the two of them.

Lizzie frowned at the sharp ache of missing the little redhead that throbbed in her chest. 

Her absence felt like a gaping hole had been ripped open in the middle of the house. Everyone’s moods–even the staffs’--had taken a turn towards melancholy. The children weren’t as joyful when they played. Cyril was depressed and barely eating. Trouble paced the halls while crying, but hissed and scratched at anyone who so much as tried to come near her. The horses in the stables were gloomy.

A chill seemed to have swept over the entire house. Even the fires lit in the hearths at night didn’t seem as warm. Tommy spent most of his time holed up in his office, his mood somehow even darker than it had been before. He yelled at everyone more often. And one evening, when she couldn’t sleep and had wandered down to the library for a book, she was pretty sure that she heard him weeping. 

What the fuck have I done?

Head falling back against the couch, Lizzie breathed out an exhale of smoke tiredly. Her glazed over eyes watched Ruby play with one of her dolls, raising her cigarette to her lips for another drag. 

Ever since Lucy had moved out, she had been considering what she wanted to do. 

When she had put the phone down after calling the solicitor in London, she had made the decision to stay. But not for Tommy. Not really. It had been for the children. For the house. For the luxury and money and status that Tommy had gifted her when he signed their marriage license. All he’d asked for in exchange was that she care for his home and children, and allow him to be with his lover. 

She had made a promise, when she married Tommy. She had swore to him that his relationship with Lucy would be allowed to stand. That she wouldn’t interfere, or make things difficult for them to be together. She had promised the same thing to Lucy.

Poor Lucy, who had only ever tried to be her friend.

Christ, she hadn’t even realized how big of a presence Lucy had in the house, in all their lives–in her life–until she was gone. 

She fucking missed her. Missed the way she always seemed to sense when Lizzie needed a break from the kids and was happy to take them off her hands for a few hours. Missed the way she’d always make her an extra cup of tea whenever she fixed one for herself. And how she would help her during her horse riding lessons when she was able. Or when she would fold over the pages in the catalogs that they got of the things that she thought Lizzie might like. 

She missed how she’d cover her over with a blanket every time that she fell asleep on the couch because she worried about her getting cold. And the way that she urged for Tommy to do things with her on their own every once in a while, be it just them or with the kids, even though Lizzie knew that it hurt her to see them all together like that. 

Yes, they had clashed a lot. Even more so than usual, as of late. But they did have some good times mixed in there. 

She passed a hand over her eyes, swallowing down tears. Tommy had said that he probably wouldn’t be home tonight. She hadn’t been able to muster any disappointment at the news. Only deep relief. He had become unbearable to be around. But in a different way than he had been before. Prior, they had always been fighting. But now, he just seemed so…sad. With Lucy around he was still Tommy, with his closed off expressions and gruff words, but his eyes were a bit softer. And he smiled more, even if they were just subtle little quirking upwards of his lips. 

“Mommy?” Ruby asked, glancing up at Lizzie from where she was seated on the floor. Lizzie looked down at her.

“Yes, my darling?”

“Where’s Lucy?”

Her throat went dry. The children had asked her several times where Lucy was, and she had never been able to give them a straight answer, unable to bring herself to tell them that she likely was never coming back.

“She’s away at work, sweetheart, remember?”

“Is she coming back?”

Lizzie hesitated. “I don’t know, honey.”

Ruby returned her gaze to her doll. “I hope she comes back.”

Lizzie cocked her head. “Why’s that?”

When Ruby looked up at her, her wide dark eyes were filled with wisdom far beyond her age.

“Because Daddy’s happy when she’s here.”

∗ ∗ ∗

“Hey, do me a favor?” he asked Ada. “When that kid of yours arrives, keep it away from me,” he turned before he could really see Ada’s reaction from her place seated on the steps, heading for the door.

“Tommy,” Ada called out. He turned back. She was worrying at her bottom lip nervously, eyes darting about a moment before focusing back up at him. “I heard that Lucy left you.”

“She didn’t…leave me,” Tommy said, hoping that he was successfully able to hide his wince at the word. “She’s just not living at Arrow House anymore.” He narrowed his eyes. “Who told you?”

“Arthur mentioned it.”

He shook his head. Looked down at his feet. Arthur and his big fucking mouth. “You can say it.”

“Say what?”

“Say that you’re surprised that it took me this long to fuck things up with her.”

“That wasn't what I was thinking.”

“Yeah, well, then you’d be the only one,” it came out bitter, the taste unpleasant on his tongue.

“Tommy…” his sister started and then just sighed, shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry.”

“Mm. Good-night, Ada.” 

He walked back to the apartment miserably, opening the door to be greeted with a dark entryway and an equally dimmed sitting room. He pulled off his cap and stuffed it into his pocket, taking off his coat and hanging it up on the hook next to Lucy’s. 

He found her curled up on her side in bed, already asleep. He changed out of his clothes in a daze, sliding into the open space beside her. For a moment he just stared at her. Taking in the soft material of her silk maroon negligee, red hair spread out on the white pillow. 

He wanted very badly to wrap his arms around her. To hold her against his chest like he had almost every other night they had shared a bed. But he didn’t know if she wanted that. Any attempt he had made over the last few days to bridge the growing gap between them had only seemed to succeed in her pushing him even further away. He didn’t know what to do.

He wasn’t sure what it was Lucy really wanted anymore. It had been her idea to leave. Perhaps she had finally realized what he was: a monster that corrupted and ruined everything he’d ever touched. 

∗ ∗ ∗ 

When he woke up, it was to find that Lucy was no longer beside him. 

He reached out, half asleep, only to find her side of the bed cool to the touch. Frowning, he raised his head, blinking open his heavy eyelids and squinting in the dark of the room. No light was sneaking in through the curtains. It was still night outside.  

“Luce?” he mumbled. The ensuite washroom door was open, the light off. No Lucy there. 

Pushing himself up, he felt a frown twist his lips downwards. Did she so badly want to get away from him that she’d gone and slept in the other room?

His eyes finally landed on the sliver of golden light sneaking in through the crack under the door. Head cocking, he climbed out of bed, snatching up one of his white henley’s and pulling it on over his naked torso. The fuck was she doing out in the sitting room in the middle of the night?

He found her sitting on the couch, the lamp on the end table flicked on. For a moment, he didn’t entirely understand what she was doing. Her back was curved forward, both arms bent so that her hands were reaching backwards towards her shoulder blades. As he watched, her hands flexed, scratching and pressing at her skin, as if trying to massage it. A little whimper emitted from her throat. 

Then he understood. 

He should have guessed that this would happen. It had been raining pretty hard when he visited Ada’s, and the cold and wet always seemed to make Lucy’s shoulders act up. Plus he had to figure that the mattress she was sleeping on at Charlie’s wasn’t all that good for her back, either.

He wished she would let him at least get her a suite at the Midland to stay at. Even if just for herself. 

Hurrying around the couch, he sat down beside her, hands reaching for her shoulders to try to help. 

But at the first brush of his palms across her back, she jumped and jerked away. 

“N-no…” Her face whipped around to stare at him, and he was met with distraught, teary dark eyes. The very sight was enough to hurt him to his core. 

“I can help,” he said, half begging. 

She sniffled and wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “I can handle it–”

“I know you can,” he told her gently. “But you don’t have to.” He saw something waver across her face, his hands reaching tentatively out for her again. “Please, let me help you.” Don’t make me sit by and watch you suffer through this on your own too.

Her bottom lip trembled a little, eyes searching his, and then her shoulders slumped, face angling towards the ground while she nodded in consent. Moving slowly, half afraid she would spook again, Tommy rested both hands on her back. He started up rubbing at her skin slowly, searching out the spots that he knew always gave her the most trouble. 

Lucy let out a deep breath, and he felt her relax a little under his hands. 

At least I can do this for her.

“There you go,” he said quietly. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

She let out another little hiccupping sob. He wasn’t sure if it was in relief over the pain being lessened, or from his words. Either way, he shifted a little closer to her. 

“Did you take your pain killers?” The doctor had given her a prescription to use in the event that the pains ever got especially bad. 

She nodded. “Haven’t kicked in yet.”

He sat there rubbing her shoulders for a good thirty minutes, until her spasmed muscles had relaxed and the pain medications started to do their job.

“Let’s go back to bed, eh?”

Lucy wiped at her eyes. “Okay.” 

She let him shepherd her back into the bedroom, curling up on top of the mattress, watching him flick off the lights and get in next to her, pulling the blanket up to tuck around her. 

“Sorry,” she whispered, after they’d both been still for a moment. Tommy stared at the outline of her next to him in the dark. Tentatively, he reached out, stroking his hand through her hair.

“It’s alright.”

∗ ∗ ∗ 

“Lucy!” 

She turned, smiling and scrunching her nose at the two little figures running towards her. She stooped, bending down to press a kiss to Charlie and Ruby’s foreheads.

“Hey kiddos,” she squatted down to their level. “How’ve you been? Have you been good?”

Ruby nodded her head as her voice chirped out a sweet little, “yes.” 

At the same time, Charlie cast her a mischievous look. “No.”

“No!? What do you mean, no!?” Lucy cried playfully, reaching around to tickle the boy's sides while he squealed. He looked so much like Tommy when he laughed, it was almost frightening. She pulled the two children in for a hug. “I gotta get back to work, okay? But you two have fun with your mum and dad, alright?”

The children whined but relented, Ruby shuffling back to grab onto Tommy’s hand while he smiled softly down at her. Lizzie ruffled Charlie’s hair affectionately, expression loving as she looked at her step-son. Lucy smiled at her awkwardly.

“Good to see you.”

Lizzie nodded, eyes not quite meeting hers. “You too.”

“Right,” she looked at Tommy. “I gotta go help Adam with paperwork.”

He nodded, expression difficult to read, though she thought that she could see a regretful glimmer enter his eyes when he looked at her. “Alright.”

She nodded in return, waving and flashing a smile at Charlie and Ruby before ducking away. Watching from her desk, she looked on as Tommy ushered his children and Lizzie out of the office. He and Lizzie were both sporting wide smiles. Lucy huffed out a breath, nodding to herself. Good. That was good. They were happier now. Finally at peace with their little family.

Now if only her heart would stop hurting. 

∗ ∗ ∗   

They met with McCavern that evening along with Uncle Charlie to confirm the plan for distribution of the opium.

“Now who’s this fine lady?” McCavern asked when he spotted her, eyes shining in the lights of the lanterns as he looked her over. 

Lucy smiled thinly, taking his hand and shaking it when Tommy introduced them. What the fuck was it with these fascists and their constant leering?

She took a seat next to Charlie, listening to Tommy deal with McCavern. He was bad, that much was obvious to her, even without taking into account what he’d done to Bonnie. But he didn’t make her skin crawl as much as Mosley did. So that was something. Unlike Mosley he was just loud and obnoxious.

Tommy and McCavern shook on their deal, and Tommy poured them all a drink.

“In the firelight, your hair looks like the color of blood, love,” McCavern whispered in her ear, breath tickling her neck as he leaned down to pick up his cup. Lucy tensed, fingers tightening around her own mug. McCavern chuckled and pulled away. From across the table, Tommy’s jaw tightened, clearly having taken notice of the encounter.

But he said nothing. 

She understood why. McCavern was volatile; their peace pact fragile. He couldn’t be risking upending that all just over a half flirtatious remark.  

But still, it stung. 

Maybe he didn’t really see her as someone worth expending the effort to protect anymore. 

“You’ll use the cheque guarantee from Mosley to officially connect him to McCavern,” she guessed after McCavern and his men had left. 

“Yeah.”

She nodded, raising her drink to her lips.

“I’m going inside,” Charlie announced, standing. He gave Lucy a pat on the shoulder as he passed her and they said their goodnights. And then it was just her and Tommy again. 

Tommy cleared his throat. “Are you still coming to the ballet tomorrow evening?”

She swiped a hand across her face. It was Lizzie’s birthday tomorrow, and in celebration, he was having a private ballet company come to his house to put on a production of Swan Lake. A ballet about love, apparently.

A particularly paranoid part of her brain wondered if they’d chosen a romantic ballet specifically to rub her nose in it. 

Jealousy pulsed through her. Lizzie always got the big, grand public displays of love and affection. She got to go to fancy theater productions with him, and expensive restaurants. When he won awards and made speeches, she often got mentioned by name in his thanks towards those who had helped him get where he had in life. And at every lavish function, she got to be on his arm.

Even before she’d moved out, Lucy had always been relegated to the shadows. Their relationship could never be known publicly. Their dinner dates were at home, where no one could see them. Or maybe the rare picnic out in the wilderness. Assuming they had the time for dates at all. He’d never be able to throw an extravagant party in her honor.

Looking down at her hands, she frowned. “Wasn’t sure if I was still invited.”

Tommy looked at her sharply. “Of course you're invited.”

“I’d hate to ruin Lizzie’s birthday with my presence.”

“You won’t. She knows you’re invited.” His brows pinched. “She made sure that an invitation got sent to you herself.”

The furrow in Lucy’s brow only deepened. Why the fuck would she do that? Maybe she was trying to remind her of her place. To make sure that she saw the massive effort that Tommy had gone to for her.  

