#and I feel like I’m in a tug of war between the world and the kingdom | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

importantpuppystarfish · 6 days ago

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Repopulating the whole world with Wonyoung

Male reader x Jang Wonyoung

Plot : You are from a random country "X". World War 3 is ongoing. Genre : Survival, Romantic, Emotional. Includes: 69, rimjob, facesitting, wony pissing, breeding, lots of kissing.

I drag myself onto the rocky shore, my body aching from the endless swimming. My clothes are soaked, my breaths ragged, and my arms feel like they could fall off any second. But I made it.

The world is in ruins. World War III tore everything apart. Cities burned, people scattered, and survival became a desperate gamble. I don’t know how long I was in the water, moving from boat to boat, trying to stay afloat. But somehow, I reached this island near the Korean Peninsula.

I push myself up, coughing out of the salt water, and scan out my surroundings. The island is covered in dense trees, the sand untouched, the wind eerily silent. No signs of life.

Except for one.

A girl stands near the water’s edge, her long, damp hair flowing in the wind. She’s wearing a torn white dress, clinging to her body from the seawater. Even in this chaos, she looks unreallike -- gorgeous.

I blink. My brain struggles to process what I’m seeing.

It’s Jang Wonyoung!

The Wonyoung. The famous K-pop idol. The girl that once stood on dazzling stages, worshipped by millions. And now, she’s here, stranded just like me. Wonyoung also came to the same island through swimming to save herself from the war.

She notices me. Her eyes widen, and she steps back slightly, uncertain. I must look like a wreck, an exhausted or an average looking guy.

I raise my hands slightly, trying to show I’m not a threat. “Hey… I’m not here to hurt you.” My voice is hoarse.

She hesitates, then speaks, her voice soft yet sharp. “Are you alone?”

I nod. “Yeah… just me.”

A pause. The wind howls between us. Then she exhales and sits down on the sand. “Same.”

I look around again. No ships, no planes, no humans. Just us.

Two strangers. A famous lost idol and me.

Alone in the middle of nowhere. Wonyoung asks for my name~ "I'm Y/N!" Nice to meet u! We have a handshake.. Her hands feel soft.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pt1:

I take a cautious step closer. “How long have you been here?”

“I don’t know. A few hours, maybe. I was on a boat, trying to escape… then everything went wrong.” Wonyoung replies.

I nod. I get it. The war didn’t care who we were, celebrity or nobody, we all ended up fighting for survival.

I sat onto the sand beside her, keeping a respectful distance. My body still aches from the swim, but at least I’m alive. “We should find shelter,” I say, more to myself than her.

Wonyoung doesn’t answer right away. She’s staring at the ocean, her expression unreadable. Finally, she nods. “Yeah.”

We explore the island together. It’s small, covered in thick trees, with no sign of civilization. No food, no supplies. If we want to live, we’ll have to find a way ourselves.

We build a shelter from fallen branches near a rocky cliffside, something to protect us from the wind. It’s not much, but it’ll do for now.

I know Wonyoung is feeling hungry, I can hear the sounds from her stomach. She's embarrassed. I hunt for fruits around in the forest and give some off to her. Wonyoung smiles and thanks me for the first time.

As night arrives, we sleep inside the shelter with a distinct position from each other. I can't believe I'm sleeping nearby a famous K-pop idol!

Wonyoung must be a very clean and neat girl. As morning arrives, with no proper shelter, no soap, and no change of clothes, Wonyoung specifically start to feel disgusting. We both only got one outfit for ourselves and its also getting torn apart.

Wonyoung tugs at her damp, dirt-streaked dress, grimacing. “I can’t take this anymore. I feel gross.”

I look down at myself. My clothes are stiff with dried saltwater and sweat. “Yeah, me too.”

She crosses her arms, thinking. “We need to wash them.”

I nod, then realize the problem. “But… if we wash them, we’ll have nothing to wear.”

She sighs. “I know.”

We stand there in awkward silence, both aware of what that means.

“…Maybe we take turns?” I suggest hesitantly.

She gives me a sharp look. “You mean one of us stays naked while the other waits?”

I scratch my head. “I mean… yeah?”

She groans, burying her face in her hands. “This is so embarrassing.”

I shrug. “We don’t have a choice. It’s just us here.”

She peeks at me through her fingers. “Still!”

After a long pause, she exhales sharply. “Fine!" “This is so worse!” she mutters.

I chuckle. “At least we’ll be clean.”

She grumbles but doesn’t argue.

And so, in our strange little world, even washing clothes becomes a ridiculous challenge. But somehow, we manage—awkward, embarrassed, but surviving together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

But suddenly, it seems Wonyoung has realized survival takes priority over everything else. Embarrassment, modesty—those things start to feel pointless.

To my surprise, Wonyoung just… pulls her dress over her head.

I freeze. My brain short-circuits as the gorgeous Wonyoung directly takes off her clothes near me, her medium sized breasts with pretty pink nipples, a luscious curvy figure that takes my breath away. Her natural scent is divine yet there's a hint of dirt clinging to her perfect skin. Now as soon as she also takes off her smelly and dirty underwear the same time, I see her pussy is hairy, maybe she doesn't shave it often. I keep looking in at her hungrily, finding every aspect of Wonyoung naked incredibly sexy.

She throws her dress and underwear onto a sea, standing now in nothing but her bare skin, completely unbothered. “You should do the same,” she says casually. “It’s just us, anyway.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I swallow hard, staring at the ground now. “Uh… are you sure about this?”

She shrugs. “Why not? Clothes are useless if they’re this filthy. We might as well just stay like this.”

I feel my face burning. “I mean… isn’t that a little—”

She raises an eyebrow. “What? Weird? Embarrassing?” She sighs. “At first, yeah. But think about it—we’re stuck here, just the two of us. Why should we care?”

I can’t argue with that logic. She’s right. There’s no one else. No society. No rules.

Still, I hesitate.

She smirks slightly. “You’re overthinking it.”

I exhale, then slowly pull off my shirt. Then my pants. The air feels strange against my skin, but at the same time… freeing.

Wonyoung smiles. “See? Not so bad.”

And just like that, we accept our fate. No more shame, no more awkwardness—just two survivors, stripped of everything, living in the most natural way possible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As now I'm naked as well, Wonyoung starts to look at my rod standing at attention. I caught her biting her lips and smiling, which I found adorable. She playfully teases, 'I can't help it, it's so…funny!' I blush furiously and retort, 'Hey, don't laugh!'". I'm confused why the heck Wonyoung is laughing at my dick? Maybe she has never seen one before?

"You look funny naked, especially with that thing down standing out of nowhere so hard" Wonyoung teases.

I'm sure Wonyoung knows herself why my dick is hard at the moment. It only get this way when there's a pretty hot girl around. Also the fact, Wonyoung is naked herself too. Wonyoung's stomach makes a noise again, its time for food and we realize we should start hunting for survival.

Yesterday we survived on wild fruits & coconuts, and anything remotely edible that we can scavenge. But soon, we realize that if we want to stay strong, we need real food ~ fish.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wonyoung figures out that if we trap fish in small tidal pools near the shore, we can just grab them with our hands. It’s tricky, but with patience, we manage to catch a few.

Since we don’t have pots or pans, we cook the fish directly over a fire. We create a simple fire pit using dry wood and stones. We skewer the fish on sticks and roast them over the flames until they’re cooked through.

The first bite of was Incredible. We eat in silence, both of us savoring the moment. Wonyoung licks her lips, grinning. “I never thought I’d be this happy just eating a burnt fish.”

I laugh, nodding at her words.

As night falls, the temperature on the island drops, and the once-refreshing breeze turns into a chilling wind. Its getting cold. Yesterday we had our clothes but this morning, upon Wonyoung's idea, I also threw my clothes and we're both naked still.

With no clothes, no blankets, and only a small fire to keep us warm, the cold becomes a real problem.

At first, we try to endure it, huddling close to the fire, wrapping ourselves in large leaves, anything to stay warm. But nothing works.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wonyoung shivers beside me, hugging herself tightly. “This isn’t working,” she mutters, her teeth slightly chattering.

I sigh. I’m freezing too. Then, reluctantly, Wonyoung says, “There’s only one thing we can do.”

I looks at her, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

She hesitates. “Body heat. If we stay close, we’ll be warmer.”

I stare her for a second, then exhale, shaking my head. “I can’t believe this…” But then, after another shiver, I mutter, “Fine. But don’t get any ideas. I try to be positive, trying my best to be a gentleman ”

But Wonyoung seems to have something in her mind, she has been trying a little to seduce me even in this kind of survival condition ever since we both got naked.

We move closer, our bare skin pressing together. The warmth is immediate, awkward at first, but undeniable.

She rests her head against my shoulder, her body still tense. “I love this,” she whispers.

Slowly, her body relaxes against mine, and I feel my own muscles easing. The cold doesn’t bite as much anymore.

After a few moments of silence, she sighs. “You’re warm…”

I smirk. “So are you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wonyoung hugs me tigher, her chest pressing over mine. I can feel the size of her breasts, I have never grabbed them yet with my hands. I feel so good as well as her skin presses over mine more tightly..

Wonyoung and I can see the full moon together, it looks beautiful.

And just like that, we fall asleep, two survivors, pressed together against the cold, finding warmth in the only way we can.

The next morning, fever hits me suddenly. One moment, I’m fine, tired but fine. My body feels like it’s burning from the inside. My limbs are weak, my vision blurry, and every breath feels heavy.

I collapse near our shelter, barely able to keep my eyes open. Wonyoung rushes over, panic written all over her face.

“Hey! What’s wrong?” She kneels beside me, pressing a hand to my forehead. The moment she touches me, she gasps. “You’re burning up…”

I try to respond, but my throat is dry, my voice barely a whisper. “I’m… just tired…”

She bites her lip, looking around as if searching for a solution. “You’re Sick OH God!!"

Wonyoung has gotten emotional. She swallows hard, taking a shaky breath.

For the first time, I see her cry.

Even in this desperate situation, I hate seeing her like this. I slowly reach out, grabbing her trembling hand. “Hey… I’m not dead yet.” I try to smile, but even that takes too much effort.

She sniffles and squeezes my hand tightly. “You better not die,” she whispers. “I can’t be alone here.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night, Wonyoung stays by my side, cooling my forehead with wet leaves, giving me water, whispering words of reassurance even when she thinks I’m asleep.

And in my fevered haze, I realize something—she’s not just the famous girl I once admired from afar. She’s not just my survival partner. She might be someone special in my life.

The fever doesn’t break overnight, that day Wonyoung does all the job, cooking the fishes and finding survival resources. My body feels weak, my head heavy, and every movement sends waves of exhaustion through me. But Wonyoung never leaves my side.

She brings me water from the stream, carefully tilting a coconut shell to my lips. “Drink,” she murmurs. Her voice is soft but firm, her eyes filled with worry.

I manage a few sips before resting my head back down. “Thanks…” I whisper.

She sighs, brushing my damp hair back. “You’re burning up.”

That night, as the cold wind howls through our shelter, Wonyoung presses herself against me, wrapping her arms around my body. “This should help,” she whispers. “You need warmth.”

I’m too weak to argue, and honestly, her body heat is comforting. She rests her head against my chest, holding me close. She takes care of my body.

At some point, I groan, my muscles aching all over.

She notices immediately. “Does it hurt?”

I nod weakly.

Without hesitation, she shifts, her delicate hands moving to my shoulders. Slowly, gently, she starts massaging me, her fingers pressing into my tense muscles. She also gave me a handjob at the middle. I don’t even know if I should count it as lewd since we have been naked together and staying like this for 2 days already, but this is the first time she grabbed my dick with her hands.

“Relax,” she whispers. “You always do everything for us. Just let me take care of you.”

Her hands move down my arms, across my back, easing the knots of pain. Her touch is soft but firm, careful yet reassuring.

For the first time in days, I feel a little better.

I close my eyes, letting her warmth, her touch, her presence lull me into much-needed rest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wonyoung asks, “Do you think the war is over?”

I exhale, shaking my head. “I don’t know.”

She stares at the horizon. “What if… no one is left?”

I glance at her. “What do you mean?”

She hugs herself tighter. “Last time we saw the world… there were nukes being launched. Countries were falling apart. If the war is over, does that mean someone won? Or does it mean no one is left to fight anymore?”

A heavy silence falls between us. The thought is terrifying, but not impossible.

I swallow. “Even if there are survivors, do you think anyone would look for us? We’re on some random, uncharted island. We don’t even know if this place is on any map.”

Wonyoung’s expression darkens. “We could be doomed.”

I don’t want to believe that. But deep down, I know she might be right.

She rests her head on my shoulder. “It’s just us now,” she whispers.

I wrap an arm around her, pulling her close. “Then we survive. No matter what.”

“But if we are the only ones left…” Wonyoung hesitates. “Should we… you know… repopulate?”

The word hangs in the air, heavier than anything we’ve ever spoken before.

I swallow hard. “You’re asking if we should have kids?”

She nods slowly. “It’s what humans do, right? Continue the species.”

The idea makes sense, logically. But something about it feels too real.

I exhale. “That’s a big decision.”

She glances at me, her cheeks slightly flushed. “I know. But if the world is gone… doesn’t that mean we’re responsible for rebuilding it?”

I run a hand through my hair, trying to process. “It’s not just about responsibility. We’d be bringing a child into a world with no hospitals, no medicine, no help. It’d be dangerous.”

She bites her lip, thinking. “Yeah… but if we don’t, then when we die, that’s it. The end of humanity.”

Silence. The fire crackles between us.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pt2:

Wonyoung finally sighs, shaking her head. “Maybe I’m overthinking.”

After some while, Wonyoung asks, "Do you want some special comfort?"

Without understanding what special comfort she meant, I nodded yes.

Wonyoung winks and positioned her face between my legs. Her hands reach up to gently caress my thighs, sending shivers through my body. Leaning in slowly, I suddenly feel her pink tongue extends and swirls around the tip of my dick. A soft gasp escapes her as she tastes me, her eyes never leaving mine. She takes the head into her warm, inviting mouth.

I feel my full length inside her mouth. I finally realized Wonyoung is giving me a blowjob already. Wonyoung pulls back a bit. She grins, still stroking me gently. "Mmm…you like that y/n?" She teases before taking me deep again, bobbing her head with purpose now.

"Wonyoung, are you serious right now? You're a famous idol… I can't believe ur doing this!?!" I say.

Wonyoung replies, "Well, I don't think there's anyone left in the world. We should start reproducing already!." She continues taking my length more inside her mouth.

I realize Wonyoung must be feeling emotional, and that I'm the only person in her life now. It doesn't matter if I'm attractive or not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wonyoung is absolutely magnificent as she works to please me with her lips and tongue. Her tongue dances against the sensitive under side of my dick each time I hit the back of her mouth. She gazes up at me with desire, her cheeks hollowing as she takes me deeper still. Every flick, suck and lick from Wonyoung feels heavenly, it's clear she was made for this. I can't hold back my cries of pleasure - "Oh wow, Wonyoung please stop, you are amazing at this!"

Wiping a strand of saliva from her chin after she finishes sucking my rod, Wonyoung sits up and spreads her legs wide. Her thick bush of dark hair beckons me forward. "Alright, enough pleasing you. I want the same feeling as well. Mind eating my hairy pussy now?" she commands.

"Are you serious? But I'm sick!" I reply to her command.

"Oh right", Wonyoung pauses, a look of determination crossing her face. "Can't stand or return the favor hmm?" She grins slyly. "No problem, I can adapt." She positions herself above me, her beautiful eyes twinkling. "Here, I'll just…sit right down."

And with that, Wonyoung lowers herself, her vertical lips parting as she envelops my face in her warmth. I feel her weight settle on my face as she slowly sits on my face, her pussy hair tickling my nose.

I get flashbacks of watching Wonyoung's performance through my screen at home last year before the war started. It's exactly that same ass! Now that ass is about to be buried all over my face.

As Wonyoung lowers herself onto me fully, I am enveloped by her feminine heat and scent from her ass… She is totally face sitting on me.. Wonyoung is now riding my face!

Eager to please, I decide to really explore Wonyoung's shithole. Gently I spread her ass cheeks further apart, gazing at her tight little bud. I push my tongue forward deep, pushing more deep into Wonyoung's most intimate place. Inside her anus, my tongue meets warm, velvety smooth walls that grip me gently. A faint musky scent fills my senses as I wiggle and stroke within her sensitive rim.

My tongue inside her asshole is absorbing up every sticky morsel. The taste is intense, earthy and undeniably naughty. I delve deeper, driven by an urge to clean every inch of her filthy depths.

Her inner walls clench and grip my probing tongue as I feel the wet, dirty texture inside her tight little shithole. It's a decadent mess inside here. Oh fuck, Am I really eating her wet messy holes as she commands?

Shee gasps but then urges me, "Deeper...stick your tongue in!".

I oblige, slowly working my tongue.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her ass shakes over my head with a playful excitement from taking in charge, she still asks teasingly, "Is OK?"

I nod, surrendering to pleasure her. My tongue extends, lapping up her slick nectar. She tastes divine. I feel her move, grinding against my mouth harder. She shifts a bit and my tongue finds her hairy wet pussy, making her bite her lip and smile wider.

I eagerly lap up every drop of her juices, my tongue tracing her folds and circling her engorged clit. I suck the bud into my mouth, flicking it while my hands press against her thighs for balance. Wonyoung gasps, riding my face harder. I insert my tongue as deep as it will go inside her within her wetness.

Wonyoung grinds down harder, inviting me to continue. I oblige, gently probing at her holes with more intention now. The salty-sweet taste of mixing her essence on my tongue drives me wild. Wonyoung cries out, clearly enjoying using me completely.

"Mmm…you're so good with that tongue, I just can't resist returning the favor!" Wonyoung cries. She leans down, taking my throbbing length back into her mouth. Now our bodies form a delightfully lewd 69 position - me eating her treasure while she continues to suck me off.

Her hips move in a sensual rhythm, grinding her wetness all over my face as I feel the base of my shaft hit her throat each time she takes me deep.

Our 69 is smooth and rhythmic now, both of us falling into it as the ecstasy builds. My tongue works her clit in firm circles while I thrust my tongue as deep as possible into her tight back doorway. Wonyoung's mouth moves expertly along my shaft, her lips sealed tight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just when I think it can't get more intense, I feel a warm fluid against my chin and mouth. "Oh my god, I'm sorry!" Wonyoung cries out. But I don't pull back - I simply extend my tongue, catching her pee with every skillful lick. She trembles above me as she finishes, spent. A mixture of her fluids coats my face but I don't mind one bit, still savoring her completely.

Against my will, I'm forced to drink down her warm, tangy urine. It's strong and acrid on my tongue but I obediently swallow, NOT wanting to displease Wonyoung. She seems shy now, her cheeks flushed crimson.

"Here, let me make it better." She whispers. Wonyoung begins gently licking my face with her soft, pink tongue. She methodically cleans every inch, the bitter taste slowly fading. When she reaches my lips she takes me into her mouth again, our tongues meeting. She swallows some of her own urine back from my mouth as we have a mouthful french kiss. Her eyes closed, slipping her tongue into my mouth. There it mixes with my saliva too, a lewd, taboo French kiss. When she finally breaks the kiss, her eyes search mine - a mix of apology and invitation.

She again engages me in a deep and soulful kiss. Wonyoung breaks the kiss, her eyes glinting with newfound desire. She stands up now. "I hope you can forgive me," she purrs before sitting over my shaft. Wonyoung positions herself now ready to ride my dicm. "Now fuck me…fuck me hard, its time for reproduction already! Forget the humanity outside! Theres no one left!" she screams.

She cries out as I claim her. I watch my rod disappearing between her thighs, feeling her walls tighten around me. "Yes, that's it!, Oh my god I can't believe I'm having my first time!" Wonyoung moans as she rides my dick hard. Our bodies connect with a primal rhythm as I punish her core. I know I won't last long after that intense buildup. "Don't stop!" she gasps, pulling me deeper. I'm determined to satisfy us both.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tears spring to her eyes but she keeps crying out "Yes yes yes!".. Wonyoung is literally screaming and riding me at the middle of the island. We don’t know what's happening outside in the real world. But here, it seems we both are actually enjoying. Birds and insects are watching us fuck in the silent island. The island is full of her screams and cries in pleasure.

Wonyoung starts bouncing on my rod harder. Each deep thrust draws out prolonged, wailing cries from Wonyoung's lips: "AHH! AHHH PLEASE!". Wonyoung leans down upon my mouth for a kiss now.

She breathes, "You're taking me so well", "but I'm not nearly done with you yet until u cum inside me."

Wonyoung's forcefully kisses me deep and moans. "Ahh, please, I can't.. Cum already.!" she cries desperately, a mix of fear and excitement in her voice.

Wonyoung screams again, her voice rising in pitch as I cum inside her "OOOOHHH!"

Wonyoung feels the sticky white cum fill inside her. Its a big load. She still continues riding, but now Wonyoung feels something tear inside her… "You…you tore me," she whispers, eyes wide.

I push her away from my dick, I see a mess down in her pussy. Its full of my sperm and cum, her insides must have broken and torn apart since its her first time. "It hurts but we succeeded. I'm probably finally pregnant!." Wonyoung cries.

I get emotional too. I hug Wonyoung, and as she hugs me back, we hold each other with love, and I can feel her warmth and heartbeat. Inside Wonyoung is a complex mix of emotions and physical sensations.

I can't believe it, did I actually breed Wonyoung, the most popular K-pop girl? This feels so real, it’s definitely not a dream! Yes, thats right! If I and Wonyoung are really the only humans left, the next world generation will be descendants of us!

#wonyoung smut #girl group smut #kpop girl smut #izone smut #ive smut #yujin smut #yuna smut #itzy smut #twice smut #karina smut

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bunni-v1 · 2 months ago

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Thoughts on a threesome with Lighter and Harumasa

MDNI!!

Tw: NSFW; VERYYYY OOC lol; double penetration in one hole (only mentioned at the end lol); Rough sex; Fem! Reader; unedited and written with a serious fucking migraine like my god

I’m so fucking sick today but I had an idea so… imagineeeeee with me if you will…

You and Lighter are walking around New Eirdu, picking things up for the girls, running errands, usual shit. It’s a nice little routine thing the two of you have. He gets his job done and gets to spend time with you, win win!

He turns around for one second — literally one second just looking at some flowers (for you, btw) — and when he turns back around your attention is occupied. Not only is it occupied, but it’s taken by Asaba Harumasa. Sweet talking, ever flirty Asaba Harumasa.

He’s not a bad guy, honestly, Lighter doesn’t dislike him. You’d mentioned once or twice how you knew the guy. Some kinda old fuck buddy, it wasn’t anything Lighter cared about too much. You were his partner after all, it would be stupid not to trust you.

Him, though, Lighter didn’t trust him one bit. Not with the subtle touches and the unnecessary flirty comments. He watches you two veryyyy carefully, taking it all in until he can’t take it anymore and he has to pull you into his side.

“Oh! Lighter, fancy seeing you here~” Harumasa purrs in such a sickeningly sweet tone.

He makes it very clear that you and he are and item, but that only seems to egg Haru on further… His little comments getting more and more bold, pointed and intentional in riling him up. You’re stuck in the middle of an ego war that you can’t break up (and have no idea why it’s happening).

Then, somehow, the conversation is steered toward your sex life. No one is really sure how or why, but Harumasa and Lighter are having a literal dick measuring contest in front of you when Harumasa suggests that they should “Find out who you like better.”

Anddd that’s how you ended up with Lighter pounding into your sopping cunt from behind and Harumasa fucking your throat like it was the end of the world. Their little competition forgotten in favor of making you squirm beneath them <3

You’d cum at least four times now and they seemed determined to make a fifth. They alternate what their hands are doing occasionally. Sometimes Harumasa is pulling at your hair, other times Lighter’s squeezing your tits in his hands. Regardless, not an inch of you is left untouched by either of them.

Harumasa pulls out from your throat, and in your fucked out state you try follow him only for Lighter to tug you back by your hair. You don’t even try to fight it when he manhandles you into a sitting position on his lap.

Your pussy is literally drooling down both of your thighs, and Lighter scoops some of it up and tastes it. Harumasa smiles at the sight, seemingly quite satisfied with himself, “Can I have a taste?”

You expect Lighter to maybe let him eat you out, or even just pick up some with his own fingers. Instead he pulls Harumasa forward and kisses him. You can only watch with big empty dazed eyes as they do so. You swear you hear Harumasa moan, but just as you’re getting to enjoy it, they seem to remember you’re there again.

“Feeling left out, baby?” Lighter hums as his fingers find your clit, rubbing fast circles.

Harumasa pushes your legs open, the two of them working to readjust you so your legs are thrown atop Lighters, Haru sliding himself between them. “I think she is, poor thing…”

You most certainly were not, but you weren’t going to say that. Lighter slides out of you, and you literally cry out at the loss of him. “Aww, I told ya she likes it. Look at her cryin’.”

Harumasa laughs dryly, tapping his member against Lighter still moving fingers, “Yeah, yeah, whatever makes you feel more secure.”

You whine at their arguing and they both coo back at you like you’re some kind of pet. They were plotting something sinister, you could feel it in the way Lighter kept pressing the tip of his dick against your ass. Certainly they didn’t expect you to take them both at the same time.

“There’s only one good way to determine who’s the best, right?” Harumasa purrs, nudging Lighter out of the way so he could properly tease your cunt.

“Mhm…” Lighter hums, “You can take both of us at once, right?”

Fuck.

#zzz x reader #lighter zzz x reader #lighter x reader #zzz lighter x reader #zzz lighter lorenz x reader #lighter zzz #lighter lorenz x reader #lighter lorenz #zzz harumasa #harumasa asaba #asaba harumasa x reader #harumasa x reader #zzz harumasa x reader #erm #bunni's treats 🧁#i need to go to bed now good night

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callsigns-haze · 6 months ago

Note

Tyler’s girlfriend/wife suggests he and the team chase one last storm before their baby comes. While they’re on the road a tornado hits Tyler’s hometown and for a few angst filled hours he’s unable to reach her. When he gets home she is safe with only minor injuries.

Before the Storm

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Reader

Chapter Summary: Tyler Owens faces a life-altering decision when a tornado strikes his hometown, forcing him to choose between his passion for storm chasing and his newfound responsibilities as a husband and soon-to-be father.

Chapter Warnings: Intense emotional distress, fear of loss, and scenes of natural disaster.

The day was hot and heavy with the promise of storms on the horizon. The kind of day that made the air crackle with electricity, where even the slightest breeze carried the scent of impending rain. Tyler Owens stood by the truck, his hand absentmindedly resting on the hood as he glanced over at his wife, Y/N, who was sitting on the porch of their small, cozy home. She was eight months pregnant now, her belly round and full with the life they had created together. And despite the heat, she looked serene, her hand resting gently on her stomach as she watched him with a calm, understanding smile.

“Tyler,” she called softly, her voice cutting through the thick, humid air. He turned to look at her, his heart swelling with love and something else—something heavier. She was his world, and soon, she would be bringing their child into it, a new chapter in their lives that filled him with both excitement and trepidation.

He walked over to her, crouching down so that he was at eye level, his hand moving instinctively to rest on her belly, feeling the slight kick of their baby against his palm. “Hey there, little one,” he murmured, smiling as he looked back up at Y/N.

“You’ve got that look in your eyes,” she said, her tone gentle but knowing. She had seen that look before, many times. It was the look he got when he felt the pull of the storm, the thrill of the chase calling to him like a siren song. “There’s a big one coming, isn’t there?”

Tyler hesitated, his fingers absently tracing circles on her stomach. “Yeah,” he admitted after a moment. “Could be one of the last big ones of the season. But with the baby so close to coming… I don’t know if I should go.”

Y/N reached out, placing her hand over his. She could see the conflict in his eyes, the tug-of-war between his passion and his responsibilities. “Tyler, I know how much storm chasing means to you. It’s part of who you are. And I also know that once our baby is here, everything’s going to change.”

He swallowed hard, nodding slightly. He knew she was right. Once the baby arrived, his life would be different—storm chasing would take a backseat to late-night feedings, diaper changes, and lullabies. He wasn’t afraid of that, not really. He was ready to be a father, but the thought of leaving behind the adrenaline-fueled chases, the camaraderie of his team, and the wild, untamed beauty of the storms… it was hard to let go.

“Go,” Y/N said softly, squeezing his hand. “Go and chase this storm, Tyler. One last time before everything changes. You need this, and I want you to have it.”

He looked at her, his heart aching with love and gratitude. “Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you alone, especially not this close to… you know.”

She smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m sure. I’ll be fine, I promise. And when you get back, we’ll be ready for whatever comes next.”

Tyler felt a mix of excitement and hesitation well up inside him. He nodded, giving her one last lingering kiss before standing up and turning to head back to the truck. As he did, he couldn’t help but glance back at her, feeling a twinge of something he couldn’t quite place. A sense of finality, perhaps, or maybe it was just the weight of the unknown, of knowing that this could be the last time he felt the rush of the chase for a while.

The team was ready to go, the truck loaded up and the GPS coordinates set. Tyler climbed into the driver’s seat, his mind already half in the storm, the other half still back home with Y/N. As they set off, the anticipation of the chase began to build, that familiar surge of adrenaline starting to pulse through his veins.

But then, as they were speeding down the highway, the radio crackled to life, cutting through the tense silence. “We’ve got a tornado touching down in Tyler’s hometown,” came the voice, sharp and urgent. “It’s moving fast—winds are off the charts.”

Tyler’s blood ran cold. The hometown. Their home. Where Y/N was waiting, alone. His hands tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles white as the fear sank in. He tried to call her immediately, his fingers fumbling with his phone, but the call wouldn’t go through. The signal was patchy, the storm’s interference blocking his attempts.

“Come on, come on,” he muttered, his heart pounding in his chest. Every unanswered ring felt like a punch to the gut, the anxiety gnawing at him with every mile they drove. The distance between him and Y/N felt insurmountable, the fear growing with each passing minute.

“Tyler, we’ll get there,” one of his team members said, trying to offer reassurance, but Tyler barely heard him. His mind was spinning with worst-case scenarios—images of their house torn apart, of Y/N trapped or injured, or worse. He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t lose them.

Time stretched out painfully, each mile feeling like an eternity. The closer they got, the more desperate he became, trying over and over to reach her, his hands shaking as he redialed her number. The storm was ferocious, the winds whipping around them as they sped down the highway, but Tyler’s only thought was getting home, getting to her.

Finally, after what felt like hours, they arrived in town. The destruction was overwhelming—trees uprooted, houses reduced to rubble, debris scattered everywhere. Tyler’s heart pounded in his ears as he jumped out of the truck, barely waiting for it to stop. He sprinted towards their house, his legs burning with the effort, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was getting to her.

When he reached the house, his breath caught in his throat. The structure was still standing, but it had taken a hit—windows shattered, the roof partially torn off. Panic clawed at him as he stumbled inside, calling her name.

“Y/N! Y/N, where are you?!”

His voice cracked with fear, the dread suffocating him as he searched the wreckage of their home. And then, he saw her. She was sitting on the floor in the hallway, her back against the wall, holding her belly protectively. She looked up at him, her face pale, her eyes wide with relief.

“Tyler,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

He was at her side in an instant, dropping to his knees and pulling her into his arms, holding her so tightly he was afraid he might hurt her, but he couldn’t let go. The relief that washed over him was overwhelming, tears burning in his eyes as he buried his face in her hair.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re okay… oh, thank God, you’re okay.”

She nodded, clinging to him just as tightly. “I’m okay,” she said, her voice shaky but firm. “The baby’s okay. We’re okay, Tyler.”

He pulled back just enough to cup her face in his hands, his eyes searching hers, needing to see for himself that she was truly safe. She had a few cuts on her arms, and a bruise was forming on her forehead, but otherwise, she seemed unharmed. He exhaled a shuddering breath, pressing his forehead against hers.

“I was so scared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I was going to lose you. I thought… I can’t lose you.”

“You didn’t lose me,” she reassured him, her fingers brushing through his hair. “I’m right here. We’re right here.”

As he held her close, the storm still raging outside, Tyler felt something shift inside him. He had always known there was a balance to be struck between his passion for storm chasing and his responsibilities as a husband, and soon, as a father. But now, with Y/N in his arms, that balance felt more fragile than ever. The thrill of the chase was still there, but it paled in comparison to the fear of losing her, of losing the family they were about to become.

“I’m done,” he whispered after a long moment. “This was my last chase. I’m done.”

Y/N looked at him, surprised. “Tyler, you don’t have to—”

“No,” he interrupted gently, shaking his head. “I’m done. I can’t keep putting you through this. I can’t keep putting our family at risk. This is where I need to be—from now on, this is my priority. You and our baby… you’re what matters.”

Tears welled up in her eyes as she nodded, her hand resting over his on her stomach. “I love you, Tyler.”

“I love you too,” he said, his voice breaking as he kissed her deeply, holding her as if he’d never let go.

And as the storm began to move on, leaving behind a trail of destruction and chaos, Tyler knew that this was the end of one chapter and the beginning of another. The thrill of the chase had been a part of his life for so long, but now, he had something even more important to protect, something worth giving it all up for.

As he held Y/N close, feeling the faint kick of their baby between them, Tyler made a silent promise—to be there, to protect them, to never let the storm take away what mattered most.

Requests for Tyler are open be free to send in as much as you wish!

tagging some:

@senawashere

@saviorcomplexrry

@cevansbaby-dove

@saynotononsense

@missdottie

@willowisp7

@taorislover94

@eloquenceinpurple

@86laura11

@rosiahills22

@jessicab1991

@kmc1989

@shanimallina87

@eternalsams

@teen-antisocial

#tyler owens x reader #tyler owens x you #tyler owens fanfic #tyler owens #twisters fanfiction #tyler owens imagine #tyler owens x y/n #tyler owens smut #dad!tyler owens

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lazysoulwriter · 7 days ago

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What Love is Supposed to Feel Like. - Pedro Pascal.

requested! hope u really like it. and remember: to be loved is to be respected.

The film set was buzzing with quiet activity as the crew prepared for the next scene. You sat in a chair off to the side, scrolling through your phone mindlessly, until a notification lit up the screen.

Your stomach dropped. It was a DM—from him.

"I cheated on you two times and you keep coming back. Do I need to do it a third time for you to develop some self-respect?"

A sharp inhale caught in your throat. Your hands trembled as you stared at the message, disbelief warring with the dull ache of betrayal. You thought you had gotten past this. Thought that maybe, just maybe, things could be different. But no. He had done it again. And this time, he was mocking you for staying.

"Hey."

Pedro's voice was warm, gentle. You hadn't noticed him approaching, but now he crouched down beside you, his eyes flicking between your face and the phone in your grip. "What’s going on?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words lodged in your throat. Tears blurred your vision as you exhaled shakily. Without thinking, you handed him the phone. He read the message, and the softness in his expression hardened into something else. Anger. Concern.