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to come if you really don’t want to, but…” Tommy wetted his lips, looking uncomfortable. 

“Mosley’s coming,” she finished for him. 

“Yes.”

“And you want me to come babysit him.”

“Not…babysit. But I might need you for any business we may conduct while he’s there.”

Of course. He didn’t want her there to enjoy herself. He wanted her there to work. Silly her. 

God, when did you get so bitter? she asked herself, cringing at her thoughts.

“I’ll be there. Don’t worry.”

Tommy exhaled. “Thank you.”

“Mhm.”

“I might not be able to come pick you up with all the preparations that need to happen, but I’ll send a driver.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll ask Polly if she can drive me.”

His brows shot up nearly to his hairline. “You want to ride to Warwickshire with Polly?”

“Want is a strong word. But it’ll free up one of your drivers to go pick up some of the other guests. Besides, she’s been a little nicer to me lately. I think Aberama’s been putting in a good word for me.”

He examined her for a long time. “If that’s what you're comfortable with.”

She nodded. 

They stayed there for a while, both looking out towards the darkness of the canal. 

“I need to be getting back,” Tommy sighed. His hands had slipped into his pockets at some point. 

“Okay.” 

He made a move as if to approach her, then stopped. The soft glow of the lanterns cast sharp shadows across his face. She could just barely make out the reflection in his eyes. 

“Good night, then.”

Before she could reply, he started to walk away, the darkness that surrounded them seeming to swallow him up once he passed the touch of the lanterns. 

She stared out into the dark. 

No kiss. No I love you. No touch.

“Good night,” she whispered. Even though he was already gone.

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Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

[muse-hodgepodge]

Sans nods when she says she was just going to observe what happened and rubs a hand over his skull. It was apparent he was pretty stressed then but was handling it all fairly well he thought. Hopefully this would work out and he'd get his dad back... He then realizes that for the first time in what felt like eons that he actually had hope for something. Hoo boy was that a new and mildly terrifying feeling.

"Okay... Good luck, I'll see ya in a bit then. At least for you." He chuckles and goes to sit by the wall as she prepares herself so he can take those few seconds to prepare himself as best as he can too. Back in time when she lands can show her she had landed right before the accident occurred. There, stood a rather tall skeleton though he wasn't as tall as Papyrus and there in the middle of both palms were perfect holes. He was chatting with the other scientists, including a much younger and happier looking Sans. Though he wasn't truly speaking, he was signing to them happily though there was a seriousness to the motions too.

"Alright Dings, I'm gonna fire it up then," said a younger Sans while Gaster gave him a fond but exasperated look. 'I have told you to refrain from calling me that but yes please start the sequence.' Sans did just that and everything stable for about 30 seconds before the hole they'd created began to warp and expand quickly. It pulled in the closest monsters, sucking them in whole while Sans and Gaster watched in absolute horror while they themselves were holding on to anything for dear life.

Sans was trying to pull himself to reach the shutdown button but before he could reach it his foot slid out from under him, pulling him quickly to the hole and Reyna can see just how panicked Gaster got at that sight. He immediately released one hand to summon that Gaster Blaster that caught Sans by the arm which began to bleed from the sharp teeth holding the bone tightly. Though in doing so he himself lost grip and he began getting hurdled into the rip as it began to close. However, rather than look terrified like he should be he actually looked relieved, assumingly because he'd managed to save his son from this exact fate. He hit the too small opening, maintaining his magic until the force of the pull shattered him through the gap as it closed entirely. Only then did the Gaster Blaster release its hold upon the young skeleton who was just staring in open horror and utter agony at where the opening had just been, ignoring his mangled arm while he screamed and tried to get where he'd just seen all his friends and dad get taken away. This is where the medical team came in, looking completely confused as to what happened and why there was only a very injured and emotionally broken skeleton at the heart of the CORE where the emergency siren was blaring.

It's as the team works on saving Sans and transporting him out of there that Reyna could see a phantom of what appeared to be a very melted and barely held together skeleton standing off to the side. At the very core of the monster was the tiniest pieces of soul, like the being was holding them together by sheer perseverance and willpower. Two melty hands appear in front of him and he signs, 'my greatest success... was saving him... from this fate...' Seems he could tell Reyna was there and was trying very hard to be seen by her in turn.

Reyna follows Sans to the CORE. It was a very unique looking area to say the least. Geothermal power, she should certainly consider that a possibility in the future. Maybe combining it with Eternal Engines could create some unique opportunities. When they arrive at the closest they can get, Reyna nods at Sans.

"I'm not gonna do anything in the past beyond observation. I see Gaster's soul, I can easily find where it went. When that's done, I'll find the shards, and then return him, soul in hand." She says. It was all something she is more than familiar with. She knows how to not disturb the past and is quite aware of how even small changes can effect it.

"I'll be back...well, I'd say soon, but it's more like in an instant for you. Just a couple seconds after I leave really. So, I'll see you then!" She exclaims, before tying herself as an anchor to the Gaster Blaster Sans has out. And with that, she begins diving back in time. As she does, she turns invisible to make sure none can see or sense her.

[mikuluvu]

Acceptance?

Summary: Ghost experiencing the stages of grief... But what is acceptance to him?

Ghost x fem!reader (in relationship/can be platonic)

A/n: 5/10 cod fics posted... DOWN BAD FOR PHILLIPS

Everyone would consider Ghost isn’t capable of love, not the kind where he would let his guard down and softened his edges. He’d spent years busying himself in death and violence. But then there was you, a fire that melted his cold heart that he’d carried for so long. You were his anchor, keeping him grounded in a world that wants him under.

And then… you were gone

Denial

The mission was supposed to simple, a routine infiltration. You were skilled, careful and Ghost trusted no one more at his side. Yet, somewhere between the comms and the sound of explosion, you were ripped away from him. The extraction team pulled him back, Price’s voice ordering him to retreat.

“No,” he growled, he was desperate. “I’m going back.”

“She’s gone, Simon,” Price said, “There’s nothing you can do.”

Ghost refused to accept it. Hah… you couldn’t ve gone. You HAD to be alive, out there, probably injured and waiting form him to find you. The idea of you dying was not welcomed in his mind.

“She’s out there,” he whispered to himself.

Anger

Weeks turned into months, and with each passing day, the hope he clung onto began to crack. And showing rage. 

Ghost became a beast on every mission, he was on a rampage, a beast who will kill anything to find food. What the fuck is the word restraint? His only goal is to inflict pain. Price started noticing his changes. 

“Simon!” Price yells after a mission where Ghost completely ignored orders to extract early, instead he hunted down the last remnant of the enemies. “What the bloody hell was that!?”

“They fuckin’ didn’t suffer enough,” Ghost spat, “This isn’t you,” Price pressed, but Ghost was already walking away.

Bargaining

Ghost found himself making silent deals with a god he didn’t believe in.

“Bring her back,” he muttered, his hands trembling as he cleaned his weapon. “Take anything from me, just…. Not her.”

In his quarters, he would close hjs eyes, imagining you were there, your laugh. 

“I should’ve protected you better,” he says, his voice cracking. “I’ll make it right. Somehow.”

Depression

The fire in him faded over time, replaced by a weight that settled in his chest. Ghost stopped talking unless it was necessary.

The fire in him dulled over time, replaced by a crushing weight that settled in his chest. 

“Simon, you need to talk to someone,” Soap said one evening, he was concerned.

“I’m fine,” Ghost replied, but his eyes told a different story.

He wasn’t fine. He was hollow.

Acceptance?

Acceptance. Eh, not really. Ghost didn’t accept that he lost you. But something… changed. Perhaps it was the realization that the world wouldn't stop spinning, that life would still keep going even when it felt like it had ended with yours.

 

???

Price ordered a retreat, but Ghost ignored him once again.

 

“Simon, stand down!” Price’s voice crackled through the comms.

“They don’t get to walk away,” Ghost growled, his voice cold.

One by one, he hunted them down, he went crazy. He didn’t stop until the enemy was brutally killed, even they begged him to stop, his gloves stained with blood and his mind numb.

Price confronted him after the mission.

“You’re out of control, Simon,” Price said. “This isn’t about the mission anymore. This is about her.”

Ghost didn’t respond. He couldn’t.

- Reblog w/comments is appreciated. Maybe donate me one dolla dolla?? Buy me coffee i meant

[kisses4chris]

boyfriend!chris x reader

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

fluff, lowercase intended, not proofread,,, wc: 635

chris meets his girlfriends parents for the first time, and thinks her dad doesn’t like him

“i’m terrified,” chris says, wiping his hands against his jeans. y/n laughs, placing her hand softly on his cheek. “it’s gonna be fine. it’s just dinner,” she smiles, trying to calm him down.

“yeah, i know. i just want them to like me,” he sighs, placing his own hand over her’s. after a deep breath, they step inside of the house. y/n slips off her shoes by the door and immediately greets her mom with a big hug. she leads the pair inside, and chris’s nerves take over again.

the first half an hour went well enough. y/n’s dad hadn’t spoken to chris much yet, as he was in the kitchen finishing dinner. he made easy conversation with y/n’s mother. she was interested in everything, and impressed by his academic and athletic achievements. chris felt a sense of peace when he spoke with her. this is ripped away when he hears her father say, “dinner’s up,” and walk out slightly into the living room.

y/n reaches for his hand again, squeezing it gently. “you’ll be okay, baby. just, be yourself,” she smiles, leading him into the kitchen. as they sit and get comfortable, her father clears his throat. “so, christopher. y/n tells me you play lacrosse,” he smiles, taking a sip of his water. he nods.

“yes, i’m the captain, actually,” he states, his shoulder relaxing ever so slightly.

small talk continues over dinner, and chris is finally feeling fully confident with her parents. as they all finish their dinner, her mother stands up to collect the dishes. chris, acting quickly, stands up and helps her. as he does, y/n’s father gently clears his throat. when she looks at him, he discreetly mouths, “i love him.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

“i’m really glad it went well,” chris states, sliding into the driver’s side of his car. y/n smiles, pulling her seatbelt over her. she nods, clearly thinking about something. “what’s up,” he finally asks, noticing her silence.

“nothing, just,” she starts, looking down at her hands, a small smile still remaining on her lips. “just thinking.”

“about what? everything okay?”

“yeah, i just,” she begins, shifting her gaze over to him. “i never realized how easy it is to imagine my future with you,��� she adds, honestly. he looks at her, furrowing his eyebrows and tilting his head ever so slightly.

“i was never able to imagine getting older, but,” she breaths, reaching for his hand. “i can imagine being with you when i do. it’s all i want, chris.”

“oh, baby,” he says, his gaze softening as he squeezing her hand. “i feel the same, y/n.”

he leans over, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear before placing a soft kiss on her lips. he pulls away, starting the car and driving away from y/n’s childhood home, and things between have shifted into something more than ever before.

i loved writing this sm!!! thank you for reading <3

[jacks347]

When's the last time I gave Makkaro some love, I can't remember. Unacceptable, I must fix this immediately