"You don’t deserve this," he murmured, setting your phone down on the table next to you. His hand found yours, grounding you. "You hear me? No one deserves this. Especially not you."

A tear slipped down your cheek. Pedro sighed, squeezing your hand before tugging you into a hug. It wasn’t rushed or awkward—just warm and steady, his arms wrapping around you like a shield. Like safety.

"He's an asshole," Pedro muttered into your hair. "And I swear, if I ever see him—"

A watery laugh escaped you. "You’d fight my ex for me?"

"Absolutely," he said without hesitation, pulling back just enough to look at you. "But more importantly, I’d remind you every day that you deserve better."

Months later, you realized just how right he was.

You sat curled up on Pedro’s couch, his arm draped lazily over your shoulders as the soft hum of music filled the space. He absentmindedly traced patterns on your arm, his touch soothing and familiar. The past felt like a distant memory, a chapter closed.

"You seem happy," he mused, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You turned to him, heart swelling at the warmth in his gaze. "I am."

His smile was slow, teasing. "Think it has anything to do with me?"

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't deny it. "Maybe just a little."

Pedro chuckled, his fingers tilting your chin up before kissing you—slow and sweet, like he had all the time in the world to remind you how loved you were.

And for the first time in a long time, you knew you had found something real.

One evening, as you both sat on the balcony of his apartment, watching the city lights twinkle below, he turned to you with a serious expression. "Do you ever think about him anymore?"

You sighed, looking out at the skyline. "Not in the way I used to. There were nights where I’d lie awake, wondering what I did wrong. Why I wasn’t enough. But now... now I know it was never about me. It was about him. His choices. His flaws. Not mine."

Pedro nodded, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on the back of your hand. "I’m glad you see that. Because you are more than enough. And anyone who can’t see that doesn’t deserve you."

Tears pricked at your eyes, but this time, they weren’t from sadness. They were from gratitude. Happiness. You leaned into him, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne. "Thank you," you whispered.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "For what?"

"For showing me what love is supposed to feel like."

Pedro's arms tightened around you. "Anytime, mi amor. Anytime."

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal imagines #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal scenario #pedro pascal fanfiction #fanfics #imagines #scenarios

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messrmoonyy · 6 months ago

Text

- Arthur Morgan hcs ( high honour vs low honour ) 18+

HH!Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader / LH!Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Request- LOVE your writing, can we get a high honor vs low honor Arthur in bed? HAVE A LOVELY DAY :D

A/N- ty to the anon for requesting this, I’m in one of those ruts where I’m struggling to write one shots more than like a few sentences here and there or hating everything and restarting a million times lol. So a HC request was a nice way to get me writing without thinking too hard 😭💀. I will say I have never and could never play low honour. So if it’s inaccurate well… it’s fanfiction. This is basically soft vs rough Arthur lmao

Masterlist

•Low honour•

- He’s a slightly selfish lover. If he comes first then he doesn’t particularly care if you haven’t

- Likes to use his size to his advantage. Hes taller. Heavier. Wider. Likes when he can pin you down and put his weight on you, trapping you in place. Size kink goes crazy

- Which also leads into his love of choking. And hair pulling. He just likes to manhandle you , he likes that he’s so much bigger and can just like… toss you around a bit. He likes knowing he can wrap his hand around your throat and have your literal life in his hands, and you just willingly let him.

- Of course he’s far tougher and rougher. HH!Arthur will spend ages working you up and relaxing you and making you come in the most blissfully world shattering way. LH!Arthur just wants to see how many times he can make you finish before you pass out

- OR. If he’s feeling particularly dickish. He’ll just edge you. For hours. Days. Simply because he thinks it’s funny. And he’s a jerk.

- Prone bone is one of his favs. He can trap you in place, press your face into his pillow and go to town.

- lip biter. Absolutely will tug your bottom lip between his teeth mid make out

- Possessive. Likes leaving hickeys all over you. Especially where others can see them. And he doesn’t like you hiding them either. He wants people to know you’re his

- He’ll praise you but it’s usually pretty degrading too. Like think ‘ who’s my good lil whore, hm? ‘

- Loveeeessssssss You giving him head. Loves it. And will actively ask for it unlike HH!Arthur

- The sloppier the better, roughly fucking himself into your mouth until you gag and choke and urging you to keep going? Yeah he loves that shit. ‘ that’s it. Good girl choke on it ‘ ‘ you can do better than that princess ‘

- DARE I SAY IT. DARE I SAY LH!ARTHUR HAS A GUN KINK. CAUSE- cue my silent war flashbacks to that one Tess gun kink fic I wrote.

- Ass man. Will smack it and grab it every chance he gets. Whether it’s in the bedroom or not.

- Finishes on your face, tits,ass. Likes the look of it it fills some possessive desire inside him. Like he’s marking you.

- And he ain’t tryna get you pregnant

- he may be an absolute dick but he does give you some aftercare. He’s not the cuddly type. But he’ll help you clean up and kiss you, tell you you did a good job. He’ll always make sure you’re doing okay because he loves you

•High honour•

- Treats you like you’re delicate. Even if he knows you’re not. He’s tender. Gentle. He worships you. There is not a single inch of skin unkissed, caressed. Loved.

- He always wants you to come first. And multiple times too. But in a different way to LH!Arthur. He doesn’t want to overstimulate you he just wants to give. Hes such a giver. And he would happily spend an entire day with his head between your thighs if he could.

- Like. This man is a munch. He is. Argue with the wall. He is

- And he’s damn good at it. And thorough. Buries his damn face in you. And you’ve seen the size of his hands, those thick fingers of his make an appearance too. He knows your body well and can hit the perfect spot with practiced ease ‘ that’s it darlin, right there yeah?’

- He’s sloppy with it and he doesn’t care. If his beard isn’t glistening with you when he’s done then he didn’t do it right

- He likes missionary. So he can see your face and kiss you as much as he wants, he just loves to watch you. He likes to see the way he makes you feel, likes to watch the way your face twists and relaxes with the pleasure he gives you.

- Praise!!! So much praise!!!

- ‘Doin so fell f’me darlin takin me so well ‘ ‘ look so pretty like this ‘ ‘ eyes on me darlin, wanna see that pretty face when you come ‘

- Loves you playing/pulling his hair. Whether it’s when he’s got his head between your thighs or when he’s buried deep inside you and you’re desperately clawing at him. He loves it

- He’s a boobs typa guy. Loves to grab them and and suck on them, especially if you have your fingers running through his hair at the same time.

- He likes to finish inside despite the risk. But if not he’ll wait until the very last second and pull out, just spilling onto your stomach. He doesn’t wanna… defile you. You’re a precious creature worthy of being worshipped and desired, not treated like some cheap saloon girl.

- But deep down he wouldn’t even mind if you did get pregnant. He wants nothing more than to have a family with you one day.

- the sweetest aftercare. Cleans you up and helps you get dressed again. The act of dressing someone rather than undressing them is so intimate and he loves it.

- he’ll cuddle you and pet your hair, tell you how much he loves and adores you. How beautiful you are, how good you made him feel. He literally is a never ending fountain of praise.

#arthur morgan x reader #Arthur Morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 community #rdr2 #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 fanfic #low honor arthur morgan #high honor arthur morgan

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lumosou · 2 months ago

Text

୨୧ — Breathing After the Ashes. 𖦹 , ✿ + ꕤ

ꕤ — Character(s) ; Harry J. Potter x Fem!Reader

ꕤ — Synopsis + Wc ; In the quiet after the storm, Harry learns to feel again—through stolen touches, whispered truths, and the solace of you. Together, you find warmth in the wreckage, and a reason to hold on. 7.9k

ꕤ — Discretion ; 18+ MDNI! angsty feelings alllll around, some fluff but mostly angstyish, the smut is so gentle and soft!!!!! mostly healing sex between reader & harry, they both need therapy.. penetrative sex! kisses as well 🫡

ꕤ — A/n ; this fic is lowkey my child but i also lowkey hate it! wtf! the pacing is kinda awkward and also repetitive bc this is genuinely the longest thing i’ve ever written and idk how to deal w it, bare with me i promise ill get better as i go 😭 i do hope u guys enjoy it somewhat!! reblogs and feedback are so so appreciated 🫶🏻

; masterlist.

The Great Hall wasn’t the same anymore. The enchanted ceiling still glowed with its usual charm, painted in amber hues that mirrored the late summer sunset, but the light felt muted somehow, swallowed by a weight too stubborn to dissipate. It hung in the air like smoke from a dying fire—bitter, clinging, impossible to outrun.

Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, the hum of voices around him blurring into an indistinct murmur. His eyes stayed fixed on his plate, laden with food he didn’t remember serving himself: roast chicken, mashed potatoes, a gleaming crescent of gravy. None of it tempted him. The thought of eating made his stomach twist uncomfortably, a dull ache that spread through his chest.

The war was over. Voldemort was gone, his name no longer a curse. This was supposed to be the part where relief set in, where everything hurt a little less. Instead, Harry felt as though he was still wading through the rubble, shoulders bowed under the crushing weight of those who hadn’t made it. Colin Creevey. Remus. Tonks. Fred. Their names were a mantra he couldn’t stop repeating in his head, their faces seared into his mind’s eye.

His grip on the fork tightened until it dug into his palm, the bite of metal a thin distraction.

“Harry.” Hermione’s voice was a soft thread that tugged him out of his spiral. He looked up, startled, to find her hand brushing against his arm. Concern clouded her features, her brows knitting together. “You don’t have to stay here. If it’s too much, you can—”

“I’m fine,” he snapped, sharper than he meant to. The words came out like a reflex, cutting her off mid-sentence. Hermione flinched, pulling back her hand, and for a fleeting moment, guilt gnawed at him. But he shoved it down. He didn’t want her worry, her pity. He didn’t want any of it.

Ron shifted beside him, chewing on a hunk of bread like it was his way out of the tension. He didn’t speak, though Harry could feel the sideways glance he shot him. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, until Harry let out a slow, controlled breath and placed his fork on the plate. The metallic clang rang louder than it should’ve, making him wince.

The scrape of his chair against the floor cut through the noise of the hall as he stood abruptly. “I need some air,” he muttered, already turning away.

He didn’t wait for Hermione to protest or Ron to offer some half-hearted comment to fill the space. His feet carried him toward the door, away from the low hum of conversation and clinking dishes. Toward the one place in all of Hogwarts where the noise couldn’t follow. Where he could finally, maybe, breathe.

─────────────

The Astronomy Tower had always been Harry’s escape. Perched high above the rest of the castle, it was the only place where the world felt distant enough to bear. The sprawling grounds stretched out below him, bathed in the purples and blues of dusk, and for a brief moment, the sight eased the tension coiled in his chest. He leaned heavily against the stone railing, its chill biting through his sleeves, and the wind making his already wild hair even messier. It carried the sharp, clean scent of freshly cut grass, grounding him in the present even as his thoughts drifted elsewhere.

The sound of footsteps startled him—not loud, but enough to break the fragile stillness he’d sought. He turned sharply, hand brushing the wand tucked in his pocket, only to pause when a voice cut through the quiet.

“Are you hiding too?” you asked, lingering near the top of the stairs. The dim light softened your features, but it didn’t quite mask the curiosity behind your words. There was no malice in your tone, only a quiet humor that made his shoulders drop slightly.

“I wasn’t hiding,” Harry said automatically, though even to his ears, the denial sounded weak.

You tilted your head, unconvinced. A faint smile ghosted across your lips, but your eyes remained guarded, unreadable. “Right. You’re just conveniently up here, avoiding everyone, the same way I am.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably, his fingers brushing the edge of the railing. He didn’t respond, unsure how to defend himself—or if he even wanted to. There was something about the way you stood there, hands loosely at your sides, your voice soft but steady, that caught him off guard. It wasn’t pity or prying curiosity, just… understanding. Like you could see the weight pressing down on him and felt no need to ask what it was. Like maybe you carried some of it yourself.

He swallowed hard, his gaze flicking back to the horizon. “I guess you’re not.. wrong.’’

You stepped closer with quiet purpose, each movement deliberate, as though gauging the fragile equilibrium of Harry’s silence. He didn’t flinch or shift away, didn’t so much as glance at you. His gaze stayed locked on the horizon, but you could feel the weight of his awareness, the way the air between you seemed to hold its breath. When you finally stopped beside him at the railing, the stillness wasn’t stifling. It was tentative, balanced, as though it might shatter if either of you spoke too loudly.

“It doesn’t feel like the same place, does it?” Your voice was soft, your eyes fixed on the horizon as the last threads of sunlight dissolved into the hills. The sky deepened into shades of indigo and amber, blurring the edges of the world.

Harry nodded, though the motion felt stiff, half-hearted. “No,” he said, but the word came out hollow, too small to carry the weight behind it.

You leaned forward on the railing, fingers brushing the cool stone. “It’s strange,” you murmured, more to the sky than to him. “You think coming back will fix things, like the castle will just… feel the same. Like being here should make it easier. But it doesn’t. It’s all still different.”

Harry turned his head slightly, his gaze catching yours out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t mean to linger, but your words struck something raw, something he hadn’t managed to put into words. You’d said it so simply, yet it was exactly what had been clawing at him for months.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “It’s not the same.”

Your eyes flicked to him, your expression unreadable. “And neither are you.”

The observation hit like a hex, sharper than you’d probably meant it to. Harry’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists against the stone. “Nobody is,” he said, his voice low and edged with a bitterness he didn’t entirely mean to direct at you.

But you didn’t flinch. You didn’t back away or apologize for the truth in your words. Instead, you tilted your head slightly, a flicker of understanding softening your tone. “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing,” you said, your voice gentler now. “War changes people. It has to.”

He wanted to argue, to say something sharp and deflective, but the words caught in his throat. Because you weren’t wrong. He wasn’t the same person who had fought his way out of the Chamber of Secrets or stood in front of the Mirror of Erised. He wasn’t sure who he was now—just that he wasn’t enough.

The silence stretched again, but this time it felt different. Not heavy, not empty, but something quieter, more bearable. Your arm brushed his lightly as you leaned forward on the railing, the contact fleeting yet somehow electric. He stiffened, his pulse jolting unexpectedly, and he waited for you to pull away. But you didn’t.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” you said after a moment, your voice low, steady. “I just thought you might not want to be alone. Sometimes it helps.”

He swallowed, his throat dry, and tried to muster some kind of response. He wanted to tell you he didn’t need anyone, that he was fine—had always been fine—on his own. But the words wouldn’t come. Maybe because they weren’t true.

“Thanks,” he said eventually, his voice barely audible, as though saying it too loudly might break whatever fragile thing had settled between you.

Your lips curved into the faintest smile, one that felt less like triumph and more like an offering. You leaned back against the railing, gaze lifting to the stars beginning to scatter across the night sky. They blinked faintly in the deepening dark, small points of light that somehow didn’t feel so far away.

For the first time in weeks—months, maybe—Harry let the tension in his chest ease just a little. The world still felt impossibly heavy, but next to you, it didn’t feel so crushing.

Maybe you were right. Maybe not being alone did help.

─────────────

The two of you stayed there, side by side, the silence between you settling into something quieter, more natural. Harry’s hands curled around the cold stone of the railing, the familiar feel grounding him as his eyes traced the lines of the grounds below. The weight on his chest hadn’t vanished, not completely, but your presence dulled its sharp edges, made it something he could carry, if only for a little while.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Your voice cut through the stillness—not loud, not accusing, just curious.

Harry turned his head toward you, startled by the observation. But you weren’t looking at him. Your gaze stayed on the horizon, your features lit faintly by the glow of the rising stars.

He shrugged, the motion small, self-contained. “Guess I don’t have much to say.”

You hummed softly, the sound low and thoughtful, almost like you were agreeing with him. “Sometimes it’s easier that way,” you murmured. “Less to explain.”

His grip on the railing tightened, knuckles pressing white against the stone. He wanted to ask how you could say something like that, how you seemed to know exactly what he was thinking when he hadn’t even said it aloud. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Some part of him was afraid that asking might shatter whatever strange, fragile understanding hung between you.

“Not everyone sees it that way,” he muttered instead. “Most people just want me to talk. Like if I say something, it’ll fix everything.”

You turned your head then, and he felt your gaze settle on him—steady, unflinching, impossible to avoid. “They probably think it’ll make them feel better,” you said, your voice calm but edged with certainty.

Harry blinked, the words landing harder than he expected. He hadn’t thought about it like that before, but of course, you were right. People didn’t just want him to be okay��they needed it. They needed Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, to be fine so they could tell themselves that things might still go back to the way they were.

“But it’s not about them,” you added, your tone softening just slightly, as though you’d noticed the way his jaw tightened. “It’s about you.”

The words struck something deep, loosening a knot he hadn’t realized had been pulling him taut all day. He turned to look at you fully now, his gaze searching your face for something he couldn’t name. But you weren’t watching him like everyone else did. There was no pity in your expression, no awkwardness. Just quiet understanding.

“Why are you up here?” he asked, the question spilling out before he had time to think better of it. He didn’t want to talk about himself anymore, didn’t want to keep peeling open wounds that hadn’t even begun to heal.

You hesitated, just for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to answer. Then your lips quirked into a faint smile—tired, almost self-deprecating. “Guess I needed to get away too. Being around people all the time… it’s exhausting.”

He nodded slowly. That, at least, he didn’t need explained. The noise, the questions, the endless parade of looks that didn’t ask but expected—it was suffocating. Up here, though, the castle below felt distant enough to forget, just for a little while.

“It’s different up here,” he said after a pause, though he wasn’t sure he’d meant to say it out loud.