(This genuinely took forever fucking HELL)

~~~

It cost his life, took more than he gave

Now he watches from the grave

Makkaro knew he was never going to see the gates of heaven. He knew better than to expect any misgiving of his to be forgiven after all he'd done. He had made his peace with eternal flames and torment.

But this...

This was different. This was neither.

An endless chasm of darkness, devoid of anything other than him. Well, him and a massive window playing his memories. Over and over, making him watch his rise and fall on loop for an eternity without any way to change the outcome.

How fitting for him. A trial of insanity until he overcame it or lost himself in it. Only this time, there would be no reprieve from his mind tearing itself apart in the sweet release of death. It was only right for him.

Saw his hand built kingdom burn

Misses home and can't return

It wasn't his fault. He hadn't meant for it to get so out of hand. He never wanted her to be caught in the middle of this. She swore she would always stand by his side, that was what she'd promised him! What she had vowed to him! It wasn't his fault if she decided to walk out on those promises.

He didn't need her, he never did. Sure, her cause was the spark that caused the flame but now that he had things burning he had no use for her simple-minded desires anymore. No, he had much bigger plans. He was going to tear this city down and cleanse it in vengeful fire. He'd build it back up the way it was supposed to be the entire time. And he'd do it all himself.

All by himself.

All alone.

Always alone.

So very lonely.

When did it get so cold-

No, he couldn't think like that. This was his masterpiece, his life's work, the thing he'd given up everything for. He had to see it through. If he didn't, all that sacrifice would be for nothing. So what if he had skewed so far off the original path that he no longer recognized the destination he was going to? So what if the woman he'd sworn to do this all for had tried to pull him back from going too far? So what if he no longer recognized himself in the mirror with all the blood on his hands? So. What.

None of it mattered. It couldn't matter. If it mattered, it would mean he was wrong and he couldn't be wrong. Not after he'd gone this far. He was long past the point of no return, having doubts now would end in his death. This was his cross to bear.

But he missed her.

Gods forgive him, every heartbeat was a reminder that it beat for someone who was no longer with him. Every second without her ached like a wound that wouldn't heal; scabbing over and granting the relief of numbness until something reminded him that she was gone and would rip it back open, bleeding with the agony of loss again.

He wanted her back. Her sweet eyes, her kind smile, her forgiving heart, he just wanted her back. He wanted their simple life back, the house in the woods where they hid their love from the world, that place where it was just the two of them. Not a princess and a detective, not a runaway and a wanted criminal, not anything the world was expecting them to be. Just Makarro and Gienne, husband and wife.

And he had pushed it all away. The best thing that had ever happened to him and he decided he didn't need her. But that couldn't be further from the truth. He needed her like oxygen, he needed her to keep him grounded in reality. He was losing his mind without her, he'd never survive without her. He had to fix this. He'd go crazy if he didn't.

He just didn't know how.

Says he's happy, he's a liar

Blame the arson for the fire

Where had it all gone so wrong? Actually, he knew exactly where it went wrong. The day she'd showed up with that child of the woman tyrant, there to stop him. The day he'd looked into her eyes and saw them set against him instead of standing with him. Somewhere deep in his heart, he knew then that something was horribly wrong. That he was horribly wrong. But he couldn't admit it, not now, not after everything he'd done to get here. But she was right there. She was back. If he reached out, he could touch her, and she wouldn't vanish like the delirious visions he was so familiar with when sleep evaded him for days. She was there. His darling had returned to him.

But at the same time, she wasn't. No, his darling's eyes never held such brokenhearted contempt for him. His beloved never looked so tired because of him. His wife never stood opposing him like this. But here they were. She was speaking but the words weren't reaching him. He could only process the sound of her voice, like a choir of angels that had all had their wings clipped. He could only stare at her, caught between his lonely heart's relief and his crazed mind's anger. How had he gotten this bad to where he could possibly be angry at the one he held so dear? At a different time, he would've balked at the mere idea of actually turning his righteous anger against the one who had caused it in the first place.

But this was not a different time.

And he was not that same man.

"All of this...I did all of this for you. My entire life I dedicated to you and this is how you thank me?!" He spat the words like they tasted bad, venom lacing his tone.

"I never asked for this, Makkaro!" She shot back like driving a knife into his chest. Makkaro? When was the last time he'd heard her call him by his name? Where had the warm, soothing nicknames that had tamed his worst fears and soothed his every worry gone? Had he driven them away?

He heard himself laugh, an ugly, bitter sound. It didn't sound like him. "No one asks for war, princess. But if it's change you want, then it's war you get. Every royal decree has a price in blood."

No...what was he saying? He felt like he was watching someone that wasn't him puppet his body. A monster, set on death and destruction no matter who or what stood in his way. A monster that would sacrifice the wife he held so dear simply because she dared to challenge him. Was this how far he had fallen? Was this who he had become?

No, it couldn't be. It was the necromancy talking. That dark, perverse power that fueled him had possessed him. That was it, that had to be it. It wasn't his fault, it wasn't even him. It was this power that corrupted him. This power that made him push Gienne away, gods forgive him for the sadness he saw in her eyes she never deserved it, the power that made him fall so far that this was what he became.

It wasn't his fault, he couldn't be blamed for this. It was this power, this uncontrollable urge to destroy.

Maybe if he kept saying it, he'd start believing it.

Maybe if he kept saying it, he'd start believing it.

Maybe if he kept saying it, he'd start believing it.

That phrase kept running through his mind, even as he lay dying in the ruins of everything he'd built. What could he blame now? His fortress was reduced to rubble, his cause was in tatters, his spirit was broken. He could only stare up at the acrid sky in defeat, left to ponder where he'd lost his way.

"Makkaro!"

What was that?

"Mak!"

Was someone calling for him?

"My love, please!"

It sounded like an angel. Was one coming for his soul?

"There you are!"

A figure came into his line of sight, dropping by his side and beginning to check over his injuries. She looked so familiar but it couldn't be. No, she would never come back to him, not after all he'd done.

"Darling...?"

"I'm here, my love, I'm here." Gienne soothed, lacing her hand with his as she pulled his upper body into her lap. "Oh, I was so worried, I thought I'd lost you."

She'd actually come back for him...

She hadn't left him...

She still loved him...

"Darling...I'm so sorry." He wheezed, the words scraping his throat raw.

Sorry wasn't enough. She deserved so much more than sorry. Regret racked every fiber of his being, sorrow pounded against his skull like a drum, defeat weighed so heavy on his chest it was hard to breathe. But he didn't have strength for anything more than sorry. He could only hope she knew he meant so much more than sorry.

"Shh, I know, save your strength and stay alive." She fussed, moving the hair from his face. He could only stare into her eyes, memorizing the color he'd taken for granted for so long. Had they always been that beautiful or had he just not been appreciating them enough?

He wasn't going to make it. A piece of him knew it from the start but now he knew for sure. He was dying and there was nothing he could do to stop it. The only solace he could take was that he was dying in the arms of his wife.

He wanted to reach out to her, to tell her he loved her before he lost all strength, but he couldn't bring himself to. He couldn't break the gentle silence that wrapped around them like a shield. He just stared into her eyes, hoping his held all the love and regret he felt. She smiled down at him, that perfect smile that warmed his very soul. "I forgive you, Makkaro. I can only hope you learn to forgive yourself."

His vision slowly blurred until it faded to black, taking in the last vestiges of the woman he loved. How could he ever forgive himself for betraying her? How could he ever rest knowing what he'd done to her? This wasn't right, it couldn't be over until he made it right.

He had to make it right.

He had to rewrite his ending.

He just didn't know how.

But someone did. Someone who was always listening. Someone who had an idea.

If he wants to cleanse his blame

He'll have to invoke my name

"So you wish to return, is that it?" The voice was coy, knowing it held his fate in it's hands and relishing in it. He couldn't see the person's entire face, only from the mouth down. And the amused grin they held made his stomach churn.

Makkaro swallowed hard. He had one chance to get this right. If he messed up here, he risked erasing his entire existence. "Yes. I wish to go back. I want a chance to fix things. I-I realize what I did was wrong, I need to fix this I can't lose her-"

The voice laughed, leaning forward to rest their chin in their hand. "Oh? Is that what this is about? Her? The fact you betrayed her for power? Pushed her aside for your own plans instead of the ones you made together? Abandoned everything you promised her for your own selfish reasons?"

Makkaro winced with every reason they gave, each one like a further knife twist in his chest. "I messed up, I know-" "Messed up? Is that what you're calling it?" "What do you want me to say?" He asked, exasperated. "What do you want from me? Do I need to grovel, beg for forgiveness, must I languish myself for you to accept that I know I am broken and selfish and unworthy of her love? I know I am undeserving of her and she had every reason to leave me but I have fought my way to you for a second chance. Isn't that enough?"

The person paused. He couldn't see their eyes but he could feel them watching him, scorching his skin with a stare that judged his every action.

"Fine."

"Wait...what?"

"Fine. I'll let you go back and try again. But not like how you came. If you really want to earn your happy ending, you'll have to find someone else's first."

Someone else's happy ending. Live another's life until he could return to his own. "Will I remember before? My previous life? What I'm fighting for?" "Maybe. Maybe not. You'll never know until you get there." The voice had regained its teasing lilt. "So, we got a deal?"

Makkaro contemplated for a minute. If he went though with this, he'd be stuck in someone else's life for gods know how long and he wouldn't even remember what he was living for. If he screwed up again, he'd never be able to see his precious darling again. Gienne and her story would be lost to time forever.

But he had to.

He had to see her.

"Deal."

The smile widened, knuckles cracking before coming to rest on the familiar keys. "Then you know what to do."

He did. He took a breath, reciting a prayer he didn't even realize he knew until the words began to spill out of him.

"Great weaver of stories I invoke you, change my fate from the cruel hands who brought me to ruin. Give me the ending you so desire in a hope of one better than reality."

"And a new ending you shall receive." The hands started to move, clicking away on the keys as they rewrote his fate. His vision blurred and faded, falling into the darkness as he heard an excited giggle. "This is gonna be fun."

One way to absolve his crime

A different form, a different time

"Crow? You still with me?" Raven's voice snapped Crow out of his daze. "Yes Raven, I am here. I did not go anywhere."

Raven raised an eyebrow at him. "You sure? You seemed pretty in your head there. Whatcha thinking about?" It was an interesting question. What was he thinking about? He honestly couldn't remember. But he couldn't shake the cold feeling of fear and dread in his chest. Memories at the very edge of his consciousness that seemed just out of reach, not that they felt like his to remember anyway. "It was nothing. Old memories. They are gone now." Raven stared at him for a moment before letting it go with a shrug. "If you insist. Now come on, we've got work to do."

Crow followed behind Raven, the cold in his chest melting into warmth. Something told him this time would be different. He'd protect her this time. No matter what it cost.

[unabletonotlovesatoru]

as a fairly new pro-hero, you love your fans. they’re kind, they’re sweet and they love you — what more could you ask for. so of course when on one of the rare meet and greet’s a little a little girl with her older sister approach you, you are delighted: giving them your best smile and inviting them to talk to you as a friend rather than a pro-hero.

. . . that is until the little girl thrusts a bakugou plushie into your hands, causing your eye to violently twitch.

the rivalry going on between dynamight and you is something that is talked about every week. it’s not a friendly thing like his rivalry with pro-hero deku, something that has been going on ever since they went UA; it’s much worse that that.

with you and bakugou it started one-sided because you tried to ignore it for as long as you could. his stingy attitude, meaningless jabs at your handiwork whenever you happened to be at a crime scene together, the condescending look he gave you every time you opened your mouth and the way he casually boasted about his own abilities. it was all very superficial to you and your personal assistant told you to refrain from saying anything that would cause the explosive hero to, well, explode.

but at some point, you don’t even fully understand when, your mouth moved before you could stop it and one-sided banter grew into screaming matches in the middle of a crime scene, barely covered insults and constantly throwing shade at each other whether you guys are in the same room or not.

you never really understood why bakugou didn’t like you so much, but your personal assistant was quick to discover that if there was one thing bakugou katsuki, better known as pro-hero dynamight, cared about it was ratings.

and you happened to one up him in every rating system. and ratings were something that changed a lot, heavily depending on civilians perception of them, but you were always there to be higher than him. and you suspected that since you always mingled closely whilst everyone’s position changed constantly, you caught his eye like you never managed to do back in UA.

if you could project your frustrations into the plushie in your hands it would be instantly blown up(ironic), ripped apart and drowned, yet you couldn’t. you could go down in ratings, after all, but more than that you were concerned for the little girl’s psyche and didn’t want to traumatise her. so you gave her a semi-genuine smile and offered to give her an autograph, putting the plushie aside.

the little girl gushes on and on about how she was so excited to be here and meet you and you manage to forget about the damn plushie.

until the little girl says this, causing you and her sister to look at her in panic and shock.

“my sister says that you’re actually really in love with dynamight—”

“—oh that’s not—”

your eye twitches again. you give her sister a questioning look and from the corner of your eye, you see bakugou, whose table was conveniently right next to yours, looking at you.

“—and she also writes fanfiction about you two so—” the little girl continues eagerly, mortifying you further, but her older sister is quick to hoist her up in her hands and run away,

“o-okay, thank you for the autograph, bye!”

you stared at the dynamight plushie on the table and then slowly turned your head towards bakugou’s table. that fucking annoying smirk was plastered over his face, ruby eyes glowing and face far too pleased for you to be able to look at him for longer.

that damned asshole.

[h-doodles]

op im going to be a meow meow on your post RIGHT THE FUCK NOW <3

when does devotion become ruthlessness, miranda?

nothing else matters

[sillyfudgemonkeys]

Yangchen and Aang: *trying to hold onto what Air Nation qualities they have while still performing their duties* Disha, to Roku: You are a spirit of NO Nation. Me: ??????

[brunchable]

𝙄 𝘿𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙇𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙖 𝘽𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙁𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙

Part Two Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: Heavy Mutual Pinining, Heavy Sexual Tension, Longing, Yearning, Right Person-Wrong Time. Friends to Lovers, a bit Angsty but Happy Ending. SMUT: Touch Hungry Bucky, Kiss Hungry Bucky, Bucky being obsessed with tiddies, unprotected piv, creampie. Summary: Bucky can't decide if the universe loves him or hates him. Maybe it loves to hate him. Maybe it's mischievous. Because he’s in love. He’s madly, deeply, painfully in love with a girl that he knows he’ll never have. Because the heavens created arguably the most perfect creature in their repertoire, dangled you in front of him for his entire life, and chose to rip you away before he had the chance to tell you how he felt. A/N: This is a Two Shot, so another one will be coming soon.

tags: @hzdhrtss @winterslove1917 @classicrebound

The first time it really hits is when you see him with her.

It’s a crowded room, warm bodies pressed close together, the low hum of music barely louder than the thudding in your chest as you watch Bucky Barnes wrap his arm around the waist of a woman you don’t know. 

She’s beautiful, of course—someone you'd expect to be by his side. Her laugh is soft, melting into his as he leans in close, whispering something that lights her face up, his lips brushing her ear like he can’t help himself.

You glance down at your drink, the sudden bitterness pooling in your throat harder to swallow than the wine. You tell yourself to look away, that it’s none of your business who he holds, but you can’t. Every time you look up, he’s there, still wrapped around her, laughing at something she’s said, his hand resting on her back in a way that feels too familiar, too tender. You know that look—the way his fingers splay protectively, pulling her close like she belongs to him. Like he’s finally let someone in.

It’s torture, standing there with a smile plastered on your face, pretending not to notice. Pretending that it doesn’t crush you.

Because when you’re alone—when you’re single—he’s taken. And when he’s got nobody, you do. Every single time. You’ve gotten used to seeing him across rooms, with someone else in his arms, with that look in his eyes that you wish, desperately, could be meant for you.

And he’s always looking at you that same way, that glance just a second too long, that warmth held back by a fragile thread of restraint. Just enough to keep the lines from blurring.

Tonight, he finally looks away.

When he glances up, catches sight of you, his smile falters. For a moment, it’s just the two of you, and something soft flickers in his eyes—something like regret, the same regret you carry. But her hand tightens on his arm, and he turns back to her, his smile returning, wider than before. You hate how easily he can pull away from you, how quickly he can make you feel invisible.

“Hey, Bucky,” you manage, your voice steady though it feels like your chest is caving in.

He looks at you, an unreadable expression on his face. 

“Hey.” His gaze drops, and for a second, you think he might actually say something, that he might admit that this hurts him too. But then she shifts closer, and he wraps his arm around her more firmly, giving you a look that’s both a dare and a dismissal.

“This is Emily,” he says, and she gives you a polite, too-sweet smile.

“Oh.” You swallow, forcing yourself to meet her gaze. “I didn’t know… I hadn’t realized you were…” You can’t finish, the words catching in your throat.

“Yeah.” Bucky’s tone is almost too casual, too final. “We’re together.”

The finality of it slices through you, sharp and clean. You nod, trying to hold onto whatever scraps of dignity you have left, but all you can manage is, “Well… congratulations. I’m… I’m glad you’re happy.”

There’s a flicker of something behind his eyes—anger? Hurt? But his jaw tightens, and he nods, looking away as if to spare you. 

“Thanks. I appreciate it,” he says, his voice steady, controlled.

Emily pulls him closer, a satisfied smile curving her lips as she glances at you. 

“He’s incredible, isn’t he?” she says, and there’s a challenge in her tone, a silent declaration that she’s won, that whatever you think you had with him is nothing compared to this. She presses a kiss to his cheek, her fingers curling possessively around his shoulder as she tilts her head, catching his gaze.

“Yeah,” you murmur, your voice hollow. “Yeah, he is.”

And for a brief, desperate second, you think he might look at you—really look at you, see how much this is tearing you apart. But he doesn’t. His gaze is on her, soft and full of warmth, a look he’s given you a thousand times. And it feels like he’s choosing her, like he’s making the decision to let go of whatever fragile orbit kept you two circling each other all this time.

You turn away, trying to hold yourself together, but the ache in your chest is all-consuming, a raw, relentless reminder that he’s moved on. That he’s chosen her.

And as you walk away, you can still hear their laughter, the sound twisting like a knife in your chest, leaving you wondering if he was ever yours to lose.

And then one night, fate flips, and you’re the one with someone new by your side.

It’s been months since you last saw Bucky. You assumed he was out of your life for good, until tonight, when you walk into the cozy warmth of a private dining room in a restaurant, your hand firmly held by your boyfriend Andrew. It’s Steve’s dinner party, a small gathering of friends, and the lighthearted chatter fills the air, mixing with the warm glow from the dimmed overhead lights.

You’re laughing at something your boyfriend said as you step into the room, but your laughter dies in your throat when you see him.

Bucky is seated across the table, leaning back casually in his chair, but the moment his eyes meet yours, a spark flickers there—surprise, mingled with something darker, something that quickens your pulse. You hadn’t expected him to be here tonight, and judging by the way his gaze lingers, he hadn’t expected you either.

Steve stands, grinning as he greets you and Andrew, and you introduce him to everyone. You smile, trying to seem natural as you move around the table, your hand still resting in your boyfriend’s. But it feels wrong, the warmth of your boyfriend’s fingers against yours suddenly strange, like it doesn’t quite belong.

When you reach Bucky, he stands, his jaw tense, his eyes unwavering as he offers a hand to shake. You almost expect him to make some dry remark, to cover up whatever unspoken tension lies between you. But he’s silent as he grips Andrew’s hand firmly, while looking at you. His fingers are steady, a touch too tight, like he’s barely holding something back.

“So, you’re the boyfriend,” Bucky says, his voice calm but laced with something you can’t quite place.

Your boyfriend laughs, unaware of the tension. “Yeah, I am. And you’re the famous Bucky I keep hearing about.”

Bucky’s lips twitch into a half-smile, but his eyes remain cold. 

“I’m sure you have.” He releases your boyfriend’s hand, his gaze shifting back to you, lingering a second too long before he forces himself to look away.

It should feel like a victory—that, for once, you’re the one who’s found happiness while he’s left to watch. But the second you meet his eyes, the air shifts. You feel the weight of everything unspoken, of the years that have passed with both of you just out of reach, orbiting each other but never colliding.

You take your seat next to your boyfriend, aware of every brush of his arm against yours, every gentle squeeze of his hand on your knee under the table. He leans close, murmuring something soft and sweet, and you offer a small smile, but your focus is entirely on Bucky, sitting across the table, his gaze flickering between you and Andrew, his jaw set with that same restrained tension.

As the night wears on, Bucky remains quiet, only contributing here and there to the conversation, but each time he speaks, his words feel weighted, almost directed at you.

“So,” he says, finally breaking the silence, his voice cutting through the chatter, “I’m guessing you’re happy?”

The question is simple enough, but there’s a challenge hidden beneath it, a question he doesn’t ask outright.

“Yes, I am,” you say, your voice firmer than you feel, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “Happier than I’ve been in a long time.”

Your boyfriend glances over, squeezing your hand, unaware of the undercurrents in the room. 

“She’s stuck with me now,” he jokes, nudging you. “No escape.”

You laugh softly, but the sound feels hollow, especially when you catch Bucky’s expression—something dark and raw flashing in his eyes before he schools his features again.

“Good for you both,” Bucky replies, the smile on his face not quite reaching his eyes. “It’s about time.”

There’s a pause, the kind that seems to echo louder than any conversation, and you can feel Bucky’s gaze burning into you, filled with a thousand things he can’t say. Your chest tightens as the weight of everything unsaid settles heavily between you, filling the air with a tension you’re certain everyone can feel.

As people start to leave, you find yourself alone with Bucky by the door. Your boyfriend is across the room, saying goodbyes, and it’s just you and Bucky in the dimly lit entryway, a fragile bubble of space and time.

“So…” His voice is low, almost too soft, his eyes searching yours. “This is it, then?”

There’s a vulnerability in his words that pierces through you, a rawness you’ve never heard before. It’s as if he’s waiting for you to deny it.

You glance away, your voice barely a whisper. “Yep. This is it.”

A shadow crosses his face, and he just stands there, watching you, his gaze heavy. He doesn’t say anything for awhile, his hand lingering just inches from yours, as though he’s contemplating reaching out, breaking whatever boundary lies between you. The air feels thick, and you wonder if he can hear the frantic beat of your heart.

But he lets his hand fall back to his side. 

“Guess there’s nothing left to say,” he murmurs, a bitter edge coloring his voice. His eyes linger on you, as if he’s memorizing every detail, every second of this final, silent goodbye.

You open your mouth, but the words die on your lips, caught between everything you want to say and everything you can’t. You reach out, almost instinctively, but Andrew calls your name from across the room, his voice shattering the fragile stillness.

Bucky’s gaze flickers, and he takes a step back, his expression falling into something guarded. 

“Take care, doll,” he says softly, the words laced with both a goodbye and a promise. His eyes linger on you one last time, and then he’s gone, slipping out into the night.

He’d spent years replacing your lips with so many others, all in an attempt to forget the mark you left on him.

Bucky can't decide if the universe loves him or hates him. Maybe it loves to hate him. Maybe it's mischievous. Because he’s in love. He’s madly, deeply, painfully in love with a girl that he knows he’ll never have. Because the heavens created arguably the most perfect creature in their repertoire, dangled her in front of him for his entire life, and chose to rip you away before he had the chance to tell you how he felt.

× × × × 

Present

It’s one of those nights, another dinner gathering among friends, the kind that’s almost become routine. You’re already seated in the cozy living room, surrounded by the familiar warmth of Steve’s place. The soft glow of lamps and low bable of conversation wrap around you like a comfortable blanket, and for the first time in a long time, you’re truly at ease.

Beside you, Sam nudges your shoulder. 

“Hey Boo,” he says, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips, “remember when you and Bucky were practically attached at the hip? What happened there?”

The question catches you off guard, and you feel warmth creeping up your neck as a few heads turn, curious eyes glancing your way. You roll your eyes, nudging him back. 

“Leave it to you to bring that up, Sam.”

He chuckles, unrelenting. “C’mon, just saying. You two were tight. I mean, tight.”

You let out a small, nervous laugh, feeling the weight of a few more gazes on you, even if they aren’t pushing the question. 

“It’s… complicated,” you finally say, giving him a look that tells him to drop it. But Sam just chuckles, clearly amused, like he knows something no one else does.

“Complicated.” He echoes with a slow nod, a knowing grin spreading. “Right. Complicated.”

“You’re so annoying,” you mutter, barely suppressing a smile, but you can’t deny the fondness in your tone. Sam just winks, nudging you again, and the others quickly move on, the brief moment of attention fading as conversation flows around you.

And that’s when the front door opens, and you hear his voice.

“Sorry I’m late,” Bucky calls out, his deep voice filling the space effortlessly as he steps in, slightly flushed from the cold outside. His eyes scan the room, and the moment they land on you, you swear the air shifts, that it crackles with something electric, something only the two of you seem to feel.

Your heart stumbles over itself as he walks further into the room, tugging off his jacket and offering smiles and nods to everyone. But it’s like a magnetic pull—his eyes keep flickering back to you, and each time it does, your stomach does a nervous, excited flip.

He looks good. Better than good, really. There’s a slight scruff along his jaw, and his hair falls just so, framing his face in a way that makes you want to reach out and touch it. When he finally reaches the empty chair directly across from you, he stops, fingers lingering on the back of it.

“Mind if I sit here?” he asks, his voice low, and there’s something almost hesitant in his eyes, like he’s waiting for permission to be close to you.

You shake your head, trying to keep your cool, even though every part of you is screaming, yes, sit, sit right here and don’t you dare move.

“No, go ahead,” you reply, hoping your voice sounds steady.

He sits, close enough that you could reach out and touch him if you wanted, and the faint scent of his cologne drifts over, warm and familiar, making your head spin.

As he settles in, he leans slightly closer, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Long time no see.”

“Feels that way, doesn’t it?” you murmur, feeling your cheeks warm under his gaze. Every subtle movement, every small smile he throws your way feels like it’s weaving a thread around you both, pulling you in.

The conversation around you resumes, but it’s like you’re in a bubble, the two of you orbiting each other again. Every so often, his knee brushes yours under the table, just enough to send a shiver up your spine, to make you bite back a smile. His hand rests on the table between you, his fingers drumming absently, and you find yourself staring at them, remembering every time those hands had nearly, almost touched yours.

After a lull in conversation, he clears his throat, glancing at you sideways. 

“So… where’s the boyfriend?” he asks, almost casually, but you catch the underlying question. His tone is light, but his eyes are cautious, searching yours, looking for an answer he can’t ask outright.

You raise a brow, unable to hide the grin pulling at your lips. 

“Well,” you say, tilting your head slightly as you meet his gaze, “the lack of presence should answer your question.”