You glanced at him again, your expression softer now, as though something in his words had shifted the space between you.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he added quietly, surprising himself with the honesty of it.

You blinked, tilting your head like you hadn’t expected it either. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, the tension in his chest eased, just a fraction. Whatever warmth flickered there wasn’t tied to the war or his title or anything he’d done to save the world. It wasn’t about being Harry Potter. It was just you.

You gave him a small, knowing smile, and for a moment, the weight of everything slipped from Harry’s shoulders. The ghosts quieted, the endless expectations faded, and the hollow ache that lived in his chest dulled just enough. Up here, with you beside him, the rest of the world felt far away, like it couldn’t reach him.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you said lightly, leaning back against the railing, arms folding across your chest. The breeze stirred your hair, the faint scent of pine and earth clinging to it, and Harry found himself watching the way the dim light softened your features.

“The Boy Who Lived doesn’t strike me as someone who needs anyone.”

Harry’s lips quirked into a faint smirk, but the warmth of it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Is that what people think?”

You tilted your head, considering. “People think all sorts of things about you. Half of it’s probably rubbish.”

That drew a soft laugh from him, low and unexpected. The sound sat strangely in his chest, but it didn’t feel unwelcome. “You’re probably right.”

You glanced at him then, head tilted, your gaze curious but not intrusive. It wasn’t the sharp, prying look he was used to, the one that demanded answers or apologies or pieces of him he didn’t have to give. Instead, it was quieter, like you were searching for something without expecting him to offer it. Harry shifted under the weight of it, his fingers curling tighter around the railing, but before he could say anything, you spoke again.

“Sometimes I think people forget you’re just… human.”

The words caught him off guard, sinking into him like a stone dropped into water. You didn’t say it with pity or reverence—just a soft kind of honesty that made his breath catch. It was like you weren’t talking to Harry Potter, the Chosen One, but just Harry, the boy standing beside you on a cold, quiet night.

For a moment, he couldn’t respond. The silence between you stretched, filled with a thousand things he wanted to say but couldn’t find the words for. “Sometimes I forget that too,” he said finally, the confession slipping out before he could stop it. His voice was barely audible, and yet it felt louder than anything he’d said in months. “It’s like… if I’m not fighting or fixing something, I don’t know who I’m supposed to be.”

You turned to face him fully now, your expression soft but steady. “Maybe you don’t have to figure that out right now,” you said. “Maybe it’s okay to just… be.”

The simplicity of it stunned him. Just be. As though it were that easy. As though he could strip himself of everything he carried and exist without purpose or expectation. Harry’s grip on the railing tightened. “I don’t know if I even know how to do that anymore.”

“Maybe you don’t have to do it alone.”

The words hung in the air between you, weightless and heavy all at once. Harry’s gaze lifted to meet yours, his heart stumbling in his chest. You weren’t looking at him the way most people did, like he was a puzzle to solve or a hero to rely on. You were looking at him like he was… enough.

He swallowed, his throat dry. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Your lips curved into a soft smile, but there was something in your eyes—something faintly sad and yet unwavering. “Because I think you need it.”

The knot in his chest twisted, a sharp ache he hadn’t felt in years threatening to rise to the surface. He blinked hard, pushing it back, refusing to let it crack him open. Not here. Not now.

His hand moved almost without thinking, brushing against yours where it rested on the stone. It was a light touch, tentative and fleeting, but enough to send a jolt through him. He froze, half expecting you to pull away, to retreat the way everyone else eventually did.

But you didn’t.

The touch lingered, delicate and unspoken, neither of you pulling away. It wasn’t an accident, nor was it intentional in a way that required words. It just was, the kind of quiet moment Harry didn’t know how to name—simple, yet heavy with meaning. His gaze dropped to your hand, where your fingers just barely grazed his, and something unfamiliar stirred in him, warm and disorienting.

“I’m not used to this,” he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them. The night breeze nearly carried them away, but you heard him.

You turned your head, curiosity softening your expression. “Used to what?”

“Someone just… being here.” He let out a dry laugh, short and humorless, as if mocking himself. “Most people either avoid me or expect something.”

Your fingers shifted, brushing his more firmly, the subtle movement grounding him. “I don’t expect anything, Harry.”

His name, spoken so gently, without expectation or weight—it shouldn’t have struck him the way it did. But it lodged in his chest, the simplicity of it making his stomach twist. You weren’t trying to be anything other than honest, and somehow that made it worse.

He looked at you then, really looked at you. The moonlight played across your features, softening the edges, casting faint shadows against your skin. Your gaze met his and didn’t waver, holding steady in a way that made his chest tighten. There was something solid about you, something he couldn’t explain but couldn’t deny either. An anchor, maybe, in a world that had only ever felt like chaos.

“I don’t know how to…” The sentence faltered, crumbling before it could finish. Harry shook his head slightly, as if that might hide his frustration. How to what, exactly? Let someone in? Say what he was feeling? Be himself again?

“You don’t have to explain anything,” you said, like you could read his mind. Your voice was low, steady, but kind. “I meant it. You don’t have to do this alone. Whatever this is.”

A lump rose in his throat, the kind that tightened every word into silence, but he nodded, managing a quiet, “Thanks.” It felt small, inadequate, but you didn’t seem to mind. You just gave him a smile—small but warm, like the kind of light you don’t notice until it chases away the dark.

For a while, neither of you said anything. The silence wrapped around you, not heavy or cold, but something softer now. Warm, even. Harry let himself sink into it, his shoulders easing, his usual tension slipping away bit by bit. He glanced down at the grounds, the glow of the castle windows below casting long, soft shadows over the grass.

“Do you ever think about leaving?” you asked suddenly, your voice breaking the quiet but not shattering it.

Harry blinked, caught off guard. “Leaving Hogwarts?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just… walking away. Starting over somewhere far from all of this.”

He hesitated, the idea catching him in a way he wasn’t expecting. The thought of leaving everything—this castle, its whispers, the weight of who he was supposed to be—was both terrifying and strangely tempting. To go somewhere he could just be Harry, without the war, without the name, without the constant pull of the past.

“Sometimes,” he admitted, the word quiet but honest. “But… I don’t think I could. I don’t know who I’d be without all of this.”

You nodded, like you understood. “Maybe that’s something you figure out with time.”

There was no judgment in your voice, just patience, and that startled him more than the question itself. Harry turned to look at you, searching your face for something he couldn’t name. You weren’t pushing him. You weren’t rushing him to have answers he didn’t have. And somehow, that made him ache.

“What about you?” he asked, the words coming out before he could stop them. “Would you leave?”

Your smile was faint, wistful, like the question had passed through you a thousand times already. “I think about it. But I always come back to the same answer.” You paused, your gaze slipping to the horizon. “I don’t think running away fixes anything.”

He nodded slowly, letting the words sink in. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

You laughed softly, and the sound caught him by surprise. It wasn’t loud, but it was real, and it made something in his chest ease. “Only probably?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, the ghost of a smile finally breaking through. “Fine. You’re definitely right.”

“There you go,” you teased, your tone lighter now. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

It was strange how the conversation shifted, how the tension between you melted into something easier. Lighter. For the first time in longer than he could remember, Harry felt himself relax into the moment, his guard lowering just enough to let the night and your presence settle over him. For once, the weight on his shoulders didn’t feel so crushing. For once, the world outside the two of you could wait.

─────────────

The hours blurred together, the sky above deepening into a velvety indigo scattered with stars. The castle had fallen silent, the faint hum of voices and clatter of dishes from the Great Hall fading into memory. You hadn’t moved far from him, and Harry found himself noticing—really noticing—how the quiet didn’t feel oppressive anymore. It wasn’t heavy or suffocating. It was just… there. And for the first time in what felt like forever, it was bearable.

When you turned to him, your gaze was steady, searching but not invasive. “Do you think you’ll ever feel normal again?”

The question caught him off guard. It wasn’t laced with pity or weighed down with expectation—it was just honest. Simple. It twisted something inside him all the same. Harry swallowed hard, the knot in his chest pulling tighter.

“I don’t know what normal is,” he admitted, his voice low, like he was confessing something fragile to the night itself. “Maybe I.. never really did.”

You nodded, like that answer didn’t surprise you. Like it wasn’t the wrong one. “I think a lot of us feel that way.”

You didn’t push, didn’t prod for more, and that—more than anything—made him want to keep going.

“When it ended…” He trailed off, his eyes dropping to his hands on the railing. They looked unfamiliar, scarred and pale against the stone. “I thought it would stop. The hurt. I thought I’d feel relieved.” His jaw tightened, and the next words slipped out like they had been waiting for years. “But it didn’t. And now I don’t know if it ever will.”

The admission hung in the air, raw and vulnerable. Harry’s fingers curled against the railing, the cold bite of the stone grounding him. He didn’t look at you—he couldn’t. He didn’t know what he’d see in your eyes, and some part of him was afraid of it.

“You lost so much,” you said softly, your voice steady but laced with something achingly gentle. “It’s okay to feel like that. No one expects you to just move on.”

Harry let out a hollow laugh, bitter and quiet. “Everyone expects me to be fine. To be Harry Potter, the one who saved everyone.” He gestured vaguely to himself, his voice cracking under the weight of it. “They don’t want to see this. Whatever this is.”

“I do,” you said, your voice unwavering.

The words hit him like a punch to the chest, knocking the air clean out of him. His head snapped up, his eyes meeting yours. There was no hesitation in your expression, no doubt. Just quiet sincerity, so clear and certain it left him breathless.

“Why?” The question fell from his lips before he could stop it.

You shrugged, a faint, bittersweet smile curving your lips. “Because… you’re more than what everyone sees. And because I think you deserve someone who doesn’t just want the shiny bits of you.”

Harry stared at you, his chest tightening painfully. He didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know how to process something so simple yet staggering. No one had ever said anything like that to him before—at least, not in a way that felt this real.

The air between you shifted, heavier now, like it was carrying something unspoken, something fragile but undeniable. You weren’t touching, but Harry could still feel the warmth of you beside him, like a presence he didn’t want to lose. His heart pounded harder, the sound of it loud in his ears.

“I don’t think I deserve it,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible.

Your brows knit together, a flicker of sadness crossing your face, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you stepped closer, close enough that he could see the faint curve of your lashes, the soft press of your lips. “I think you do.”

Harry inhaled sharply, his grip tightening on the railing as you moved into his space. His pulse thundered, and his mind raced with the weight of the moment, with how close you were, with the quiet pull of something he wasn’t sure he had the strength to reach for.

“I don’t want to screw this up,” he whispered, the words raw and fractured.

“You won’t,” you said softly, your voice steady but kind. “But you don’t have to decide anything right now.”

His eyes flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes, and he felt something shift in him—like a thread unraveling after being pulled too tight for too long. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached out, his fingers brushing yours again.

This time, you didn’t just let the touch linger. You let your fingers twine with his, warm and certain, the weight of it enough to crack the walls he’d been holding up for so long.

Harry’s breath hitched as your fingers laced with his, the touch so simple yet carrying the weight of something he didn’t quite know how to name. It sent a ripple through him—a warmth that started in his chest and spread outward, leaving a faint ache in its wake. His grip tightened slightly, hesitant but sure, and he drew in a shaky breath, trying to ground himself in the moment.

You didn’t push him, didn’t say a word. You just stayed there, steady and close, your thumb brushing softly over the back of his hand. The stars above blurred into the edges of his vision, the castle fading into shadow. The world narrowed until it was only you, your touch, and the quiet hum of something unspoken between you.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his voice low and uneven. His green eyes searched yours, wide and vulnerable in a way that made his chest feel both too tight and too open. “I don’t know how to let myself… feel like this.”

You didn’t flinch or pull back. Instead, you gave him a small, steady smile, your free hand lifting, hovering just near his arm, a silent question. “You don’t have to know how. You just have to let it happen.”

Harry exhaled, shaky and raw, but didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned closer, his forehead almost brushing yours. His heart pounded so loudly it drowned out everything else, but for once, he didn’t care. He was tired of holding himself together, of keeping everyone out, of pretending he didn’t need this.

And then, almost instinctively, he closed the space between you.

The kiss was gentle, hesitant, like he was afraid of breaking something fragile. Or maybe breaking himself. But the moment your hand slid to his cheek, grounding him, something inside him unraveled. He pressed deeper into the kiss, his other hand rising to rest lightly at your waist. It wasn’t desperate or hurried—it was slow, deliberate, filled with everything he couldn’t put into words.

Your fingers threaded into his hair, pulling him closer, and Harry felt something crack open in his chest. It wasn’t pain, but a kind of aching relief, as though he’d been holding his breath for years and was finally allowed to exhale. For the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn’t drowning.

When you finally pulled back, your breaths mingling in the cool night air, Harry didn’t go far. His forehead rested lightly against yours, his hand still at your waist, his fingers curling slightly against the fabric as though afraid you might disappear if he let go.

“Sorry,” he murmured, though there was no regret in his voice, only uncertainty. “I… I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t apologize,” you interrupted, your voice soft but certain. Your hand slid down to rest over his chest, where his heart still raced beneath your touch. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

A quiet laugh slipped from him, more a sigh than anything else. “I’m not used to this.”

“Neither am I,” you admitted, your fingers tracing small, absent shapes against the fabric of his shirt. “But.. I think we’re allowed to have this. Even after everything.”

Your words settled deep in his chest, heavy and grounding in a way that didn’t feel like a burden. He didn’t know if he fully believed you—not yet—but for the first time, he wanted to. He wanted to let himself try, to let himself have this, even if it scared him.

“Stay,” he said quietly, the word barely above a whisper. It wasn’t a question. It was a plea.

Your lips curved into a small, tender smile, and you nodded. “I’m not going anywhere.”

─────────────

The space between you thrummed with tension, the kind that wasn’t uncomfortable but electric, alive with everything unspoken. Harry’s hand lingered at your waist, the tips of his fingers brushing against the fabric of your shirt, hesitant but wanting. His other hand gripped the railing behind you, steadying himself as he leaned in, his lips hovering just shy of yours. Your heart pounded, loud enough to drown out the quiet of the night.

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you tilted closer, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt, clutching the soft cotton as though it might keep you tethered. His breath ghosted over your lips, warm and uneven, and when he kissed you again, it was different this time—no hesitation, no doubt.

It started slow, the way it had before, soft and searching. But when you pressed closer, your body molding against his, something inside him gave way. The kiss deepened, shifting into something more urgent, more unrestrained, as if the careful control he had been holding onto had finally slipped. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him, and for a moment, nothing else existed but the heat between you.

Your hands slid up his chest, fingers trailing over the steady thrum of his heartbeat. He felt so solid beneath your palms, so real, and yet the way he kissed you was anything but careful. Your hands found his shoulders, clutching tightly as he kissed you harder, his need for you palpable. One of his hands left the railing to thread through your hair, his fingers tangling there with a kind of reverence that sent a shiver down your spine.

The rough stone at your back was cool, grounding, but it was nothing compared to the warmth of Harry’s body pressed against yours. He seemed to be everywhere at once, overwhelming in the best way.

“Is this okay?” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and unsteady.

You nodded quickly, your breath catching as he kissed you again, more certain this time. “Yes,” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling. Your fingers slid to the nape of his neck, brushing against the soft, slightly damp strands of his hair. “More than okay.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. His lips left yours, trailing down along your jaw, slow and deliberate. When he reached the curve of your neck, the heat of his breath against your skin sent a spark shooting through you, and you couldn’t stop the quiet sound that escaped your lips.

The noise seemed to break something in him. His hand slid lower, from your waist to your hip, his thumb grazing the bare skin just above the waistband of your jeans. His name slipped from your lips without thinking, and Harry groaned softly, the sound reverberating against your throat. He pressed you more firmly against the railing, his body bracketing yours as though he wanted to block out the rest of the world.

His mouth continued its path along the line of your throat, slow and reverent, stopping just above the collar of your shirt. Every kiss left a trail of fire in its wake, every touch pulling you deeper into him.

“Tell me if—” he started, his voice hoarse and uneven, but you cut him off, your hands gripping his shirt to pull him back up to kiss you again. This time, you were the one who deepened it, letting him feel the weight of everything you couldn’t say. He responded instantly, his hands roaming over your waist, your hips, your back, as though trying to memorize the shape of you.

You broke the kiss only when you couldn’t breathe, your forehead resting against his as you whispered, “Not here.”

Harry froze for a moment, his breath heavy against your lips, his eyes locked on yours. They were dark, intense, filled with something raw and vulnerable. You half-expected him to hesitate, but instead, he nodded, his hand sliding down to find yours. His grip was warm, firm, and steady, like it was the only thing anchoring him.

“Come on,” he said quietly, his voice low and sure.

You didn’t need to ask where. You just followed, your hand in his, trusting him completely.

─────────────

Harry led you through the castle’s dim corridors, his hand steady in yours. The silence wasn’t awkward—it buzzed with anticipation, each step echoing softly against the stone walls. His grip was firm but gentle, grounding you in the moment, though the occasional brush of his thumb against your skin sent a quiet thrill through you, making it harder to focus on anything but him.

He didn’t tell you where he was taking you, and you didn’t ask. You trusted him completely.

When he stopped, it was outside an empty classroom near the Charms corridor. The door creaked softly as he pushed it open, revealing a quiet space bathed in silvery moonlight pouring through tall, arched windows. The room was unremarkable, desks and chairs pushed to the sides, but it felt secluded—safe. A haven away from the weight of everything outside.

Harry let go of your hand only to close the door behind you, locking it with a flick of his wand. The soft click echoed in the stillness, and your pulse quickened as he turned back to face you. His gaze met yours, sharp and intense, and for a moment, you felt frozen under the weight of it.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice low, almost uncertain.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you stepped forward, your hands finding the front of his shirt again, pulling him down into a kiss that left no room for doubt. His lips met yours hungrily, and his hands found your waist, anchoring you against him. This time, there was no hesitation in the way he held you, his touch firm but reverent, like he’d been waiting for this moment as long as you had.

The kiss deepened quickly, the tension that had simmered between you all night spilling over like floodwaters. His hands slid up your back, pulling you closer, his body pressed against yours like he couldn’t bear even a breath of space between you. Your fingers found the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward, and he broke the kiss only long enough to let you pull it over his head, the fabric falling to the floor.

Your gaze drifted over his chest, tracing the faint scars etched across his skin, each one a reminder of everything he’d endured. The moonlight highlighted every line, every curve of muscle, and for a moment, he looked vulnerable—unsure. His chest rose and fell quickly, his nerves evident, but you didn’t let him linger there.

Your fingers brushed over his scars, soft and deliberate, and you leaned in to kiss him again. He melted into it, his hesitance replaced by a quiet urgency as his hands slid to your hips. His lips left yours to trail down your jaw, finding your neck, his kisses slow and infused with something akin to hunger. The heat of his mouth against your skin made you shiver, your breath catching as his fingers found the hem of your shirt and lifted it.

You raised your arms to let him pull it off, and when he stepped back just slightly, his gaze lingered on you in the moonlight, reverent and full of something raw that made warmth bloom low in your stomach.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, as though he wasn’t sure he was allowed to say it aloud.

Before you could respond, he kissed you again, his hands wandering your sides and back, like he was mapping every inch of you. You barely noticed the edge of a desk pressing into the backs of your thighs as he guided you backward, his movements growing bolder with each passing moment.

Your fingers drifted down his chest, following the ridges of his muscles until they found the waistband of his jeans. You worked the button free, and Harry let out a low groan, his forehead dropping to yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice strained, his green eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart stumble.

“I’m sure,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of nerves and desire coursing through you. “I want this. I want you.”

Something in his expression shifted, the raw emotion behind his gaze making your chest ache. He kissed you again, slower this time, as though he was trying to pour every unsaid word, every feeling he couldn’t name, into the press of his lips.

His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you onto the desk with ease. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, the warmth of him against you making your breath hitch. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered sound felt all-consuming, pulling you deeper into him.

The world outside disappeared. There was no war, no expectations, no fear. Just Harry—the feel of his hands, the heat of his mouth, the quiet way he murmured your name like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight you both carried didn’t matter. In this moment, there was nothing but the two of you, and that was enough.

Harry’s hands gripped your thighs firmly, his touch grounding and electric all at once. His kisses grew hungrier, more insistent, his mouth moving against yours like he’d been holding back for far too long. The edge of the desk pressed into your back, but the slight discomfort melted away beneath the heat of his body pressing against yours. Everything about him—his hands, his lips, the low, ragged sounds he made—consumed you entirely.

Your fingers worked at the top of his jeans, fumbling slightly in your haste. Harry groaned softly against your mouth as you finally managed to pull them down, his breath hitching sharply when your hands slipped below the waistband of his boxers brushing against the heated skin just above his throbbing length. His hips jerked slightly at the contact, and the sound that escaped his lips was low and guttural, sending a rush of heat spiraling through you.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you. His green eyes were dark, heavy-lidded, and filled with something raw that made your pulse stutter. His hands slid to your hips, fingers brushing against the hem of your jeans. “Can I?” he asked, his voice low and rough, barely steady.

“Please,” you breathed, lifting your hips to help him.

His gaze stayed locked on you as he slid your jeans down, the fabric brushing against your skin in a way that left you shivering. The look in his eyes made your breath catch—a mixture of reverence and want, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. His hands trembled slightly as he tossed the jeans aside, and the way his gaze raked over you, slow and deliberate, made warmth bloom low in your stomach.

“You’re…” He trailed off, his words faltering as his eyes met yours again. He didn’t need to finish the sentence; the intensity in his expression said everything his voice couldn’t.

You reached for him, pulling him closer until his bare chest pressed against yours. The heat of his skin against yours sent a shiver through you, and when his hands slid back to your thighs, parting them just slightly, you gasped quietly. His lips found yours again, slower this time, deeper. Each kiss was deliberate, filled with a need that made your whole body tremble.

One of his hands slipped between your legs, his fingers brushing against the fabric of your underwear. The touch was tentative at first, testing, but when a soft moan slipped from your lips, his confidence grew. His fingers pressed more firmly, tracing the heat of you through the fabric, and you arched into his touch instinctively, the sensation overwhelming.

“God, you’re so—” Harry broke off with a groan, his free hand gripping your thigh tightly as you rolled your hips against his hand. His breathing was unsteady now, ragged and uneven. “You’re perfect.”

The words sent a jolt of pleasure through you, making your pulse race. You reached for him, your fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers, finally pulling the restrictive barrier between the two of you down. His forehead dropped to your shoulder as your hand wrapped around him, the heat and weight of him making your own breath falter. He let out a strangled moan, his hips rocking instinctively into your touch.

“Wait,” he murmured, his voice tight, like he was holding on to the last threads of control. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands trembling as they moved to your waist. “I want to—can I—”

You nodded quickly, your cheeks warm, reaching for him again to help guide his length inside you. The desk creaked faintly as he stepped closer, his hands finding your hips as he lined himself up with you. He hesitated, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, the world stilled.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice softer this time, steady but full of emotion.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice sure despite the nerves and anticipation rushing through you. “I want this, Harry. I want you—all of you.”

That was all he needed.

Harry leaned in, his lips finding yours again as he pushed forward, slow and purposeful. The initial stretch made you tense, your fingers instinctively tightening against his shoulders. But then his breath brushed warm against your cheek, and the soft, shaky sound he let out as he slid deeper sent a ripple through you, easing the tension and replacing it with something else entirely—something that left you breathless.

“You okay?” he murmured, his forehead pressing against yours. His voice was tight, laced with restraint, and it made your heart ache in the best way.

“Yes,” you whispered, your nails digging lightly into his skin as your body adjusted to him. “Just… don’t stop.”

His jaw tightened, and he nodded, his hands trembling slightly where they gripped your waist. He started to move, his hips rolling in a slow, achingly delicious rhythm that made your breath catch. Each motion sent a wave of heat building steadily through you, your body arching instinctively toward his as though you couldn’t get close enough.

“God,” he groaned, the sound rough and raw as it left him. His hands slid down to your thighs, lifting you slightly to meet his thrusts, and the shift made you gasp. Your head fell back against the desk as the new angle sent a spark shooting through you. “You feel so—”

The rest of his words broke off into a low curse, his lips finding your neck again as his movements quickened. The world beyond the room ceased to exist—the only things that mattered were the soft creak of the desk beneath you, the heat of his body against yours, and the quiet, desperate noises that escaped him with every thrust.

Your hips tilted to meet his rhythm, and the friction left you dizzy, sparks lighting beneath your skin. Your hands slid into his hair, tangling in the messy strands as his face buried in the curve of your shoulder. His breath was hot against your skin, and each groan that escaped his lips sent a shiver coursing down your spine, your body arching into his as the pressure low in your belly coiled tighter.

“Harry,” you gasped, his name tumbling from your lips like a plea, raw and unrestrained. His response was a groan that seemed to echo through you, his hands gripping your hips tighter, his touch almost possessive as he pulled you closer.

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmured, the words rough against your skin, reverent and awed. His voice broke slightly as he added, “I—I can’t…”

“Don’t hold back,” you whispered, your voice trembling but sure. Your hands slid down his back, clutching at his waist to anchor yourself. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

For a brief moment, his pace faltered, his forehead pressing against yours as though grounding himself in the moment. And then he kissed you again, hard and desperate, his lips crashing into yours as though he needed you more than air. His rhythm grew uneven, each thrust deeper, more precise, until the tension inside you snapped.

The wave that crashed over you left you trembling, your body shuddering in his arms as the heat and intensity overwhelmed you. His name slipped from your lips again, barely audible, as you clung to him.

Moments later, Harry followed, his movements faltering as he buried himself in you one final time. A low, guttural sound escaped his lips as he trembled against you, his forehead dropping to yours. His breaths came fast and ragged, his chest heaving as he held you close, his hands gripping your hips as though afraid to let go.

For a long time, neither of you moved. The room was silent except for the soft hum of your breathing, the faint rustle of fabric as Harry shifted, wrapping his arms more securely around you. He pulled you close, his body still trembling faintly, and you rested your head against his shoulder, your fingers tracing aimless patterns across his back.

“Are you okay?” he asked after a moment, his voice hoarse but filled with quiet concern.

A soft smile tugged at your lips, and you tilted your head just enough to brush a kiss against his neck. “More than okay,” you whispered.

Harry let out a quiet laugh, low and warm, his arms tightening around you. “Me too,” he murmured, his lips brushing lightly against your temple.

Finally, for what seemed like an eternity. Everything felt right, it felt okay. Like harry could just..exist again.

﹙@ 𝗹𝘂𝗺𝗼𝘀𝗼𝘂 ﹚

#☆.— 𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗳 #harry potter #harry potter fluff #harry potter x reader #harry james potter x reader #harry potter x you #harry james potter x you #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fandom #harry potter smut #harry james potter x reader smut #.1𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘁𝘀 🤍

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ikkyfics · 15 days ago

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Whispers of the Sea

dad!Remus Lupin x mom!reader

Summary: Remus looked at her with a mixture of wonder and reverence. It was as if no matter how many times he held her like this, the miracle of having her there never ceased to amaze him. "Look at that, my little star," he whispered, his voice low and filled with tenderness. "Do you see how the sea seems endless? It's as big as the world waiting for you."

Warnings: flufy, est. relationship, no war au, no use of a baby name, no use of y/n, after hogwarts (obviosly), Remus was born to be a dad

A/N: I hope the quality hasn't dropped here

Masterlist

The salty breeze of the beach was gentle, carrying with it the rhythmic sound of waves breaking on the sand. The sky was painted in soft shades of blue and gold, and the sunlight danced lazily over the water, creating a scene so serene it felt like a dream.

Remus walked slowly, each step sinking slightly into the warm sand. In his arms, his daughter was nestled, her curious little eyes taking in everything around her. She was leaning against his chest, one tiny hand clutching the fabric of his shirt as if that small gesture could ensure she would never drift away from the safe harbor he provided.

He looked at her with a mixture of wonder and reverence. It was as if no matter how many times he held her like this, the miracle of having her there never ceased to amaze him. "Look at that, my little star," he whispered, his voice low and filled with tenderness. "Do you see how the sea seems endless? It's as big as the world waiting for you."

She didn’t respond, of course—she was still too young to understand his words. But the way her eyes sparkled, reflecting the infinite blue of the sky and sea, said she was absorbing it all in her own way. Remus smiled, leaning slightly to let the breeze touch her tiny face.

"Can you feel that?" he asked, his voice almost like a shared secret. "That’s the wind, sweet girl. It comes from places you don’t know yet, but one day... one day you’ll explore every corner of this world. And when that day comes, I’ll be here, helping you find your way."

The baby made a small sound, something between a sigh and a murmur. Remus gently ran a finger over her little face, brushing away a strand of hair that the breeze had stuck to her cheek.

"You know I’d do anything for you, don’t you, my little star?" he murmured, as if making a promise. "I’ll always be here. Always."

She responded in the only way she knew—letting out a soft sound that resembled a giggle and reaching out her tiny hand toward his face.

Watching the two of them from a distance, you felt a sweet ache in your chest. The scene was so full of love it was impossible not to be moved by it. Remus was completely absorbed in his daughter, his movements slow and careful, as if holding her was the most sacred thing in the world. But he noticed when you approached, and the smile he gave as he lifted his eyes was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

"Someone’s eavesdropping," he teased lightly, his tone still filled with that softness he reserved for the two of you.

"How could I not?" you replied, closing the distance between you and placing a hand on his arm. "You speak as if you’re reciting poetry. It’s hard not to be enchanted."

Remus chuckled quietly, but the laughter faded quickly as he looked at you. "It’s just... sometimes I still wonder if all of this is really real." He lowered his eyes to the baby, now distractedly tugging at the fabric of his shirt. "Having you two... it’s more than I ever thought possible. And yet, here you are."

Your hand moved to his face, your fingers gently stroking his cheek. "We’re here, Remus. And we’re not going anywhere."

He closed his eyes at your touch, leaning slightly into your hand as if that simple gesture could ground him. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze locked onto yours, intense and filled with emotion. "I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m going to spend the rest of my life being grateful."

He leaned forward slightly, and you closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that seemed to convey everything he hadn’t yet put into words. When the kiss ended, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing deeply.

You kept your hand on his face. "You do deserve this, Remus. You deserve so much."

When he opened his eyes again, you couldn’t help but notice the details that made him who he was. The soft curve of a scar running across his jaw, a reminder of the battles he faced every month. His tousled brown hair, with a few prematurely gray strands, the result of stress and pain he had carried for so long. But to you, every detail was perfect. Each mark told the story of the man he was—strong, resilient, and so full of love that it seemed impossible he had ever doubted himself.

You smiled, your eyes tracing every familiar inch of his face. "You know how beautiful you are, don’t you?"

Remus chuckled softly, the sound almost disbelieving. "Beautiful, huh?" He shook his head, but a slight blush colored his cheeks.

"Yes," you said firmly, letting your hand slide from his cheek to his neck, where your thumb traced a small circle. "And not just because you gave me her." Your gaze shifted to the baby, still nestled in his arms, her rosy cheeks and curious eyes darting between you and him.

As if she realized she was the topic of conversation, the little one began babbling something unintelligible, her chubby hands reaching determinedly toward you.

Remus looked at his daughter, his smile softening even further, if that were possible. "Oh, you want to go to Mommy, little star?" he asked, his voice brimming with pure adoration.

He adjusted her in his arms with care, moving with the ease of someone who had performed the gesture countless times, and handed her to you. As soon as you held her, she snuggled into your embrace, one tiny hand gripping the fabric of your blouse as if to ensure you wouldn’t go anywhere.

"Well, I guess I’ve lost my spot," Remus joked, crossing his arms and watching the two of you with a satisfied smile.

"Maybe," you replied with a playful grin. "But only because she knows where the best lap is."

"She’s smart," Remus agreed, marveling at his daughter’s tiny hands with a look of fascination. "She knows exactly where she wants to be."

You laughed, gently stroking the baby’s soft hair as she gazed at Remus, clearly still expecting his attention. "She knows she has the best dad in the world," you said, smiling at him.

Remus ran a hand through his hair, the gesture slightly self-conscious, but the light in his eyes gave away how much your words meant. He stepped closer, leaning in to kiss his daughter’s forehead and then pressing his lips softly to yours. "I have the two most incredible people in the world," he murmured, his voice low but full of sincerity.

Remus wrapped his arms around the two of you, holding you in an embrace that seemed to promise that no matter what happened, you would always be home to each other.

"She’s mesmerized by the sea," he remarked, looking at the baby in your arms, now blinking drowsily as if the motion of the waves and the gentle rocking of the sea breeze were lulling her to sleep. "I think someone’s going to have sweet dreams tonight," he murmured, his voice full of affection.

And you knew he was right. Because with him, all dreams—hers, yours, and his—had found a safe place to exist.

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cheeseatlantic · 11 days ago

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GHOST IN THE SHEETS

!Escort Reader x Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

The dim lights of the upscale hotel room flickered as the door swung open, the sound of footsteps echoing off the walls. You were used to the lavish settings, the posh clientele, the scent of expensive whiskey mixed with the tang of cologne and desperation. But he was different.

Simon stood in the doorway, his imposing figure framed by the dim hallway light, the shadows of his balaclava obscuring his features but never his presence. He was a ghost, elusive and cold, yet tonight. Tonight, you would make him real.

You’d been hired for the night, but with him, it wasn’t the usual game of pretending, of playing the role of someone you weren’t. No, with Ghost, the lines blurred. His dangerous brown eyes locked on you like a predator zeroing in on its prey. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. You were both too far gone for small talk.

You leaned back against the plush armchair in the corner, your eyes tracing the slow approach of his tall frame. His boots made no sound against the carpet, but you could feel the weight of his every step, the tension in the air thick enough to choke.

His hand reached up to tug at the edge of his balaclava, pulling it off slowly, deliberately. His features were rugged, worn, the kind that told stories of wars fought, lives lost, and a soul that had long been shattered. The darkness that clung to him wrapped around you like a cold wind, and for a brief moment, you wondered what drew you to him. You had always danced with danger, but with Simon, it felt different. He wasn’t just another client.

“I don’t need your kindness tonight,” Simon said, his voice low, thick with something unreadable. The words felt like a warning, but there was something else beneath them—a need you weren’t sure you could handle.

“I’m not here to give kindness, Simon,” you replied, your voice smooth, practiced. You stood up, letting the silk of your dress fall against your skin like a whisper. “I’m here for what you want.”

His gaze flickered over you, the weight of his stare like a touch. Every inch of you burned beneath it, but he didn’t reach for you. Not yet. He was studying you, as if calculating how much of you he could break without completely destroying you.

The tension between you both crackled as you closed the space, standing just a hair’s breadth away from him. “What do you want, Ghost?” you asked, your voice barely more than a breath, your fingers grazing his chest.

His hand shot out before you could blink, gripping your wrist with a force that made you gasp, pulling your hand away from him. “Don’t touch me like that,” he growled, his voice rough, almost strained. “Not unless you mean it.”