For a second, Bucky just stares, and then a slow, dawning smile spreads across his face, his whole expression softening, the guardedness falling away. He looks like he’s holding back from saying something, his fingers tapping out a rhythm on the table, his knee pressing just a little more against yours as he leans in.

And before you can think twice, you match his question with your own, barely above a whisper. “And where’s your girlfriend, Bucky?”

“Nonexistent.” he said almost instantly.

His eyes hold yours, and something subtle shifts in them—a hint of a smile playing at his lips, but he doesn’t look away though he plays it off with a small, casual shrug. “Guess I’ve been waiting for the right person.”

You nod, feeling the smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. 

“Nice,” you say, trying to keep it casual, though your heart’s picking up a pace of its own.

“Yeah… nice.” He lets out a quiet chuckle, raising an eyebrow as if he’s catching onto your attempt at nonchalance. 

Deafening silence settles between you, but it’s charged, a silent exchange that makes you feel more breathless than words ever could. Neither of you seems to move, his knee still brushing yours under the table, and it feels like he’s lingering in your space, right on that line between friend and something more. 

You glance around, feeling the tension rise, and blow your bangs out of your eyes, hoping it might ease the knot in your stomach. But when you sneak a look at him, he’s still staring, his gaze solid, unblinking, and suddenly you’re hyper aware of every tiny shift in the air between you. Your cheeks warm, and you look away quickly, pressing your lips together, but it only makes your heart pound harder.

Your cheeks warm instantly, and you quickly look away, focusing hard on the table.

A small smile tugs at his lips, his voice soft. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

Your pulse quickens, and you swallow, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. 

“Maybe a little,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

A spark lights in his eyes, and his smile widens, soft but undeniably mischievous. 

“Good,” he murmurs, his knee pressing just a fraction closer to yours, enough to send a thrill up your spine. “Because, for the record… you make me a little nervous too.”

Your heart does a flip, and you feel a grin tug at your lips despite yourself. 

“I make you nervous?” You try to keep the surprise out of your voice, but he just nods, his gaze intense, that teasing warmth settling over his expression.

“Yeah, you do,” he says, his tone light but honest, like he’s been waiting to say it. “Especially when you look at me like that.”

“Like what?” you ask, barely breathing.

“Like you’re about to bolt… but part of you doesn’t want to.” His voice is low, and his eyes search yours, as if he’s daring you to deny it.

You feel the smile you’ve been holding back break through, your heart racing as the last of the distance between you seems to dissolve. Just as you’re about to respond, a voice calls from the dining room, breaking the tension as everyone calls you both to join.

“Guess we should go, huh?” Bucky lets out a soft chuckle, pulling back just slightly, though his gaze lingers on yours for a heartbeat longer. 

“Yeah,” you manage, feeling a little breathless.

But as you both stand and head to the dining room, his hand brushes yours, just enough for his pinky to link with yours for a brief, secret moment. The warmth of that tiny touch lingers, and you can’t help but feel like something just shifted between you, something new and thrilling, waiting just under the surface.

× × × ×

As you both step into the dining room, Sam raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “There they are,” he teases, his voice just loud enough to draw everyone’s attention. “We were wondering what’s taking so long.”

Heat creeps up your cheeks, and you catch Bucky’s gaze, a subtle, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You feel your pulse quicken, but you don’t say anything, slipping into the room to find only two empty seats—right beside each other.

Bucky gestures to the chair beside him, waiting until you sit before settling in next to you. He settles in beside you, his broad shoulders and steady presence enveloping the space, making you feel smaller.

Conversations swirl around the table, but you’re painfully aware of every tiny shift Bucky makes. The subtle brush of his arm against yours, the steady warmth radiating from his shoulder—it all has your heart racing. His hand rests on the table beside yours, fingers drumming lightly, and your pulse hammers as his knee presses just slightly against yours under the table, a connection so subtle yet electric that it makes your skin tingle.

Then he adjusts his position, angling himself more toward the group—and you. The small movement brings him even closer, and you’re immediately enveloped in his scent, something warm and cedar-like, filling the air around you until it feels almost overwhelming, in the best possible way. You take a slow breath, fighting the urge to close the distance even more, feeling trapped between wanting to be near him and feeling breathless because of it.

As Bucky joins the conversation, you find yourself watching him, captivated by the way he leans in, his voice low and steady, his easy confidence only pulling you in deeper. His lips curve as he speaks, and you can’t help but linger on every detail, the way his eyes light up, the rough timbre of his laugh, every tiny thing about him that’s impossibly distracting.

And then, in the middle of a sentence, his eyes flick back to you, catching you looking. You quickly look away, feeling your cheeks burn as you fixate on your plate, hoping he didn’t notice the way you’d been studying him.

But out of the corner of your eye, you catch the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. His pinky grazes yours again, a gentle, teasing touch, sending a thrill up your spine as he continues his conversation, his presence unmistakable and impossible to ignore.

You try to focus on anything else, but his gaze keeps finding you, even when you’re not looking. And with every shared glance, every quiet brush of his fingers, the air grows thicker, charged with something unspoken, as if each tiny touch is daring you to lean in, to close that final distance.

You’re doing everything you can to keep your composure, to focus on the laughter and stories being shared. But Bucky’s presence beside you is inescapable, it’s a thrill that’s leaving you silent, lost in your own thoughts as the night goes on.

Sam’s voice suddenly cuts through, pulling you back to reality. 

“Hey,” he says, smirking as he leans back in his chair, his gaze playful but sharp. “You’re unusually quiet tonight. What’s going on with you?”

Feeling everyone’s eyes on you, you force a small laugh, trying to brush off the tension simmering under your skin. 

“Just… food coma, I guess,” you say, waving a hand and attempting a casual smile. 

Sam raises an eyebrow, clearly amused.

“Food coma? Really?” He drags out the words, as if he’s not buying it for a second, and you can see the teasing glint in his eyes. “Pasta’s got you this speechless?”

Beside you, Bucky’s lips twitch, and you can feel his gaze, that familiar, subtle amusement making it impossible not to blush. You risk a quick glance at him, only to find him looking back with that same knowing smirk, like he can see right through every excuse.

“Maybe she’s just tired of all your talking, Sam,” Bucky says smoothly, draping his arm over the back of your chair as he speaks. The movement is so casual, so effortless, that it almost seems like an afterthought. But the warmth of his arm behind you, his fingers just brushing the curve of your shoulder, makes your heart race in ways you can’t ignore. His tone stays casual, but there’s a hint of laughter in his eyes as he looks at Sam, his thumb grazing your shoulder in a subtle, grounding touch.

Sam raises his hands in mock surrender, grinning. “Alright, alright. Just thought I’d check,” he says, throwing a playful wink in your direction.

You feel yourself sink back just slightly, leaning into the warmth of his arm, and it’s impossible to ignore the way his fingers stay near your shoulder, steady and unassuming but unmistakably there. The conversations resume around you, but the space between you and Bucky feels even smaller, the quiet thrill of his touch pulling you in.

He leans in slightly, his voice dropping so only you can hear. 

“That food coma excuse was almost convincing,” he murmurs, his eyes glinting with playful challenge as he watches your reaction.

× × × ×

As the night winds down, people start to gather their things, saying their goodbyes. You slip on your coat, waiting for Sam to finish up his goodbyes, but he suddenly turns to Steve with a grin.

“Hey, Rogers,” Sam says, clapping Steve on the shoulder. “How about we hit that bar down the street? Just a quick nightcap.”

You raise an eyebrow, deadpanning as you fold your arms. “Seriously, Sam?”

He flashes you an unapologetic grin, shrugging. “What? You’re always saying you’re an independent woman. I figured a little alone time wouldn’t hurt.”

“Unbelievable.” You shake your head, muttering, “You’re an asshole.”

Sam just laughs, looking over his shoulder. 

“Hey, maybe Bucky can give you a lift. It’ll be like old times.” He gives you a wink, completely ignoring the way your cheeks warm.

You glance at Bucky, trying to keep your expression neutral. “It’s fine, really,” you say quickly. “I’ll just grab an Uber.”

“Suit yourself,” Sam says, grabbing his jacket and heading out with Steve. “But you know Bucky’s free.” He gives you one last smirk before slipping out the door, leaving you standing there with Bucky, who’s leaning casually against the wall, one eyebrow raised in amusement.

“Need a ride?” he asks, his voice warm, that familiar glint in his eyes that makes your stomach flutter.

You open your mouth to decline, still feeling a bit of resistance. “It’s fine. Really. I’ll just grab an Uber.”

Bucky chuckles softly, tilting his head toward the door. “I’ll drop you off. It’s fine.”

You hold his gaze for a few seconds, trying to gauge his sincerity, but there’s that familiar steadiness in his eyes, a quiet patience that leaves you with no real reason to argue. Finally, you sigh, giving in with a reluctant nod.

The car ride starts in silence, the engine’s low hum filling the tense quiet between you, only occasionally interrupted by the soft rattle of snowflakes pelting against the windows as the blizzard starts to gather strength. 

You shift in your seat, fidgeting, your hands smoothing over your coat, your fingers picking at invisible lint. Nothing feels comfortable. Every second, your eyes flick to the window, tracing the passing streetlights, trying to focus on anything but him.

But you can feel him there. The warmth of him beside you, the steady, calm presence that somehow has you on edge, unable to breathe fully. His familiar scent fills the car—a mix of cedar and something undeniably him—sharp and soothing all at once, making the small space feel even smaller.

You cross your arms, uncross them, uncross your legs, then cross them again, pressing your back firmly into the seat as if that might stop the quick, relentless beat of your heart. But each turn he makes, each slight shift of his shoulders, sends a fresh rush of awareness through you, and your mind is racing, trying to keep pace with the pulsing tension that seems to settle between you like a third presence.

Finally, desperate for a distraction, you reach over and flip on the radio, hoping for anything to ease the silence. But the first song is almost too on the nose, the lyrics hitting like they were made for this moment:

"All of this silence and patience, pining and anticipation, my hands are shaking from holding back from you…”

A breath catches in your throat, and before the verse can continue, you reach over and quickly press the button again, changing the station, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

The next station crackles to life, and it’s somehow worse.

“Cause when I got somebody, you don’t and when you got somebody, I don’t. I wish that the time would line up so we could just give in…”

Your pulse races, and you switch stations again, more urgently this time, and the next song fills the car with a familiar pop beat.

“You ain’t my boyfriend and I ain’t your girlfriend. But you don’t want me to see nobody else and I don’t want you to see nobody…”

You press the power button, cutting off the music entirely, and the silence that follows feels heavier than before. Your fingers tighten around the edge of your coat, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him glancing your way, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Bucky clears his throat, his voice a low murmur. “Trouble finding a station?”

You manage a quick, nervous laugh, eyes fixed on the road ahead. 

“Yeah… something like that.”

He just nods, his gaze returning to the road, but you catch the lingering smile in his expression, like he’s perfectly aware of the tension simmering between you, the unspoken things filling the silence.

And as the quiet stretches, you can hear his breathing, steady and unhurried, and it only makes you more aware of your own. You try to breathe normally, in and out, but each breath feels too loud, too obvious, like you’re trying and failing to hide something you both already know.

× × × × 

Bucky pulls up in your driveway, and for a moment, the relief you thought you’d feel at reaching home is overshadowed by something else—something closer to disappointment. The quiet tension that’s been hanging between you feels almost unfinished, and you find yourself wishing the ride could somehow stretch on just a little longer.

He leaves the engine idling, the faint rumble filling the silence as you both sit there, neither moving to get out. After a few seconds, you clear your throat, glancing over at him with a small, reluctant smile.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say, voice softer than you intended.

Bucky nods, returning your smile, but you can see a similar reluctance flicker across his face as he glances toward the house. 

“Anytime,” he murmurs.

Your eyes drift to the porch, and you remember the old habit the two of you shared, back when he’d drop by after a night out with everyone—those late nights with coffee and the dessert your mom always made, the one he loved and never turned down.

The memory brings a small smile to your lips, and before you can second-guess yourself, you look back at him. 

“Actually… my mom made her chocolate tart. The one you like. If you’re up for coffee and dessert, that is,” you say, feeling a twinge of nerves despite the casual invitation.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard, but you catch the hint of warmth in his eyes. 

“Chocolate tart, huh?” he echoes, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know I can’t say no to that.”

You shrug, playing it off, but your heart races as you nod toward the door. 

“Figured it’d be a shame to let it go to waste. Besides,” you add, trying to keep your tone light, “it’s been a while since we did coffee and dessert.”

Bucky’s smile widens, and he cuts the engine, pocketing his keys before glancing at you with that familiar spark in his eyes. 

“Guess it’s tradition,” he says, opening his door. “Wouldn’t want to break it.”

You step out, leading him up the walkway, and as you unlock the door, the feeling of anticipation settles back over you, even stronger now. It’s like the tension from the car ride has followed you inside. 

As you head into the kitchen, Bucky follows, his gaze drifting over the familiar space. He takes in the room, noticing what’s changed and what’s stayed the same. The same cozy lamp in the corner, casting a warm glow over the soft cushions on the couch, the same framed photos on the wall—but a few new things catch his attention.

A navy-blue jacket, draped over the armchair, too large to be yours. A set of keys on the counter with a small metal keychain that he doesn’t recognize. And a book on the coffee table, a spy thriller with a bookmark halfway through. He frowns slightly, his mind racing as he takes in these small, unfamiliar details, each one lighting a spark of jealousy that flares bright, unbidden.

He hadn’t asked about Andrew—hadn’t wanted to. But now, surrounded by small traces of him, the thought of someone else being part of this space, of sharing moments with you that once might have been his, digs into him with an unexpected force. The sight of it sparks something sharp and unbidden within him, jealousy flaring up like a match struck in the dark. He swallows, trying to ignore it, trying to remind himself that he has no right to feel this way, but the thought of Andrew’s things still lingering here sends his mind racing.

In the kitchen, you’re busy slicing the chocolate tart, setting two plates with practiced ease as you fill the silence with the familiar rhythm of preparing coffee. But every now and then, you feel his gaze on you, heavy and searching, like he’s taking in every detail of the room and of you.

Bucky clears his throat softly, his voice low as he leans against the doorway, watching you pour the coffee. “Things… feel different here,” he says, trying to keep his tone casual, but there’s a roughness in his voice that betrays him.

Your eyes follow his gaze to the jacket, and a flicker of understanding crosses your face. You give a small, almost sheepish laugh. 

“Oh, that. He left it here ages ago. I keep meaning to get rid of it, but it’s… just kind of stayed.” You shrug, looking away as if embarrassed by the attachment. “Guess I’m just lazy.”

He nods, the answer somehow not as satisfying as he’d hoped. His gaze shifts back to the room, trying to reconcile this familiar space with the small hints of someone else. 

“Ah,” he says, his tone lighter. “I get it. Hard to let go of things sometimes.”

You nod, a knowing look in your eyes, as if you both understand the layers beneath his words. You hand him his plate, the rich scent of chocolate and coffee filling the room as he takes it, his fingers brushing yours for a brief, lingering moment.

Settling down at the table, he watches you from across the coffee cup, the quiet tension between you only growing thicker. And as he takes a bite of the chocolate tart, the flavors familiar and nostalgic, he can’t help but feel like he’s grasping at something he’s been missing for too long.

You try to focus on your coffee, but Bucky’s gaze is unwavering, fixed solely on you. He takes another slow bite of the chocolate tart, and the way his eyes soften, paired with the slight curve of his lips. It’s like he’s seeing something he missed, something he can’t look away from.

After a beat, you feel the heat rising in your cheeks, unable to take it anymore. 

“What?” you murmur, trying to keep your voice steady, but your heart’s racing too fast.

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. He just holds your gaze, eyes dark, thoughtful, and a little teasing, as if he’s enjoying watching you squirm. 

“Just… wondering why it took so long to get back here— it feels good to be here. With you.” His voice is low, quiet, but there’s a warmth behind it that makes your stomach flip.

You glance down, biting back a smile, but you can feel his gaze still on you, unrelenting, like he’s waiting for you to look back. 

“It’s just dessert, Bucky,” you murmur, trying to keep the moment light, but your cheeks betray you, a blush blooming under his attention.

“Maybe,” he replies, his tone teasing, eyes glinting. “But it’s the best damn dessert I’ve had in a long time.” He takes a slow bite of the tart, watching you with that infuriatingly soft gaze that makes it impossible to breathe.

"Christ..." you mutter under your breath, barely aware you’ve said it aloud. His gaze is so intense, it feels like he’s peeling away every defense you’ve carefully built.

“Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he murmurs, but there’s a teasing lilt in his voice, like he’s testing just how far he can push.

You let out a shaky laugh, glancing down at your coffee to avoid those piercing eyes. 

“You’re not… it’s just—” You don’t know how to finish the thought, every word slipping away under his unwavering stare.

He lets the silence hang for a beat, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk that’s equal parts infuriating and heart-stopping. Then he leans forward, just a bit closer, his eyes still locked on you, the teasing glint in them intensifying.

“You sure about that?” he murmurs, voice low and velvet-smooth. His fingers toy with the edge of his coffee cup, but his attention never wavers, every inch of him focused on you. “Because if I’m honest… I think I like watching you get flustered. Kind of makes me wonder what else I could do to make you look at me like that.”

Your breath catches, and you feel your pulse race, cheeks burning as his words sink in, every nerve suddenly buzzing. You’re caught, and he knows it, the challenge in his gaze daring you to look away—but you don’t, rooted to the spot, every nerve in your body humming.

But in that moment of stunned silence, something in your expression shifts, your eyes widening ever so slightly. It’s not discomfort, but a soft vulnerability—an openness he wasn’t expecting.

He misreads it entirely.

Bucky straightens abruptly, his face softening as he lets out a quick, self-conscious laugh, breaking eye contact. “I—sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, his smirk fading. “I’m just messing with you. Didn’t mean to… you know, make things weird.”

Your heart clenches at the quickness with which he pulls back, his retreat sudden, like he’s trying to undo the last few moments. You open your mouth, words rushing to the tip of your tongue to stop him, to explain, to tell him he hadn’t made you uncomfortable at all.

“Bucky…” you say softly, reaching out before you can think twice. The moment your fingers brush his hand, he glances up, eyes wide, almost searching yours for permission.

And before you can lose your nerve, you let the words slip, your voice barely a whisper. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable… I just… wasn’t expecting that.”

The tension between you flares back to life, sharper, deeper, as he studies you, realization dawning in his gaze, as if he’s daring himself to believe what you’re saying.

× × × × 

The blizzard outside has intensified, blanketing everything in a thick layer of snow that doesn’t look like it’ll be easing up anytime soon. By the time you both finish your coffee and dessert, the wind is howling against the windows, and the soft glow from the streetlights barely penetrates the wall of snow outside.

You walk to the window, peering out into the swirling white, and let out a small sigh. 

“Looks like it’s getting worse,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Bucky, the words carrying a quiet invitation you don’t fully realize.

Behind you, he steps closer, joining you by the window, his hand resting on the edge of the sill as he gazes out into the storm. 

“Guess I might have to wait it out,” he says, a hint of reluctance in his voice, though his eyes flicker with something warmer as they meet yours. His tone is casual, almost nonchalant, but the unspoken question lingers between you.

You turn to face him, folding your arms, trying to play it off casually. 

“Yeah, probably not the best idea to be out there in this.” You pause, giving him a small smile. “I mean, I have a couch. Wouldn’t be the first time you crashed here.”

He chuckles softly, nodding. 

“Right. Wouldn’t want to risk life and limb just to get home.” There’s a glimmer of amusement in his gaze, like he’s just as reluctant as you are to let the night end.

You manage a laugh, a quiet, slightly nervous sound as you gesture towards the living room. 

“The couch is all yours if you want it. I can grab a spare blanket.” The offer feels both genuine and like an excuse, a small plea for him to stay, if only a bit longer.

“Thanks,” he says, his voice soft, a warmth in his tone that makes your heart skip. “Appreciate it.”

As you disappear down the hall to fetch a blanket and pillow, he lingers in the living room, glancing around the familiar space. He’s barely acknowledged how much he’s missed this—missed you—and now, surrounded by small remnants of your life, it all feels heavier than he expected, like he’s on the brink of something he’s not ready to let go of.

You return with a thick blanket and a pillow, handing them to him as he sets them down on the couch. 

“Here you go. It’s not much, but… I think you’ll survive,” you say, though there’s something tentative in your voice, almost as if you’re testing the waters, hoping he’ll stay a little closer.

Bucky chuckles, sitting on the edge of the couch, his hands settling over his knees as he looks up at you. 

“Yeah, I’ve handled worse, I think,” he replies, his gaze lingering just a bit too long.

A quiet pause stretches between you, neither of you moving. Outside, the snow falls in thick, relentless waves, cocooning you both in this shared moment, and you feel the weight of what’s left unsaid, lingering like an invitation neither of you dares to speak aloud.

Finally, you clear your throat, offering a small smile. 

“Well… goodnight, Bucky,” you say, your voice softer than you intended, and you find yourself hesitating, like you’re reluctant to leave.

He nods, his gaze holding yours for a moment longer than necessary. “Goodnight, doll.”

× × × ×

Bucky was asleep on the couch. Your couch. Crashing at your place, as he had so many nights before.

The man you wanted more than you’d ever wanted anyone in your life.

You couldn't sleep, tossing and turning and thinking of him lying not thirty feet away from you on the other side of your bedroom wall. He had stayed over countless times, what was it about tonight that had you squirming beneath the sheets? 

God, the subtle, masculine scent of him, the warmth of his body so close to yours—maybe he'd actually seen the little shiver of sexual awareness that had rippled through you during dinner.

Whatever it was, you were suffering now. His smile, his voice, his deep, infectious laugh...so what if he had been your friend since, so what if he could be a bit of a doofus at times—okay, a lot of the time—so what if you were both single now and feeling that familiar itch, that longing, that uncomfortable awareness of being without someone just a bit too long.

Fuck.

You both had talked about this. Once—a long time ago. You had agreed; getting involved wasn't the right thing to do—look how many friendships were ruined by relationships.

You threw back the duvet and swung your legs over the side of the bed, wiggling your toes nervously as you bit your lip. 

You needed a drink, that's what you needed. Not that kind of drink—although God knew you weren't far from it. You needed a cool glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge and maybe some splashed on your face for good measure. 

Then you could come back to bed and read. Or listen to some music. Or... something. You had an early start in the morning, you had to find some way to get some sleep. If you were really quiet, you could slip right past him and he'd never even know you'd been out of your room.

You creaked open your bedroom door and listened for the sound of his quiet snoring. Sure enough, the soft sounds of sleep drifted towards you and you straightened, relaxing a little. 

He was sleeping just fine. He wasn't tossing and turning thinking about you.

You slipped out into the chilly living room, and shivered involuntarily. You'd set the thermostat low in the living room to save energy, completely forgetting to turn it up for his sake, so while your bedroom was toasty warm, the living room was cold and still. 

Guiltily you cast your eyes over his sleeping form, sprawled inelegantly over the couch with one hand thrown over his eyes and one leg up over the back of the sofa. He wore only a t-shirt and boxers, and lying with the blanket kicked to the floor instead to cover himself with, he looked vulnerable somehow, and uncomfortable.

And incredibly, almost achingly sexy.

Your eyes roamed over him in blatant appreciation. He was a powerhouse of strength, with thick, chiseled muscles that seemed almost carved from stone. Broad shoulders tapered down to a torso built from years of dedication, and his arms were thick with veins and ridges that caught the light. 

Your gaze slid down his powerful legs, the defined muscle of his thighs flexing beneath the hem of his shorts. He was the embodiment of rugged masculinity, intense and undeniably commanding. His stubbled jaw caught your eye, and you let your gaze linger on his lips—the lips you’d dreamed of tasting so many times...too many times, in fact. So often that sometimes you imagined the fantasy as if it were a memory. So delicious, so sensual and hot.

Only he wasn't hot—you try to tell yourself. You dragged yourself back to reality, frowning as you looked down at him. He was cold.

You went back to the bedroom and pulled an extra blanket off the closet shelf, and carried it back to lay across his sleeping form. He stirred slightly as you draped it over him, and his eyelids fluttered open.             

“Hmmm…” Bucky mumbled thickly, his voice hoarse and low. “Good morning.”

“It's not morning, it's two a.m,” you whispered. “I was just getting you another blanket. Go back to sleep.”

“Mmmmm…” he said, cuddling it around him.

He pulled his leg down off the couch and straightened himself out, stretching languidly, shuddering, like a cat. You loved watching the way his muscles tensed and relaxed. You loved watching him do anything, in fact.

“It's so cold,” You said by way of an unasked-for explanation, and looked away from his body. His eyes were still closed so you could have looked a little longer, but didn't want to risk it.

“Cold?” he murmured. “Just a second.” He pushed aside the blanket and reached for you, tugging you down towards him.

You gasped and lost your footing, sitting down hard on the couch beside him. He pulled you down and enveloped you in his arms, pulling you tight against his chest.

He flipped the blanket over top of both of you. “There. I'll keep you warm.”

A sleepy duskiness coloured his voice, and something in the intimacy of it, the familiarity of it, made your heart flutter rebelliously in your chest. He smelled so damn good, like a mixture of soap and the sweet warm and musky scent of cedar wood. He drew you in closer, molding his body against yours, and God help you, you allowed him. You settled in more comfortably beside him, your leg thrown over his, your arm stretched across his chest.

“I was saying you must be cold,” you whispered. “Not telling you I was.”

“I know.” Bucky said without missing a beat.

You lay there, entwined, quiet, saying nothing more. You rested your head against his chest and could feel more than hear the lazy beat of his heart, and the quiet, smooth passage of his breath. His hand languidly caressed your arm, the rhythm growing slower as he drifted back to sleep. 

Sleep threatened to claim you, too, so you stirred, trying to disentangle from him. You'd have to be near your alarm clock or you'd never get up in time.

“No, don't go,” Bucky murmured as you tried to move. He held you tighter.

“I have to,” you whispered. “I have to get some sleep, I have to get up in a few hours.”

“Stay.”

“I can't.”

He was gradually coming awake, slowly becoming more oriented. He shifted position slightly so that he was more on his side, looking down at you as he rested his head on his bent elbow. He stretched his other arm across you and pulled you closer, gently caressing you back.

“Stay,” he said again. His voice was clearer now. He was fully awake. Still slightly dazed from sleep, but awake.

You hesitated, letting your gaze roam over his face. Finally you whispered, “We talked about this a long time ago, remember?”

“I know. I'm sorry. I just...I want you to stay.”

In the dim moonlight spilling in through the French doors his features were muted, but his eyes—his eyes were large and dark, taking you in with a mixture of hope and trepidation. Bucky moistened his lips, his pupils growing even larger as they roamed over your face and you could feel the pace of his heart pick up and his breathing increase. 

His gaze moved down to your lips and his brow creased in an expression that could have been longing, or frustration, or both. He raised his eyes slowly to meet yours, the haze of desire stealing slowly into his gaze.

“You're not nothing to me,” he said, almost to himself. “That's precisely the problem.”

How on earth were you supposed to resist such a sensual, beautiful, soulful man? Stay? How could you not?