You swallowed, heart racing, yet the thrill of the danger—of his control—sent a shiver down your spine. “You think I’m scared of you?” you whispered, leaning into him.

His eyes darkened, something feral flashing behind them. “I don’t care if you’re scared. I want you to know what this is.” He dragged you closer, his breath hot against your ear. “This isn’t glitter and glamour. It’s violence. It’s raw. It’s dangerous. And you—” He paused, his grip tightening on your wrist. “You’re playing with fire.”

You tilted your head, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “Then burn me.”

Simon’s grip loosened, just for a moment, before he pulled you closer, his other hand sliding around your waist. He kissed you hard, his lips claiming yours like a man starved. His taste was foreign, dangerous—whiskey and smoke, and something darker, something that belonged only to him.

The kiss was brutal, as if he wanted to devour you whole, to make you feel everything he couldn’t say. His hands moved over you like a man who had no time for tenderness, no space for gentleness. He was rough, and it felt like a punishment. But you didn’t mind.

With every kiss, every touch, you felt the walls of your own world collapse, your carefully crafted persona falling away, leaving only the hunger, the desperation. You wanted him. The real him. Not the soldier, not the mask. You wanted Simon in all his brokenness, in all his violence.

He yanked your dress down in one swift motion, the fabric tearing as it hit the floor, leaving you exposed, vulnerable under his gaze. “This is what you want, isn’t it?” His fingers trailed down your chest, pressing against your skin like a brand. “No illusions, no soft words. Just this.”

You nodded, breathless, your pulse racing. “Yes, Simon. Just this.”

Without another word, he lifted you off your feet and threw you onto the bed, the movement swift and unrelenting. The air in the room seemed to thickened, charged with the weight of everything unspoken, everything forbidden. You were his—at least, for tonight.

His hands were everywhere—gripping, pulling, exploring as if he needed to memorize every inch of you. He wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t kind. But that was the point. You weren’t here for soft touches, for romantic gestures. You were here for the darkness, for the violence of it all.

Simon pressed into you, the weight of his body grounding you as he kissed his way down your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin. The sting was sharp, but you didn’t pull away. You wanted it. You wanted to be marked, to feel that rawness, that violence.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he muttered, his voice thick with need, as his hips ground into yours. His hand gripped your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat.

“I’m yours,” you gasped, your body arching against him, desperate for more. “Take me, Simon. Take all of me.”

His response was primal, a growl that reverberated through your body as he plunged into you, hard and unforgiving. The pain, the pleasure—everything blurred into one. This wasn’t love. It wasn’t even affection. It was a need, a desperation, a fight for control that neither of you would ever win.

The bed creaked beneath you both as he drove deeper, faster, each thrust sending a shockwave of pleasure-pain through your body. There were no sweet words, no promises of tomorrow. Just the violence of the moment, the glitter of skin against skin and the darkness of his touch.

You lost yourself in it, the feeling of being consumed, of being owned, of being torn apart by the very man who could never truly possess you.

And when the world came crashing back, when the last tremors of pleasure left you breathless and trembling, Simon was still there, his arms wrapped around you, his body pressed against yours.

But you both knew. This wasn’t over. The violence, the glitter—it would keep pulling you back. No matter how much you wanted to escape, you were tangled in it, forever.

i love the little — because i use commas too much smh.

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shinyuin · 6 days ago

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First "I Love You" — Cale Henituse x Reader

You had always known that Cale Henituse was a man of contradictions.

He called himself a slacker but never rested. He claimed to want a peaceful life, yet he stood at the forefront of wars, rebellions, and disasters. He insisted he wasn’t kind, yet his hands carried the weight of the world for those he considered his people.

And, of course, you knew that if there was one thing Cale Henituse absolutely did not do, it was expressing unnecessary emotions.

So, you had never expected an “I love you” from him.

Even after everything you had been through together—standing at his side through battlefields, tending to his wounds after every reckless act, and sharing quiet moments in between the chaos—you never thought he would say it outright. Because Cale wasn't someone who put his feelings into words. He showed them in his own way: in the careful way he ensured you ate properly, in the way his sharp eyes always found you first in a crowd, in the way he positioned himself slightly in front of you when danger was near.

And that had always been enough.

Until now.

—

The battlefield was quiet. The kind of silence that only followed after an overwhelming victory or a devastating loss.

You weren’t sure which this was.

Your body ached, exhaustion settling deep into your bones, but you ignored it. Your eyes were focused on Cale, who sat slumped against a broken wall, his usually pristine red hair damp with sweat and blood. His breathing was steady—thank the gods—but he was clearly spent. The ancient powers had drained him again, his body unable to handle their toll.

You crouched beside him, reaching out instinctively. Cale.

His eyelids fluttered open slightly, revealing tired but sharp red eyes. He stared at you for a long moment before sighing. You’re still here?

You frowned. Of course, I’m here.

A weak smirk tugged at his lips. I thought you’d be smart enough to run away from all this madness by now.

You rolled your eyes. And leave you to die in a pile of rubble? Not a chance.

Cale exhaled slowly, shifting slightly. That’s foolish.

And yet you’re the one who threw yourself into the heart of battle again, you shot back, voice tight with lingering frustration. How many times have I told you not to—

I know. His voice was quiet, but it held a weight that made you stop. His eyes locked onto yours, serious despite the exhaustion clouding them. I know. But I had to.

Because that was who he was. He would never sit back and do nothing while his people were in danger.

Your shoulders sagged, your anger fading into something softer—something heavier. You always ‘have to.’ And I always have to sit here and watch you get hurt.

Cale was silent.

Then, after a long pause, he spoke.

I don’t want you to get hurt.

You blinked. What?

His gaze flickered away, lips pressing together as if he was considering taking the words back. But then he sighed again, almost in resignation, and looked at you.

I don’t want you to get hurt,he repeated. I don’t want you to worry about me. I don’t want you to—He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his bloodied hair. It’s annoying.

Your heart clenched. You knew Cale well enough to understand that when he said annoying, he didn’t mean it in the way others did. He meant frustrating. He meant terrifying. He meant that the thought of you being in danger, of you worrying over him, made something twist inside him in a way he wasn’t used to.

Cale…

I don’t understand it, he muttered, almost to himself. “But every time I see you in danger, I— He cut himself off, his jaw tightening. I don’t like it.

You reached for his hand, gripping it gently.

I know.

Cale stared at your joined hands as if the sight was foreign to him. And maybe, in a way, it was. He had spent his whole life avoiding deep emotional attachments, keeping people at arm’s length.

But he hadn’t been able to do that with you.

Slowly, as if testing the motion, he curled his fingers around yours. His grip was weak but warm, grounding.

And then—

“…I love you.”

It was barely above a whisper.

Your breath caught. Your mind froze.

And yet, despite the quietness of his voice, those words echoed louder than anything else on this battlefield.

Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs. Cale—

I don’t know when it happened, he continued, as if he hadn’t just shattered the reality you knew. His brown eyes locked onto yours, uncharacteristically raw and unguarded. I don’t know why it happened. A pause. “But it did.

Your fingers tightened around his.

He sighed again, tilting his head back against the wall. Annoying.

You let out a choked laugh. You keep calling it that.

“Because it is.” His eyes slid shut for a moment before reopening, softer this time. 'But… I still love you."

Your chest felt impossibly full, emotions threatening to spill over. Cale Henituse, the man who refused to let anyone in, had just laid his heart bare. And he had done it in the most Cale way possible—begrudging, frustrated, but undeniably real.

You lifted your joined hands, brushing a kiss against his knuckles. “I love you too.”

Cale blinked, as if the words were somehow surprising to him despite everything. Then he let out another long-suffering sigh, muttering, “Now we’re both doomed.”

You laughed, pressing your forehead against his. Yeah. But at least we’re doomed together.

#manhwa x reader #tcf x reader #cale henituse x reader #cale x reader #cale henituse #reader insert #x reader #manhwa #trash of the count’s family x reader #trash of the count's family #romance #totcf x reader

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the-winter-spider · 2 months ago

Text

Under Pressure | one

Bucky Barnes AU

Word Count: 11.6k

Warnings: Angst, swearing, depression, mental health, mentions of su!cide

A/N: I just wanna say, I have ADHD so i will always have multiple stories going at once 🤪

two

The muffled hum of life beyond your bedroom window felt like a cruel reminder of how the world kept spinning, indifferent to the weight pressing on your chest. The sun had begun its descent, streaking the sky with a melancholy palette of orange and pink. It was beautiful, you supposed, in the way things could be beautiful when they didn’t matter.

You sighed and tugged at the loose thread on the sleeve of your hoodie—Bucky’s hoodie, though you’d had it so long it might as well be yours now. It still smelled faintly of him, a mix of pine and something warm and earthy, like home. That smell was your lifeline some nights, when the storm in your head raged too fiercely to sleep.

A sharp knock rattled your apartment door, interrupting the quiet.

“Hey! Open up!” Bucky’s voice, firm but familiar, carried through the thin wood. “Don’t make me kick this door in. You know I’ll do it.”

You groaned, dragging yourself off the couch. “It’s unlocked,” you called, not loud enough to hide the exhaustion in your voice.

The door creaked open, and there he was—Bucky, your best friend since middle school. His broad frame filled the doorway, but it was his eyes, those piercing blue eyes, that caught you. They scanned you like a checklist, searching for any signs you weren’t okay. You hated how well he knew you sometimes. “Y’know, you shouldn't leave your door unlocked especially here, anyone can just come in.”

“Hi,” you mumbled, ignoring him and retreating to the couch. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I—” He stepped fully inside and shut the door, the look on his face a mix of exasperation and concern. “You haven’t answered your phone all day. Natasha’s convinced you’re dead. Steve’s ready to call the cops. I told them to chill, but…” He gestured at you, his brows knitting together. “You look like you’ve been living on this couch.”

You shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “Just tired.”

“Bullshit,” he shot back, his tone softening when you flinched. He moved to sit beside you, close enough that his knee brushed yours. “What’s going on?”

The question hung between you, heavy and unwelcome. You could feel his eyes on you, waiting, patient but unyielding. Bucky was relentless like that, never letting you retreat too far into yourself. It was part of why you loved him—or at least, why you were glad to have him in your corner.

“I’m fine, Buck,” you lied, curling your arms around your knees. “Really, just one of those days.”

Bucky didn’t respond immediately. He leaned back, stretching one arm along the back of the couch, his fingers almost grazing your shoulder. It was a casual gesture, but you knew him too well to miss the tension in his posture.

“Okay,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “If you say you’re fine, I’ll let it go. For now. But…” He hesitated, chewing on his bottom lip like he was debating whether to say something. “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything. You don’t have to deal with this shit on your own.”

Your throat tightened, the familiar ache of wanting to believe him warring with the part of you that never could. You nodded, though, because it was easier than arguing.

“I know,” you whispered.

The room fell into silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Bucky didn’t push further, didn’t demand answers you couldn’t give. Instead, he stayed, his quiet presence grounding you in a way nothing else could.

After a while, he nudged your knee with his. “Wanna order pizza or something? My treat.”

You glanced at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite yourself. “Only if I get to pick the toppings.”

He grinned, and for a moment, the storm in your head quieted.

Bucky stretched out on the couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest as he reached for his phone. “What are we getting, then? Don’t even say pineapple, or I’m leaving.”

You rolled your eyes, the corners of your mouth tugging upward despite yourself. “Meatlovers, extra cheese.”

“Classic,” he said with a nod, punching it into the app. “It’s on the way, Should be here in like twenty.”

You stood up, brushing invisible lint off your borrowed hoodie. “I’m gonna take a quick shower,” you mumbled, tugging at the hem of your sleeve.

Bucky smirked, leaning back against the cushions. “Good, you smell.”

You shot him a glare, shoving his shoulder with just enough force to make him chuckle. “Asshole,” you muttered as you headed toward the bathroom.

“Love you too, sweetheart!” he called after you, his voice laced with humor.

The bathroom was small and dimly lit, the fluorescent bulb above the sink flickering faintly. You shut the door behind you and leaned against it for a moment, letting out a long breath. The mirror above the sink was still covered with an old towel, hastily taped over it. You didn’t want to see the evidence of last night—the cracks radiating out from where your fist had landed.

Your hand throbbed beneath the makeshift bandage you’d wrapped around it earlier, but the pain was manageable. You were just glad Bucky hadn’t noticed. Hiding it under the hoodie had been a small victory, one you clung to.

Turning the shower knob, you waited for the water to heat up. Steam began to rise, fogging up the edges of the covered mirror. As you stripped off your clothes and stepped under the hot spray, the water cascaded over you, but it didn’t wash away the heaviness that clung to your chest.

It’s happening again.

You could feel it—the familiar slide into the darkness, like slipping down a slope you couldn’t climb back up, you never could no matter how hard you tried. The kind of heaviness that made it hard to breathe, let alone function. You’d felt this way before, so many times, but this was worse. This was deeper. This time felt final.

You hadn’t told your friends about losing your job. How could you? They’d try to help, and you couldn’t bear the thought of being a burden, even to them. Too many sick days, they’d said. Too many excuses, not enough productivity. And with that, the safety net of insurance vanished. No more medication. Not that it was working, anyway. You weren’t even sure it ever had.

The water ran over your face, and you tilted your head back, letting it sting your eyes. At least you didn’t have to worry about rent. Your parents made sure of that—not out of love, but because it was easier for them than dealing with you directly. They’d never wanted a child, not really. They made that clear in a thousand ways, subtle and not-so-subtle. Dismissive words. The quiet regret in their voices when they thought you weren’t listening.

Maybe that’s where the darkness came from. Or maybe it was just in your blood. Your aunt had taken her life when you were a kid. You remembered the way people whispered about her, like it was contagious. Maybe it was.

For the first time, you felt a strange gratitude for your parents. Not for their love—they’d never offered that—but for their money. It kept the lights on, the water running, even if you didn’t deserve it.

Bucky’s voice shattered the spiral. “Pizza’s here!” he yelled from the living room, his voice muffled through the door.

You blinked, startled, and realized you were still standing under the water, your skin pruned from the heat. “Okay!” you called back, shutting off the shower. The sudden silence was deafening.

You dried off quickly, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and the same oversized hoodie. Your hand throbbed as you tucked it into the sleeve, hiding the cuts from the glass, the already bruising knuckles and the makeshift bandage. Bucky didn’t need to know. He’d only worry, and you couldn’t handle that right now.

When you emerged, he was already opening the pizza box, the smell of melted cheese and pepperoni filling the room. “Took you long enough,” he teased, glancing up at you. “You okay?”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, just needed to rinse off.”

Bucky studied you for a moment, his sharp eyes scanning your face like they always did. But he didn’t push. Instead, he handed you a slice of pizza, the grease soaking through the paper plate. “Eat up, you look like you need it.”

“Thanks, Mom,” you said dryly, settling onto the couch beside him.

But despite the teasing, you were grateful. Grateful for the warmth of the food, the easy banter, and the way Bucky never left you alone in the quiet.

The smell of pizza filled the room, mingling with the faint scent of laundry detergent lingering on Bucky’s hoodie. You were sitting cross-legged on the couch, a slice in your hand, while Bucky leaned back, gesturing animatedly as he recounted some story about Steve.

“So then Steve—being the genius he is—decides that the best way to move this stupidly heavy shelf is to tilt it, right? And I’m like, ‘Steve, no, that’s a terrible idea.’ But does he listen? No. He ends up pinning himself between the shelf and the wall, and I swear, Nat had to stop me from laughing before we helped him.”

You gave a faint chuckle, shaking your head. Bucky’s smile widened as he nudged you with his elbow.

“Speaking of Steve,” he continued, reaching for another slice, “he said he sent you the invite to his party this weekend. You haven’t RSVP’d yet. I told him you’re obviously coming, but he says he needs you to click yes for the numbers or some shit.”

You paused, setting your pizza slice back on the plate. “I, uh, haven’t seen my phone since last night. Didn’t realize he sent it.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, dramatically exasperated. “Typical. Losing your phone in your own damn house.” He stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans. “I’ll find it for you. Probably stuffed in the couch cushions again.”

You gave a weak laugh. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Hey, I’m just saying,” he teased, fishing between the cushions. “You’ve always been this way. Remember when you used to lose me at the mall? Or the park? Or on the street?”

You got up, heading toward your bedroom to search. “I didn’t lose you,” you called over your shoulder. “You just liked to wander.”

His laugh echoed from the living room. “Fair point. I’ll check the bathroom.”

You froze mid-step, your heart skipping a beat. You turned too quickly and hit your head on the shelf above your desk, wincing at the sharp pain. Panic surged through you as you clutched your throbbing hand tighter, trying to keep your breathing steady.

“Bucky!” you called, your voice tight.

“What?” he answered from the bathroom. “Hey, uh… why is there a towel over your mirror?”

You clenched your eyes shut, the blood rushing in your ears as you heard the unmistakable sound of tape being peeled. He’s not going to be mad. It’s Bucky. He’s not going to be mad, you repeated to yourself, your breaths coming faster now.

“Y/N?” His voice was closer now, cautious but soft. “Why is the mirror broken?”

You didn’t move, clutching your phone in your injured hand like a lifeline, your fingers trembling against the cracked case. You felt the room spin slightly as the anxiety clawed at your chest. Breathe. Focus. He’s not mad. He’s just worried.

When you finally looked up, Bucky was standing in your doorway. His gaze immediately flickered to your hand, and his eyes softened as he pieced everything together.

“Oh,” he said quietly, his voice a mix of realization and concern. “You found your phone.”

He stepped closer, his eyes dropping to the crude, bloodstained bandage wrapped around your knuckles. He froze, his expression shifting into something unreadable. “Sweets…”

You couldn’t look at him, couldn’t handle the weight of his gaze. “It’s nothing,” you whispered, your voice breaking as you clutched the phone tighter, as if it could shield you from the truth between you.

“Nothing?” His voice cracked. “This—this is not nothing.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Every word stuck in your throat, choking you. The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive, until Bucky stepped closer, his hands carefully, hesitantly reaching for yours. He didn’t take your phone away—he just held your uninjured hand gently in his, his thumb brushing over your trembling fingers.

He said your name softly, his voice steady despite the emotion wavering in it, “what happened?”

You shook your head, the tears already spilling over before you could stop them. “I—” You swallowed hard, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to.”

His grip on your hand tightened slightly, grounding you. “It’s okay,” he said quickly. “It’s okay. Just talk to me, please.”

You closed your eyes, the words tumbling out in a broken rush. “It was last night. I just… I just couldn’t, my uh emotions, I couldn’t handle it. I—” You exhaled shakily. “I punched the mirror because I didn’t want to—” You stopped, biting back the rest of the sentence, the unspoken truth hanging in the air.

Bucky’s face crumpled, his hand still holding yours as if afraid to let go. “Jesus, Y/N,” he whispered. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I didn’t want to bother you, it was like 3 in the morning Buck” you admitted, your voice raw. “You’re always fixing my messes, Buck. I didn’t want to make it worse, I’m just a mess, I’m sorry.”

“Worse?” His voice rose slightly, though it wasn’t anger—just desperation. “Y/N, you’re not a mess. You’re—” He stopped, his jaw clenching as he searched for the right words. “You’re my best friend. And I love you” His voice cracked “You don’t bother me, okay? Ever.”

You met his eyes then, your vision blurry with tears. He looked back at you with such unflinching sincerity it almost hurt.

“I can’t do this without you,” he said softly, his voice breaking. “You don’t have to handle this on your own. I’m here, we all are you gotta know that. I’ll always be here.”

The weight in your chest shifted slightly, the suffocating pressure easing just enough for you to breathe again. You nodded slowly, your voice trembling as you whispered, “Okay.”

He pulled you into a hug then, careful not to hurt your hand, and held you like he was afraid you might disappear.

Bucky’s arms wrapped around you tightly, his chin resting on the top of your head. His warmth seeped into you, grounding you in a way nothing else could. “It’s just a bump in the road,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “You’ve hit plenty of them before, and you’ve always gotten through. We’ve always gotten through, and I’ve got just the remedy.”

He pulled back, his blue eyes sparkling with a glint of mischief. Before you could ask what he meant, he strode over to the corner of your room where your record player sat, surrounded by a modest collection of vinyls. He thumbed through the stack, muttering to himself, “Where is it… aha.”

Your heart stuttered as the familiar static of a spinning record filled the air. And then you heard it: the unmistakable opening beat of Under Pressure.

A smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it. You turned around to see Bucky already moving, his shoulders bouncing in exaggerated rhythm. His grin was wide and goofy as he started lip-syncing Freddie Mercury’s part with gusto, his voice just slightly off-key but no less enthusiastic.

“Pressure, pushing down on me, pressing down on you…”

“Bucky, what are you doing?” you asked, though the smile was impossible to hide.

“Cheering you up, obviously,” he replied, spinning in place before striding toward you. He extended a hand dramatically as he transitioned into the next line. “No man ask for…”

“Under pressure!” you couldn’t help but join in, stepping into your part with Bowie’s deeper, sultry tone.

Bucky’s grin widened as he grabbed your good hand and spun you around. You laughed despite yourself, your heart pounding—not from the anxiety this time, but from the sheer joy of the moment. Together, you sang, danced, and twirled through the song, just like you had so many times before.

When the final notes faded into silence, the two of you were left standing face to face, breathing hard and laughing, cheeks flushed. He looked down at you, his eyes softening as he smiled. “Works like a charm every time. It’s why it’s our song.”

You didn’t respond, just let the warmth in your chest grow as you caught your breath. But before you could lose yourself in the moment, Bucky gently took your hand—the injured one—his expression shifting to something more serious.

“Alright,” he said, tugging you toward the bathroom. “Let’s take a proper look at this.”

“What are you doing?” you asked, panic creeping back into your voice.

“We’re getting a proper look at this hand, is what we’re doing,” he replied, his tone leaving no room for argument.

He guided you to sit on the closed toilet lid and opened your cabinet, pulling out the first-aid kit you barely used. His movements were quick but precise, his focus intense as he knelt in front of you. “Let me see,” he said softly.

Reluctantly, you held out your hand. He unwrapped the makeshift bandage carefully, his brow furrowing as he examined the bloody knuckles beneath. “Y/N,” he sighed, shaking his head, though there was no judgment in his voice.

“It’s fine,” you said quickly. “Really, it doesn’t even hurt that much.”

“Uh-huh,” he muttered, grabbing antiseptic and gauze. “Sure it doesn’t.” He worked quietly, cleaning the wound with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

The sting barely registered—if anything, it felt grounding, something to focus on as you came down from the high of dancing with him. The silence stretched between you, comfortable and steady, until he finally broke it.

“Are you taking your meds?” he asked, not looking up from his work.

“Of course,” you lied, the words slipping out automatically.

He glanced at you, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he didn’t push. “Okay,” he said after a beat. “Are you still seeing Dr. Jones?”

You hesitated, your gaze dropping to the floor. “I… haven’t been in a while.”

Bucky sighed again, his fingers stilling briefly before he started wrapping your hand with fresh gauze. “Maybe you should schedule an appointment,” he suggested, his voice gentle. “I can do it for you, if you want.”

“No, it’s fine,” you said quickly. “I can do it.”

“Alright,” he said, finishing the bandage with a neat knot. He sat back on his heels, his expression soft but serious. “I know I sound like a broken record but I’m always here for you, okay? No matter what. I don’t care what I’m doing—if you need me, I’ll drop everything, Id do anything for you.”

And that was what terrified you the most: the thought of Bucky regretting you. The fear that one day, he’d look at you and finally say what you’d always told yourself—that you were a burden. That would be the thing to push you over the edge. You hated how much you relied on him, how much of your brokenness you placed on his shoulders. It’s why you fought so hard not to bother him with every little thing, even when it felt impossible to hold it all in.

Still, when he looked at you like that—steady, unwavering—it was hard not to believe him, if only for a moment. You nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. “I know.”

The sun filtered weakly through the gray clouds as you wandered through the bustling streets of New York with Natasha, the two of you weaving in and out of shops in search of outfits for Steve’s birthday party. The buzz of the city was as alive as ever, but it felt far away, muted in your mind like someone had turned down the volume on the world.

Natasha was in her element, flipping through racks of dresses and skirts, holding up pieces with a gleam in her eye. “This one’s cute, right?” she asked, twirling a hanger with a little black dress on it.

“Yeah, it’s nice,” you replied, your voice distant as you thumbed idly through a rack of jeans.

Natasha turned, narrowing her eyes at you as she hung the dress back on the rack. “Okay, you’re way too quiet. What’s up?”

“Sorry,” you mumbled, forcing a small smile. “Just… a headache.”

She tilted her head, studying you with that sharp gaze of hers, the one that always seemed to see right through you. “You’re okay, though, right?”

The words hit you harder than they should have. You hesitated, gripping the edge of a hanger as if it would steady you. What would you even say to her? No, I’m not okay. The colors are fading again, and the world feels dull and dark. Every step feels like walking through quicksand, and I can’t remember the last time I felt like myself.

But you couldn’t say that. Not to her. Not to any of them. Natasha was thriving, living the life she’d always dreamed of. She was a force of nature, juggling her job, her relationship with Steve, and somehow still managing to look flawless while doing it. Your friends were all like that—thriving, succeeding, building the futures they’d worked so hard for.

You couldn’t, wouldn’t take that away from them. Not because you were sad. Not because you were lost.

“Yeah,” you said finally, your voice steady despite the weight in your chest. “Just a headache.”

Natasha gave you a look, her lips pressing into a thin line. You knew she didn’t entirely believe you, but she let it go. “Alright,” she said slowly, grabbing a pair of sleek black heels from the shelf. “But if you want to bail on shopping and go grab a coffee or something, just say the word.”

You shook your head, mustering another smile. “I’m fine, Nat. Really. Let’s keep looking.”

She studied you for another second before nodding. “Okay. But you’re not getting out of trying stuff on,” she teased, holding up a sparkly red dress that was very much not your style.

You rolled your eyes, the faintest laugh escaping before you could stop it. “No way.”

“Come on,” she said, grinning. “It’s Steve’s party. Let’s make an impression.”

As she turned back to the rack, chatting about Steve’s plans for Friday, you let her words wash over you like white noise. You didn’t have the energy to keep up with her excitement, but you let her carry the conversation anyway. It was easier that way.

The fitting room was cramped, the air thick with the faint smell of fabric and perfume. You stepped into the first dress Natasha had handed you—a sleek black number that hung too loosely on your frame. You tugged at the straps, sighing as you opened the door.

Natasha spun around from where she was scrolling on her phone, her eyes immediately lighting up. “Okay, this is hot, but… it’s too big.” She tilted her head, studying you. “Wait, are you going to the gym again?”

You froze for half a second, your mind racing. You couldn’t tell her the truth: that eating felt like a chore most days, that you barely had the energy to make yourself a bowl of cereal, let alone go to the gym. “Uh, yeah,” you lied, forcing a smile. “A little.”

“I can tell,” she said, beaming. “But don’t go too hard, okay? You’re perfect just the way you are.” Without waiting for your response, she grabbed two smaller sizes from the rack and handed them to you. “Here, try these. I bet one of them will be perfect.”

You nodded and ducked back into the fitting room, slipping into the smaller size. The dress hugged your figure in all the right places, the soft shimmer of the fabric catching the light. For a fleeting moment, you felt pretty—maybe even beautiful—but the feeling slipped away as quickly as it had come. It wasn’t enough. It never was.

When you stepped out, Natasha’s jaw dropped. “Wow,” she breathed, clapping her hands together. “This is it, i mean you still have to try the others on because what if they're better, but this is the top contender. You’re definitely gonna blow everyone away. Maybe you’ll even find your future husband at the party.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, right.”

She grinned, her tone turning teasing. “You never know. He might be closer than you think.”

You froze at her words, your heart skipping a beat as you glanced at her. Her expression was unreadable, but there was a knowing glint in her eye that made your stomach twist.

“Nat,” you said slowly, trying to steer the conversation away before it went anywhere dangerous. “This dress is nice, but…”

“No buts,” she interrupted, grabbing your shoulders and spinning you toward the mirror. “Look at yourself. You look gorgeous.”

You stared at your reflection, trying to see what she saw. The dress was beautiful, and it fit perfectly, but it still felt… wrong. Like it was a mask you couldn’t quite wear convincingly. You wanted to feel the confidence Natasha had, the joy that radiated from her so easily. But no matter how hard you tried, it just wasn’t there.

Natasha didn’t notice your hesitation, too busy admiring the dress. “You’re getting it either way, end of discussion.”

You smiled faintly and ducked back into the fitting room to change. As you slipped out of the dress, Natasha’s voice floated through the curtain.

“By the way, I know I’m only twenty-five, but… I think Steve might propose this year.”

You peeked out, raising an eyebrow. “You think tonight?”

“Oh, God, no!” She laughed, shaking her head. “I just mean… before the year’s over. We’ve been together since freshman year of college, and I feel like the next step is coming. You know?”

You nodded, even though the thought made your chest tighten. Natasha didn’t stop there, her voice full of excitement as she continued.

“I’ve already started planning, by the way. Mostly on Pinterest,” she admitted with a grin. “And obviously, you’re going to be my maid of honor.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “Wow, Nat. That’s…so kind of you.” A lot of pressure is what you meant but didn’t say.

“Oh, please,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “Of course its you, you’re my best friend and you know me best, I’m not one of those bridezillas. I just—” She sighed dreamily. “I’m ready, you know? Everything’s going so perfect. I’m so happy.”

She looked at you, her smile radiant. “Oh, my God, did I tell you I got promoted last week?”

“What? No!” you said, stepping out of the fitting room, now in a different dress. You pulled her into a hug. “Nat, that’s amazing. I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank you!” she said, hugging you back tightly. “Bucky said you lost your phone, and that’s why you weren’t answering. But yeah, they made me head of social! Everything just feels amazing. Life’s amazing.”

“Of course it is,” you said softly, pulling back to smile at her. “You deserve it.”

She beamed, holding up the sparkly red dress she’d chosen for herself. “Anyway, I’m totally getting this dress. Now it’s your turn, that colour washes you out, next one."

She handed you a few more options, her energy as boundless as ever. You couldn’t help but envy her, even as you forced yourself to match her excitement. When you tried on the next dress and stepped out, Natasha clapped again. “This one’s even better! You’re going to turn so many heads. I’m telling you, babe, this is your year. You’re gonna meet someone, I just know it!"

You laughed weakly. “Yeah, we’ll see.”

But as you changed back into your clothes, her earlier comment lingered in your mind. He might be closer than you think. You knew who she meant. Of course you did. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say it—or even think it for too long. Because no matter how beautiful the dress was, it wasn’t enough to make you feel whole. It wasn’t enough to make you feel worthy of someone like him.

The faint sounds of music drifted from your speakers as you stood in front of the mirror in your bedroom, adjusting the dress Natasha had insisted you buy. You ran your hands down the shimmering fabric, trying to ignore the pit in your stomach. You didn’t love it, but you didn’t hate it either. And for tonight, “not hating it” would have to be enough.

Outside, the New York cityscape buzzed with life, the faint hum of car horns and chatter filtering through your window. You glanced at your phone, which you’d finally found after last night’s chaos. A text from Sam popped up on the screen.

Sam: Be there in 5. Don’t leave me waiting in the hall, you know I hate that...Remember when you forgot about me? :-(

You smiled faintly, slipping your phone into your small clutch and double-checking your makeup. There was a knock at the door just as you spritzed on a bit of perfume. You hurried to the door, your heels clicking lightly on the wood floor.

When you opened it, Sam stood there in a sharp button-down and blazer, flashing you his trademark grin. “Well, damn. Don’t you clean up nice?”

You laughed, stepping back to let him in. “Thanks, Sam. You look pretty dapper yourself.”

He swept into your apartment, looking around with the same casual ease he always carried. “You ready to make an entrance? I promised Steve and Nat I wouldn’t let you sneak off and ditch.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not going to ditch.”

“Good,” he said, turning to face you. “Because I’ve got a plan to make tonight one for the books. Trust me, sweet stuff, by the end of the night, you’re gonna be grinning from ear to ear.”

The warmth in his voice was infectious, and you felt a flicker of excitement you hadn’t expected. Sam had always been like this—bright, energetic, and effortlessly fun. It was one of the reasons you’d clicked so easily in college. Back then, he’d been the life of the party, and so had you. At least, that’s what everyone thought.

You remembered the first time you’d met Sam. It was at a college house party, the kind of event where the music was loud, the air reeked of beer, and everyone seemed to be smiling a little too brightly. You’d been three drinks in, already feeling the buzz in your veins, and Sam had been across the room, making everyone laugh with one of his outrageous stories.

You’d wandered over, laughing along with the group, and somehow, the two of you ended up talking. About nothing. About everything. You were drunk, and so was he, but you connected in a way that felt effortless. For a while, the weight inside your chest lifted.

“You’re a riot,” he’d said, clinking his beer bottle against yours. “We’re gonna be best friends, I can tell.”

It had been a joke at the time, but it stuck. Drinking was an escape for both of you—his way of letting loose, your way of numbing the ache. Together, you were unstoppable, the life of every party you touched, at least back then.

Seeing Sam now, with that same bright smile, stirred something inside you. “So,” you said, grabbing your coat, “what’s the plan? Besides celebrating Steve, obviously.”

“Well,” he said, holding the door open for you, “I figured we’d pre-game a little on the way. Maybe remind everyone why we were the reigning champs of fun back in college.”

You laughed, genuinely this time. “Pretty sure I retired my crown years ago.”

“Please,” he said with a snort. “You’ve still got it. And if not, don’t worry—I’ll carry the team.”

The two of you stepped out onto the street, the cool evening air nipping at your skin. As you walked toward the subway, you felt a flicker of something you hadn’t felt in a while: anticipation.

Because if there was one thing Sam was good at, it was helping you forget. And for tonight, forgetting sounded perfect.

The buzz of the city enveloped you. The streets glowed with streetlights and neon signs, the cool air carrying the faint hum of laughter and distant music. Sam walked beside you, his hands in his pockets, a casual swagger to his step.

“So,” he said, pulling something small from his jacket pocket, “I know you’ve been stressed lately. Thought this might help.”

You glanced over and saw him holding a joint between his fingers, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Sam,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Come on,” he said, stopping to light it with a quick flick of his lighter. He took a slow drag, exhaling smoke into the night air. “It’s Steve’s birthday. We’re celebrating, aren’t we? Besides, it’s only twenty or so minutes to his place. Let’s take the back roads.”

You hesitated for half a second before shrugging. “Fine, but only a little.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, passing it to you with a wink.

The two of you took a quieter side street, the world softening around the edges as the haze of the joint settled in. The conversation grew lighter, and before long, you were giggling at almost nothing. A little ended up being the whole joint.

Sam glanced at you, shaking his head with a grin. “Man, Bucky is gonna kill me.”

You raised an eyebrow, holding in another laugh. “Why?”