“Please,” he whispered. “Stay. . . I have something I need to get off my chest.”

Your resolve was crumbling as you felt your chest tighten. You looked into his eyes and barely managed to whisper the words. 

“What’s that?”

“This.” 

He lowered his head slowly and kissed you, brushing your lips softly, sensuously, as if in no particular hurry. As if he had all the time in the world to savor you, to taste you, to send pleasure rippling through you with every touch of his lips. He murmured softly as he gently nipped at your bottom lip, teasing your, biting and then kissing-better the lips he was bruising.

You could feel the pleasure he was taking in kissing you, the slow—tortuously slow—pleasure he was enjoying for himself and teasing out of you as he lingered in your mouth. Bucky’s hand slid along your jaw, tilting your face up to him, his thumb caressing your cheek as he kissed you. He broke the kiss and looked down at you in wonder, his eyes glittering in the dim light, then brought your face up to his and kissed you again.

You opened your mouth to him and his tongue slipped in to tangle sensuously with yours. He angled his head from one side to the other, exploring your mouth and pressing kisses along the edges of your lips. You kissed his cheeks, his chin, his light stubble gently razing your lips and making them all the more sensitive. When you found his lips again, their soft warmth was intoxicating and you deepened the kiss, teasing his tongue with your own.

You kissed him back sensually, with equal possessiveness and enjoyment, and knew that your response was emboldening him.

Bucky tensed and pressed against you, his kiss growing firmer and more insistent. His mouth moved over yours expertly, wringing pleasure from you in breaths that came faster and little cries that escaped into the quiet of the room. Your soft moans made him tense even more, and you could feel his arousal along the length of your leg, hard and urgent like the rest of his body. 

You were both warm now, and he threw back the blanket before settling back down on top of you, returning to the slow, rhythmic dance of kissing, teasing, and tasting that was just about driving you mad.

You slipped your hands up over your head, thinking to wrap them around him, but he found them and clasped your wrists together with his left hand and kept them there, holding you down with gentle pressure as he bent to kiss you more deeply. 

The sensation of being held by him, of being pinned down, gently, but with no doubt as to his strength, rushed through you in unfamiliar torrents of excitement. He entwined his fingers in yours, easing up the pressure, dipping his head between your upraised arms to kiss you deeply, slowly, torturously.

As his tongue tangled with yours the fingers of his right hand trailed up the side of your body, stopping at the swell of your breast. He ran his hand over you gently, tentatively, feeling the weight of it beneath him and groaning softly. He slipped his hand inside your robe and cupped you bare flesh, his warm hand gently squeezing, caressing, as he groaned again and grew even harder. His thumb circled over your nipple and you gasped, arching against him at the sudden sting of pleasure. He pushed aside the robe further, revealing your breast with its tight nipple, unbearably aroused by his touch.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered, gazing at you breast. He lowered his lips to your nipple and gently kissed it, his tongue tasting and savoring it the way he had just been savoring your mouth.

The wet warmth of his mouth on your sensitive flesh made you ache with a tension and desire you had never felt before. When his tongue swirled around you nipple languidly, when he took the sensitive bud into his mouth and suckled softly, you felt the exquisite torture of it flow down through you body to you very core. How could this feel so damn good? Just the lightest brush of his lips, his tongue, his teeth on your nipple and you felt almost ready to climax.

His free hand slid around to the small of your back and he lifted you gently, sliding you further down the couch and farther under him. You were completely beneath him now, and completely held by him, one strong hand gently pressing your wrists into the sofa cushions and the other splayed across you back while he bent his head and kissed and sucked and teased you breast. You almost couldn't bear the sensation as your nipple grew harder, more tender, and the pleasure started liquifying between your legs.

"Yes..." you breathed. You arched again, wanting him to release you from his mouth and yet hoping that he never would. "Oh my God, Bucky, that feels so good..."

Bucky lets go of your wrists and brings his hand down to your other breast, pushing aside your robe to free you completely. He caressed you, sensuously feeling the roundness of you, and trailed his lips across the rising swell, kissing and tasting and smiling at the way your soft flesh moved under his tongue. He gently grasped your breast and brought your nipple up to his mouth, which grew hard and exquisitely tender under his tongue. His fingers continued to tease your other nipple, the one still stinging from the feel of his mouth on it, still aching to feel it again.

You arched into him, sinking your hand into his hair and pressing him to your breast. The pleasure of his mouth and hands on you was making you weak, making you shiver with pleasure and need, all down the length of you and in between your legs. You could feel  yourself growing wet and ready for him, the pleasure so intense, so unlike anything you'd ever felt before.

You heard yourself moaning softly, whimpering, making sounds you had never made before, all but dizzy with desire and sensation. With every little sound you made he groaned, or his erection surged against you, or he fell onto your breasts again with increased hunger. Your response to him was as intoxicating to him as his mouth was to you—you could feel it in his every movement, his every ragged breath.

“I need you, Bucky.” You pleaded softly. “Please.”

He rose over you, bracing his arms on either side of you. His eyes blazed with heat as he looked down at you, at you eyes, your mouth, your breasts. He took your mouth expertly, hungrily, kissing you fiercely with a dominance that thrilled you. He moved to trail hot kisses down your neck, licking the sensitive skin near your collarbone, barely skimming you with his tongue as if wanting the merest taste. You gripped his shoulders, and turned your head to the side, aching at the sensation of his mouth on you, kissing, licking, tasting. 

You moaned at the feel of his tongue on your neck and the gentle pressure of his lips pressing kisses against your skin. You needed to feel him, to taste his salty sweet skin, his maleness, him.

As if he could read your thoughts he lifted up from you to pull his shirt over his head and let it fall to the floor. You reached up and ran your hands over his chest, and as he fell on you again his mouth found yours hungrily and his hand slid into your hair, gripping the top of your head possessively as you kissed.

You had never felt so possessed, so taken, so overwhelmed by a man. You broke the kiss and sought his neck, his shoulder, his tense muscles straining as he held himself above you. You branded your own hot trail of kisses into his skin, felt him strain against you at the sensation. You loved the taste of him, so male and wonderful beneath your lips.

"Baby. . ." His voice was hoarse, breathless. 

For one brief moment uncertainty flashed in his eyes and he looked as though he wanted to say something. But when your lips found his again he lost the thought and succumbed to the kiss, slanting over your mouth, teasing your tongue with his.

You ran your hands down his back to the waistband of his boxers, and dipped your hands beneath the elastic to roam over his flesh. He tensed at your touch and you felt him suck in a breath as you moved your hands around to the front. 

He was very hard, and you curled your fingers—which couldn’t wrap around him fully—as you gripped his ass with your other hand. He groaned softly and kissed you even more deeply, surging against you with an almost desperate urgency. You began to stroke him, your fingers gently gliding up and down his smooth shaft until he suddenly let out a groan and broke away, stopping your hand with his own.

“Fuck,” he said breathlessly, heat blazing in his eyes. “I can't. . .”

Alarm flared in you. “What's wrong?”

“I won't last long. . .”

“Oh, is that all?” You gently pushed his hand away and began to tentatively stroke him again.

He moaned, closing his eyes briefly, enjoying the pleasure. “If you keep doing that. . .”

“What?” You prompted, nibbling on his lower lips as you stroked.

“I'll have to fuck you.”

“Good.” You took his lips again and you fell into a rhythmic kiss, as if you had been kissing each other forever. He moaned softly into your mouth as you stroked him, making soft noises of your own into his mouth.

Bucky broke the kiss, his breathing sharp and shallow, and gazed down at you, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Are you sure about this?” His voice was quiet, urgent, almost desperate.

“Yes,” you breathed, pushing his boxers down with your free hand. He lifted up his hips to help you and shrugged out of them, kicking them to the floor.

“I didn't mean for this to happen, at least not tonight,” he said, his breath jagged and quiet as you continued to stroke him. “I've wanted you for so long, but—”

“I know,” You murmured, kissing his neck as your hand slid over his thick length again and again. His body was rigid with tension and you tried to relax him with your mouth, your whispers, the feel of your body. But you knew he wouldn't relax as long as you were stroking him. You paused and he relaxed slightly, but his eyes still burning and his breath still came unevenly.

“Are you sure?” He asked again, his eyes showing fear through the haze of desire. Heat blazed between them, and you felt such a desperate need in him that you wanted to soothe him, comfort him. But doing so with words seemed the wrong thing to do.

"Mhmmm," You murmured instead, kissing his jaw, his neck, the sensitive skin beneath his ear. He groaned softly as you ran your fingers over his shaft, teasing, tempting, letting you fingernails trail along the sensitive skin below. You cupped him and squeezed gently as he groaned louder, pleasure that sounded almost painful. you laughed softly, kissing along his collarbone, his shoulder, his neck.

“You know how I feel about you. . . ” he managed, his voice little more than a breath. “Don't you? That I—”

"Shhhh," You said, coming back to meet his eyes. He looked so afraid, so vulnerable, and yet so filled with desire. You knew, then, everything you needed to know. And every word he needed to hear. "Please. . . Baby. . .it's okay. We can talk later. Right now. . .please. . . just shut up and fuck me."

His fear melted into a smile so warm, so open, so full of relief that he almost looked ready to cry. He took your mouth again, arching over you as he claimed you. Before his kisses had been searching and sensuous, now they seemed driven by pure desire. He ground his lips on yours  masterfully, taking what he wanted, what he needed.

You could feel the raw need in him, the need for acceptance, the need to let pure passion overcome his fear. Every meeting of your lips sent another jolt through you, every taste of his tongue made you desperate for more, and you knew he was reeling from the same powerful sensations that you were. You could feel him starting to let go, to abandon himself to you, to enjoy making you abandon  yourself to him. 

Here was the lust you had always hoped was there, the powerful sexuality always just below the surface, the desire you had hoped and prayed he felt for you. It was here, pressed against you, an urgent cock and a hard, warm body, roaming lips and soft, male moans of pleasure and need. A careful heart revealing itself to yours.

You moved beneath him, pressing your hips against him to ease the heat that radiated from between your legs. The ache was exquisite, your need growing more urgent as you felt his erection surge and strengthen.

You felt his hand on your knee and then slowly, so damn slowly, he began to trail his fingers up along the inside of your thighs, which parted so easily at his gentle persuasion. His touch was electric, yet soft and sensual, and wherever his fingers played you felt a fiery tingle that made you shiver. Finally his fingers trailed delicately over your sensitive cunt, teasing you, tantalizing you, until you cried softly, silently begging him to touch you most sensitive place.

With a smile that you could feel more than see, his fingers slipped into your slick warmth and you cried out, a spasm of pleasure overwhelming you. He silenced your cry with his mouth, his tongue tangling with yours  while his fingers slipped deeply inside you and stroked, as languidly and rhythmically as you were stroking him.

“Oh my g—” You cried, writhing at the pleasure of his fingers sliding slowly in and out of you, then pulling out to trail up higher and caress your folds. When his fingers danced over your clit you arched you back, your breath leaving you in a gasp. The electricity of his touch, so gentle and sensuous, sent spasms of pleasure rippling through you. 

He didn't hurry the pace, just stroked you with an even, sensual rhythm as he kissed  you. He was holding you, his arm surrounding you, pressing his body to yours, his mouth never far from your lips, your neck, your ear, his eyes never far from yours. You had never felt so close to someone, so protected in his arms, so cherished and adored.

His fingers dipped down to enter you again and his thumb continued the slow, exquisite torture above. Just when you thought you'd go over the edge he'd pull away, pause, caress a different part of you and send you on the upward spiral again and again, or slide his fingers into you over and over while his thumb swirled and caressed and rubbed, driving you mad with an aching desire. 

He smiled down at you, nipped at your lips, pressed his forehead to yours and trailed kisses down your eyelids, your cheeks, until claiming your mouth again, his tongue mimicking the sweet, sensuous motion of his fingers and thumb.

He grew rock hard in your hand as you moaned with each breath, as you came closer and closer to the edge. You could feel him restraining himself, wanting only to pleasure you, anticipating your climax. But it wasn't what you wanted. On a ragged breath you stopped his hand.

"I want you," you said urgently. "Please, Bucky. . .fuck me."

He gazed at you, teetering on a moment of indecision. His chest rose and fell sharply with his labored breath, and he brought a trembling hand up to your hip and gripped you, holding you, moving to settle between your legs and pausing at your entrance.

"Please, I want you inside me." your voice dropped to a whisper so urgent you hardly recognized it yourself. "Please don't make me beg."

And whatever strength he had left vanished.

"Oh baby. . ." He moved forward and slid into you, a breathless throaty sound of pure male pleasure escaping his lips. "Oh my God. . ."

He paused for a moment, looking down at you with heavy-lidded desire, visibly enjoying the new sensation of being so deep inside  you. You were slick and hot, more than ready for him, and as you body adjusted to him, to the exquisite, aching stretch he was causing, you squirmed beneath him on a moan of primal pleasure. He pulled out slowly, torturously, and slid himself in again, filling you completely.

You closed your eyes and moaned, gripping his ass as he lifted your hips up to him, angling you so he could fill you more deeply. He began to thrust, slowly, rhythmically, his hips moving sensuously, making you muscles tighten around him as he plunged into you again and again, your movements coming so easily, so naturally, so deliciously slowly.

You lifted your legs to wrap them around him, loving the way it tilted you back so that his every thrust felt deeper, felt like it was reaching new depths of pleasure in you.

“Yes, yes, yes. . .like that. . .oh my god, Bucky. . .you fill me up so good.” 

He ran his hand possessively along your leg, pausing to look down at your joined bodies as he thrust into you. He raised himself up, his arms braced on the other side of you to keep his weight off you, and moved so he could thrust more freely, more quickly, building the tempo. He pressed his lips to your forehead gently as he drove into you, his breath ragged, panting, yours matching his intensity and need.

“Ugh—you drive me insane, I love hearing you moan my name—don’t stop.”

You could feel him getting close, nearing the edge of his own release, and he slowed, lowering his head to nuzzle your neck as the rhythm of his hips paused, and then resumed again, more slowly this time, building again, savoring you body the way his lips had savored you mouth, the way his tongue had devoured you breasts. His arm slid around you back again, holding you, lifting you up to him as he took your breast in his mouth and teased it with his tongue. His mouth was hungrier this time, sucking your nipple, flicking his tongue over it with such abandon that you felt it in your core. His passion was growing, and you could sense that his desire to be slow and tender with you was losing the battle against his raw primitive need.

You gripped him, lost in the dizzying sensations he was causing in you. His mouth on you, his hand roaming over you, gripping your ass as he thrust into you in a relentless rhythm. You were limp in his embrace, held in place for him to possess, to plunder, to pleasure. You had never been held like that before, and the primal intensity of it, the feeling of being so completely owned by his desire, overwhelmed  you. You were his, completely, your body as loose as a rag doll in his arms. You gripped his straining arms as he sent pleasure coursing through you, gripping you as he thrust and withdrew, plunged and pulled out, drove into you over and over again in breathless ecstasy.

“Keep fucking me like that—Yes! Oh my God, harder, please. . . B-Bucky!”

Waves of pleasure grew stronger and stronger in you, pushing you towards the ultimate pleasure, building with increasing urgency as his rhythm grew faster and harder. 

“Oh—like that? You like that?”

He groaned as he kissed your neck, your collarbone, your breast, and drove himself into you with such exquisite need. You gripped his buttocks, feeling the powerful muscles contracting with each thrust, drawing him deeper into you. When he tore away from your lips and looked down into your eyes you felt the waves rise, growing stronger and higher and faster until with a shattered cry you came, trembling as the pleasure spasmed through you.

His eyes never left yours as he thrust into you, groaning from the exquisite pleasure of your spasming pussy. 

“Shit—fuck, you’re gonna make me come. Ohhhh—” Bucky moaned.

You were so incredibly tight, gripping his cock as you came, milking him as he struggled to last just a moment longer, lost in the heaven of you hot, wet heat. Your cries of pleasure echoed throughout the darkened room and when you whispered his name on a soft, sweet whimper he found his own release, jetting into you over and over again as he cried out in an agony of pleasure and a torrent, a chorus, of your name.

Finally, finally, his hips slowed and he lowered his head and kissed you gently, sensuously, as softly as he had when he had first pulled you down to him. Then he lowered his head to your neck and let himself rest there, lying against you, his heart thundering, his breath ragged and heavy. You lowered your legs from around his waist and wrapped your arms around him instead, cradling him to  you. you rested your head against the top of his and felt your own breath slowing, your own heartbeat returning to normal. His cock was still hard inside you and he shuddered as you clenched around him.

"God, you're incredible." He exhaled a long, deep breath.

He rose up and kissed you, shuddering with each aftershock as his cock surged inside  you. You could feel your inner muscles clenching around him, not releasing him yet, teasing the last drops of pleasure from him. 

He lay his head down against you again, breathing out a sigh that was both release and contentment as the last tremors rippled through him. You loved this feeling, this sensation of his body trembling with the afterglow of pleasure, pleasure you had given him, just as your body was tingling from the intense pleasure he had given you.

He held you to him, sliding out of you slowly, and shifted slightly so that you fit against him perfectly, settling into the warmth and comfort of his arms encircling you.

“Holy shit,” he whispered again, pressing his lips to your temple and leaving them there for a long minute before letting go.

“I'm so glad you stayed over,” you said quietly, kissing the soft skin of his neck.

He stilled for a moment, and you looked up at him, trying to read whatever might be revealed in his eyes. In the darkness both of you were inscrutable, until he leaned closer and bumped your cheek with his nose before lightly pressing his lips to yours for a sweet, soulful kiss.

“So does this mean we're not friends anymore?” He asked, in between luscious nips at your lips.

“You tell me,” you said sleepily, unable to resist his slow, savoring kisses.

You felt his smile as he kissed you languidly, with deliberate slowness, each kiss deepening into something more intimate than the last. Finally his lips stilled and you felt him fall asleep beside you, his breathing soft and slow.

You wanted to stay awake, to freeze this moment in time, to make it last. you wished you could lay there forever, tucked in beside him, your bodies curled to get you. But even as you tried to stay awake, gently caressing the arm that draped over you protectively. you gradually succumbed to a peaceful, contented sleep.

[hellishattempt]

nanami kento comes home on a saturday afternoon, hands full of groceries and hair freshly cut. in the distance, he hears his precious wife humming along to her favorite soundtrack. you must not have heard him come in. he smiles to himself, setting the groceries on the counter, but not unloading them. that can wait. right now, he wants to hold you.

he slips out of his shoes, padding quietly to the laundry room where you are folding towels. you have your back to him, headphones lodged in your ears. as nanami gets closer, the music bleeding from your headphones becomes audible. he chuckles softly. no matter how many times he tells you it's bad for your ears, you insist on listening to your music at just below full volume.

snaking his arms around your waist, you jump at the sudden contact. nanami presses his chest against your back as you take out your headphones, leaning into his touch. you sway in silence for a moment, nanami resting his chin on your shoulder. when you turn to face him, your expression changes at the sight of his hair.

"your hair," you state dumbly. "you cut it."

"yes," your husband muses. "is there something wrong with it?"

"no, no!" you assure nanami, studying his hair. "i just wasn't expecting it. you normally have me do it, which you know i don't mind doing."

"i know, but i didn't want to bother you on your cleaning day."

your expression softens at his words. nanami, your ever loving, ever caring husband, always thinking about you before himself. you reach one hand up, smoothing the hair down the back of his neck. as you bring your hand up, the freshly cut hair pricks your palm, and nanami lets out a low hiss.

you immediately apologize, pulling away. "did that hurt?"

"yes, but it's okay. it felt... good," nanami confessed. "... do it again. please." his voice is thick and demanding, and you obey without hesitation.

this time, you use just the tips of your fingertips to graze his undercut, beginning at the base of his neck. his breathing quickens as you continue to to run your hands through his undercut, going up and down, switching from one hand to both, thumbs caressing the sides of the cut. the laundry room fills with his melodic whimpers and faint groans. his eyes are shut tight, teeth digging into his bottom lip.

"fuck..." he cusses lowly.

"you okay, nani?" you giggle, stopping momentarily. his eyes flash open, pupils blown. "kento?"

"let's go to the bedroom," he insisted, grabbing your hand and dragging you towards the master bedroom. you barely have time react before nanami pushes you back on to the bed, practically ripping your leggings off.

"kento, what are you doin-" you try to protest, his hands clamping around your wrist and bringing them down to grip his hair. his head disappears between your leg, lips latching around your clit. involuntarily, your fingers tighten around his sharp undercut. he moans into your cunt, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through your body.

from then on, nanami kento always got an undercut.

[suksatoru]

plushies galore! ⋆˚୨♡୧˚⋆ katsuki x you

katsuki lays sprawled on your bed with one, muscular arm shifting onto your side. he rips away the stuffed animal that was laying peacefully in your arms, before promptly chucking it full force across your room.

"katsuki!"

he ignores you, nuzzling into the spot where your hello kitty plush was laying previously- right on your chest- as he wraps his arms around you with a satisfied sigh

"what the hell was that for?" you whine, attempting to push him off- which unfortunately doesn't work, because he lowers all of his body weight on top of you as you gasp and squirm in his arms- telling the heavy bastard to get off and go get your plushy!

"she was lookin' at me funny. piece of shit."

katsuki yelps loudly when you pinch the muscle of his arm, scowling even further as you look at him with a glare

"she can't help the way her face is! go say sorry!"

he mutters something under his breath as you pull your brows together in confusion, watching his red eyes glare angrily at the hello kitty plushy that laid helplessly on the floor

"hm? what was that?" you asked sternly as a growl rumbles deep in chest. he lifts his head from your stomach, his lips curling into something similar to a pout as looks away

"she took my spot too... i guess." he huffs, flipping off your cuddly companion as you blink back your surprise. a soft giggle leaves your lips as you realize what was going on. katsuki was just jealous.

"you know you're my favorite, right?" you coo, gently threading a hand through his spiky hair as the tension from his back disperses. he sinks further into your body as he nods his head slowly

"damn right I am." he mutters, pressing feather soft kisses onto your tummy as you gently bop your nose against his

"i love you, katsuki." you whisper, watching his eyes soften a fraction at your words as he sighs

"i know, brat. everyone does."

he braces himself for impact the moment the words leave his mouth, hiding his face against your skin as you smack his head with a wack! he groans with a laugh, sending you a small smile - one that was specifically reserved for you.

"now, can you please go say sorry to her?" you cross your arms, looking down at him with a hopeful smile as he squints back, tightening his arms around your waist stubbornly.

"hell no."

"katsuki."

"...fine."

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC "Pick Me Up"

The stream goes live on the first day of the school year. It's the usual song and dance - mad laughing, threats, poor jokes, terror, and about thirty kids huddled together in a classroom behind Joker's back. Tim recognizes it as one of the Gotham Academy classrooms. Dick can't imagine the horror those kids' parents must be feeling right now. Jason jokes about middle school traumatic experiences. Damian is feeling very justified for skipping classes today.

Bruce, all suited up in his Batman garb, is making his way to the Academy as fast as he possibly can. Those are kids.

Gotham is once again anxiously kept on the edge of their seats, watching as Joker decides to interview the kids on their learning experience so far. Something about leaving a good first impression on the new generation or some other bullshit. Most kids stutter over their words - it's true that Gothamites are way more composed when facing life-threatening events, but those kids are only fourteen or fifteen for the most part. They are not old enough to keep their cool in the face of a murder clown.

That is, until Joker points his camera at one of the girls. Black hair in a high ponytail, blue eyes without a trace of fear, a slightly displeased, even bored expression on her face. She looks straight into the camera, not even waiting for the laughing madman to finish his question, and deadpans:

"I don't think I like school. Pick me up, please."

Joker sputters.

"Not so scared, I see," he sneers, and, in the next moment, a comically large gun painted in purples and greens is pointed to the girl's forehead, "How about now?"

The girl scrunches her nose and makes a so-so gesture.

"It's kinda meh," she admits, "Like, yeah, points for style, but you know, size doesn't matter. It's all in the technique."

Dick snorts over the comms. It's a bad time for laughing, sure, but the phrase caught him off-guard. This is not what you'd expect to hear from a teen, and definitely not something you'd expect anyone to say to the Joker. Jason's comms are muted, but Barbara knows he also laughed a little.

"Technique, you say?" Joker hisses, pressing the gun closer to the girl's head, and she winces, leaning away from it, almost as if she is disgusted by the touch.

"Yeah, I mean, guns are not that scary anyway. What are you gonna do with them, blast my brains all over the floor? Been there, done that," the girl shrugs, "Kinda nasty, but overall, it's just like slime, only sticky." She pauses and looks to the side, seemingly lost in thought, "Huh, maybe we should have added Borax to it. Or was it baking soda?.."

"Listen here, you little brat," Joker's fingers catch the girl's chin, and his voice becomes sickeningly menacing. Bruce is almost there, just two more minutes. Tim is already grappling onto the wall.

But none of them get to finish.

"Put your dirty fingers away from my sister," a low, cold, and even in a way that speaks of barely contained fury, voice comes from out of the screen.

The camera spins, like whoever is holding it turned really fast, and everyone watching the stream sees a fairly normal guy standing by the window - a turtleneck and ripped jeans, same black hair as the girl, same blue eyes... Wait, they are not blue.

And that's not a guy.

The camera falls down to the floor, and there are a lot of panicked screams coming from the broadcast now, but none of them sound like children's voices. It's the screams of adults, of grown-ass men, and later, someone even claimed they heard Joker's scream among them, too. The picture on camera glitches a few times, and the angle is awkward, but everyone still gets to see how shadows in the room morph into eyes, wide open and green, and how the darkness grows sharp teeth, countless grinning mouths that don't belong to any faces.

Screams turn into gargling and then to quiet whispers, filling the ears of all those listening with countless words in languages they don't know.

Red Robin turns off the recording and looks to that same guy from the levestream, sitting across him on the couch. The guy - Daniel, or Danny, as he introduced himself - looks him in the eyes and raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, and?"

"How did you do it?" Tim asks for the third time this evening. Danny blinks.

"Did what?" He asks, completely incomprehending. Tim groans. He's been trying to get his answers, any answers at this point, from the guy for thirty fucking minutes already. So far, he's got nothing. Danny, whoever the fuck he is, proves to be the most annoying human being on Earth.

"Seven people in a coma, including Joker himself, with no physical injuries and none of the children remember a thing! How?!" He demands, and a girl's face peeks from around the corner:

"I remember!"

Tim snaps his head at her, "What do you remember?"

The girl pauses, blinks, and looks to Danny. Then shrugs, "My brother picked me up from school."

Tim drops his head down and breathes out in frustration. He can't force the information out of civilians, he is a vigilante, not a mafia.

"Would it make you feel better if I promise not to do it again?" Danny asks, and his voice is way too innocent for Tim to believe him. He raises his head to look the guy in his shameless, amused eyes.

"I hate you."

"Thanks," Danny grins.