He took another hit before passing it back to you. “Do you not remember how mad he used to get in college when we’d get high? ‘You’re gonna get caught,’” he said in a mock-serious tone, imitating Bucky’s deep voice. “‘Do you know how much trouble you’ll be in?’ Total party pooper.”

You snorted, nearly choking on the smoke. “Oh my God, yes. Him and Stevie, always the buzzkills.”

Sam laughed, a low, easy sound. “You think they ever figured out Natasha was the one who dealt it to us?”

“Absolutely not,” you said with mock seriousness, passing the joint back to him. “That secret stays with us till the grave.”

He pointed at you with the joint. “Damn right.”

By the time you reached Steve’s apartment, your head was light, and everything seemed a little funnier than it should have been. The music was already spilling out into the hallway, the faint bass reverberating through the floor. You paused just outside the door, looking at Sam.

“Do I look stoned?” you whispered, your voice full of mock urgency.

He leaned back slightly, pretending to inspect you. “Nope. Do I?”

You mirrored his motion, squinting at him dramatically. “Nope.”

“Good,” you both said in unison before bursting into laughter.

Sam opened the door, and the warmth of the apartment hit you instantly. Steve’s place wasn’t huge—it was New York, after all—but it was bigger than most, with a cozy vibe that still somehow fit a surprising number of people. Music pulsed through the room, and the sound of chatter and laughter filled every corner.

You slipped off your coat, handing it to Sam as he found a spot for both of yours on a nearby hook. He turned back to you, already moving toward the drink table. “Alright, let’s get you something.”

You followed him through the small crowd, people offering nods and greetings as you passed. Sam handed you a drink—something fizzy and fruity—and raised his own cup. “Cheers to Steve,” he said, clinking it against yours.

“To Steve,” you agreed, taking a sip.

“Come on,” he said, nodding toward the far side of the room. “Let’s go find the others.”

The apartment was packed, a mix of Steve’s friends, colleagues, and your usual crew. You let Sam lead the way, weaving through groups of people chatting and laughing. The warm glow of string lights strung across the ceiling gave the space a cozy, celebratory feel.

Eventually, you spotted a familiar flash of red hair across the room. You nudged Sam with your elbow and pointed. “There’s Nat.”

“Let’s go,” he said, grinning as he took another sip of his drink.

As the two of you made your way over, the tension that had been weighing you down earlier seemed to lift, if only for a little while. For the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe tonight could be okay.

As you and Sam wove through the crowd, Natasha’s bright red hair came into clearer focus. Beside her stood Steve, his broad frame relaxed, one hand casually holding a drink. Next to him, Bucky stood, his focus glued to his phone, his brows furrowed as Steve said something to him. Natasha noticed you first, her eyes lighting up as she tapped Steve on the shoulder and pointed in your direction.

Steve followed her gaze, his face breaking into a grin. He nudged Bucky with his elbow, saying something you couldn’t hear. Bucky’s head snapped up, his blue eyes locking onto yours. You saw the tension in his shoulders ease as he spotted you and Sam, his phone slipping into his pocket.

When you finally reached them, Bucky’s gaze lingered on you for a beat before he asked, “What took you guys so long?”

Sam, ever the smooth talker, shrugged. “We walked.”

“You walked?” Bucky repeated, his tone laced with mild disbelief. “That’s like an hour.”

You blinked, surprised. “Was it really that long?”

Sam grinned, his voice light and teasing. “Didn’t feel that long.”

You giggled, the sound slipping out before you could stop it. “Felt like we were moving with the wind.”

Steve groaned, running a hand over his face. “Oh my God.”

Natasha laughed, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly as she looked between the two of you. “You guys are stoned.”

“No,” you said quickly, at the same time Sam said, “Yes.”

You glared at Sam as Natasha burst into laughter, while Steve just sighed like a disappointed parent. But it was Bucky’s reaction that hit hardest. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, his expression shifting into something between worry and frustration.

Sam leaned closer, his voice low in your ear. “Oh boy, your daddy is mad at you.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, shoving his shoulder, though a small grin tugged at your lips.

“Anyway,” Sam said, stepping back, “I’m gonna go play some beer pong. You have fun over here with your parents and your cool aunt.” He nodded toward Steve, Bucky, and Natasha with a mischievous wink.

Natasha scoffed, clearly amused. “Absolutely not,” she said, grabbing Steve’s arm. “Come on, Stevie, let’s go show them how it’s done.”

“Wait!” you said, reaching out to grab Steve’s other arm. “Happy birthday, Steve.”

Steve smiled, his expression softening as he pulled you into a quick hug. “Thanks, Y/N,” he said quietly. Then, his voice dropped lower, just for you. “Please be careful, okay?”

You pulled back, confused. “What?”

But before he could answer, Natasha tugged him away, laughing as she led him toward the beer pong table. That left you standing there with Bucky, his gaze fixed on you.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just looked at you like he was trying to figure out what to say. His shoulders were still relaxed, but the worry in his eyes was unmistakable. You shifted under his gaze, feeling both self-conscious and relieved to see him.

“You’re mad,” you said softly, breaking the silence.

“I’m not mad,” he replied, though his tone suggested otherwise. He crossed his arms, sighing as he glanced around the room before looking back at you. “I’m just… worried.”

“Bucky, I’m fine,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Really.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes scanning your face like he was trying to find something you weren’t saying. Finally, he sighed again, his shoulders relaxing further. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I was worried you wouldn’t come.”

You blinked, surprised by his honesty. “Of course I came,” you said, your own voice softening. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he finally looked away. “Okay. Just… stay close tonight, alright?”

You nodded, unsure what else to say, as the noise of the party swelled around you. But even as the crowd moved and laughed, your focus stayed on Bucky, the knot in your chest tightening and loosening all at once, while the darkness loomed over your shoulder.

The party was in full swing, laughter and loud music filling every corner of Steve’s apartment. Drinks sloshed in plastic cups, people cheered at the beer pong table, and the warm buzz of alcohol kept everyone loose and carefree. You, Sam, and Natasha had slipped away to a quieter corner near the balcony door, passing a joint between you as you watched the chaos unfold.

Sam took a slow drag, exhaling smoke into the cool night air before chuckling. “I’m actually gonna get in trouble with your future husband for this,” he said, nodding toward Natasha.

She rolled her eyes, taking the joint from him. “Please. Steve smokes it with me.”

You gasped, your eyes wide. “What? Since when?”

Natasha grinned, holding the joint between her fingers like it was a glass of wine. “A couple of months ago. He thought it was a cigarette.”

That sent you and Sam into peals of laughter. “No, he didn’t,” you said, struggling to catch your breath.

“Oh, he absolutely did,” Natasha said, laughing along. “Took one drag and started coughing like his life depended on it. I had to explain it to him after.”

“That’s the most Steve Rogers thing I’ve ever heard,” you said, wiping at your eyes as you giggled.

Sam shook his head, still laughing. “Man, we just need to convert Bucky now.”

Natasha waved a hand dismissively. “There’s no way Bucky hasn’t smoked pot.”

“He has,” you said, shrugging when they both stared at you.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “How do you know?”

You looked down at the joint in your hand, turning it idly before taking a small drag. “He did once. In middle school. But it ended up being mixed with something… not great.. panic attack. He hasn’t touched anything since.”

“Damn,” Sam said, leaning back against the wall. “I didn’t know that.”

You nodded, the memory flickering in your mind like a distant flame. “Yeah. It was a rough weekend for him. After that, he just… swore it off. No smoking, It’s like his personal rule now.”

Natasha frowned, her usual confidence softening for a moment. “That makes sense. Poor Buck.”

The three of you fell into a comfortable silence, the joint passing between you. The sound of cheering caught your attention as Steve and Bucky won another round of beer pong, their laughter cutting through the party noise. And then, as if the universe had planned it, the unmistakable opening notes of Under Pressure began to play.

You froze for a moment, the familiar beat washing over you like a wave. Slowly, you brought the joint to your lips one last time, inhaling deeply before handing it to Natasha. She said something, but the music had already pulled you away. You heard Sam mumble, “It’s the song,” and Natasha sighed, “Oh, God,” as you stepped out onto the balcony, leaving them behind.

The cold night air hit you immediately, biting at your skin and cutting through the haze of warmth in your chest. You lay down on the balcony floor, the rough texture pressing against your back as you stared up at the inky black sky. The stars were faint, drowned out by the city lights, but you could hear the music drifting through the open windows behind you, every note clear as day.

Pressure, pushing down on me, pressing down on you…

You let the song wash over you, your body sinking into the cold concrete as if the world were swallowing you whole. The weight in your chest loosened just enough for you to take a full breath, but the sadness lingered, wrapping itself around you like a second skin.

Can’t we give ourselves one more chance?

You felt like you could disappear here. Listening to this song, knowing the people you loved were safe and warm inside, laughing and living their lives, it wouldn’t be the worst way to go. The thought made you sick, but it clung to you, stubborn and persistent.

And love dares you to care for the people on the edge of the night

Why does this always happen? you thought bitterly. You hated yourself for it—for letting your mind wander to that place when you were surrounded by nothing but love. Sam, Natasha, Steve, Bucky… they all loved you. They would do anything for you. But still, the darkness crept in, whispering lies you couldn’t silence.

And love dares you to change our way of caring about ourselves

You closed your eyes, the music continuing to play as Freddie and Bowie’s voices intertwined. For a moment, you let yourself feel the weight of the song, the way it seemed to echo everything you couldn’t say. It was bittersweet, but it was yours. Yours and Bucky’s.

This is our last dance

You lay there a while longer, letting the cold seep into your skin as you listened to the life happening just beyond the glass.

This is ourselves

The sound of the patio door sliding open—aggressively, almost slamming—pulled you out of your haze. Your eyes shot open as you instinctively sat up, startled. When you looked toward the doorway, Bucky stood there, his shoulders tense as his eyes darted around the balcony, searching. His gaze landed on you, and you saw the relief wash over him in an instant.

Under pressure

“Jesus,” he muttered, stepping out onto the balcony and sliding the door shut behind him. The music inside softened, muffled by the thick glass.

“Everything okay?” you asked hesitantly, sitting up fully now.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, his chest rising and falling a little too quickly. “Natasha said you came out here.” He paused, his voice softening. “I was looking for you.”

You blinked, confused. “I’m fine, I just needed some air.”

He nodded, his eyes scanning you again like he was making sure you were still intact. “They played our song,” you said quietly, your voice almost a whisper.

“Yeah,” he said, his lips curving into a faint, fleeting smile. “That’s why I was trying to find you.”

“Sorry,” you murmured, glancing down at your hands. The weight of the moment pressed against your chest. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Is everything okay?” you asked again, looking up at him now.

Bucky didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped closer, reaching a hand down to you. You hesitated for a second before taking it, his grip warm and firm as he helped you to your feet. The two of you stood there, the cold air wrapping around you, but his hand lingered just a little longer than necessary.

“Buck?,” you said softly, your brow furrowing.

He hesitated, his hands flexing at his sides as though he was wrestling with something. Finally, he swallowed hard and said, “I was worried.” His voice barely audible.

"Worried about what?” you asked, tilting your head, though you already felt the answer forming in the pit of your stomach.

His eyes flickered away from yours for a moment before coming back, the raw emotion in his gaze almost too much to bear. “That you would jump,” he said quietly, the words hitting like a freight train.

The words hit you like a physical blow, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your mind reeled, struggling to process what he’d just said. “What?” you whispered, staring at him in shock. “Bucky…”

He didn’t flinch, his eyes locked onto yours, unflinching and raw. “I was scared,” he said softly. “I couldn’t find you, and Natasha said you were out here. I know how you’ve been down lately, like before... And I—” He stopped, exhaling shakily. “I just… I couldn’t not check.”

You stared at him, speechless, the weight of his words settling deep in your chest. For a moment, all you could do was look at each other, the world around you fading into the background.

“Bucky,” you said finally, your voice trembling, “I would never do that, not with my friends right there, not at Steve’s birthday party, at his home. I would never—”

He cut you off, his gaze hardening slightly. “You mean you never would in general, right? Not just because it’s Steve’s birthday and we’re here?”

His question hit like another blow, and your mouth went dry. You couldn’t answer, couldn’t speak. You just stared at him, and he stared back, the air between you thick with unspoken fears and truths neither of you were ready to face.

Before you could say anything, a knock on the glass patio door startled you both. You turned to see Natasha waving at you from inside, her face cheerful as she gestured toward the living room. Through the glass, you could faintly hear her say, “Cake time!”

“That’s our cue,” you said softly, breaking the silence, but neither of you moved. Bucky’s eyes stayed on you, his expression unreadable. He opened his mouth to speak, but his words died on his lips.

“Y/N,” he said finally, your name heavy with meaning. But before either of you could say anything else, the door opened again.

This time, it was Sam, stepping out with his usual carefree grin. “Come on, you two,” he said, gesturing back toward the party. “It’s happy birthday time.”

The spell broke, and you finally moved, stepping past Bucky toward the door. You felt his presence close behind you as you stepped back into the warm, bustling apartment. The sounds of laughter and music swallowed you whole as Sam clapped Bucky on the shoulder.

“You good?” Sam asked him, his tone light but tinged with concern.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, his voice steady now. “I’m good.”

The two of you followed Sam into the living room, where everyone had gathered around Steve, who stood behind a table piled high with cake and candles. Natasha beamed at him, and the entire room erupted into a cheerful chorus “Happy Birthday to you, Happy birthday to you…..”

Bucky jogged up the steps to your work building, balancing a paper bag with subs and a drink tray in one hand while holding his phone to his ear with the other. The midday sun cast a warm glow over the streets, and the city buzzed with its usual energy. On the other end of the call, Steve’s voice was loud and insistent.

“Just ask her out, man,” Steve said, exasperated. “Olivia’s obviously into you.”

“I know, I know,” Bucky replied, his tone distracted as he checked his watch. “It’s just—”

“‘It’s just,’” Steve interrupted, mimicking Bucky. “If you’re not gonna man up and ask out Y/N—or, I don’t know, figure out if she feels the same way—then you need to move on. Because if you’re not willing to make a move, she’s gonna move on, Buck, and you’re gonna get left behind.”

Bucky stopped walking, rubbing the back of his neck as he considered Steve’s words. “She’s never given me any signs that she feels the same way, Steve. And she’s always saying stuff like, ‘I don’t think have the capacity to properly love anyone.’ That’s kinda her answer right there, isn’t it?”

Steve sighed, the kind that made it clear he was done having this conversation. “Stop torturing yourself. Ask out Olivia already.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky muttered, clearly uncommitted. “I’ll do it.”

He ended the call as he reached your office building, pulling out his phone to text you.

Bucky: I’m here.

A minute passed, and then his phone buzzed.

You: ????

Bucky: Your office.

You: I’m home. Left early.

His brows furrowed as he read the message. He typed back quickly.

Bucky: Okay, be there in 15. I have food.

At your apartment, you froze, the panic hitting you like a freight train. He almost went into my work. He almost found out. Your hands trembled as you paced the room, glancing around at the chaos that had become your home. Dishes in the sink, laundry spilling out of the hamper, notebooks and loose papers scattered everywhere. It had been weeks since Bucky had last been over, and you’d let things slide—just like everything else in your life lately.

You moved like lightning, shoving clutter into drawers and closets, wiping down surfaces, and sweeping crumbs off the coffee table. You almost tripped over a pile of shoes, catching yourself on the edge of the couch as you cursed under your breath. By the time you checked the clock, only five minutes had passed. Good, you thought. Plenty of time.

You ran to the bathroom, splashing water on your face before quickly reapplying some concealer and lip balm. Then you threw on a fresh sweater, lit a candle, and sprayed the room with a light mist of air freshener. As you grabbed the scattered pages of a journal you’d been writing in, you shoved them into a drawer just as the knock came at the door.

“It’s unlocked!” you called out, trying to sound casual as your heart pounded.

Bucky stepped inside, frowning slightly as he looked around. “What did I say about leaving the door unlocked?”

“It wasn’t long,” you said quickly, giving him a small smile. “I just got home.”

Bucky set the bag of food on the counter, eyeing you suspiciously. “Why’d you leave early?”

You shrugged, avoiding his gaze as you grabbed plates from the cabinet. “Finished all the work I needed to do,” you said, keeping your tone light. It wasn’t a total lie, you told yourself. You just weren’t doing that work anymore.

He didn’t press the issue, though his expression lingered with curiosity. Instead, he handed you your sub. “Here,” he said. “Proof that you’re eating.”

You gave a soft laugh, but his tone wasn’t joking. You took a bite, more to appease him than anything, and he watched closely, satisfied only after you swallowed.

“Have you talked to your parents recently?” he asked, leaning against the counter.

You almost choked on your sandwich. “Come on, Bucky, you know I haven’t talked to them in years.”

“Still,” he said quietly, his gaze soft but insistent.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I saw online that they renewed their vows. Some friends and family were there.”

“They didn’t tell you?”

“Nope.” You forced a shrug. “It’s fine. At least they’re still paying for the apartment.”

Bucky frowned, his jaw tightening, but he let it go. “What do you think about Olivia?” he asked, changing the subject.

You blinked, confused. “Olivia who?”

“The blonde from my work,” he said, tilting his head. “The one who sang Journey at the Christmas party.”

“Oh,” you said, the realization hitting. “What about her?”

“I’m thinking of asking her out,” he said, his tone casual, but his eyes searched your face for a reaction.

Your chest tightened, the words cutting deeper than you’d expected. You’d always love Bucky—always. It had always been him for you. But it was never you for him. And as much as it hurt, you wanted him to be happy, even if it wasn’t with you. If anything ever happened to you, you wanted to know he’d have someone. Someone who could give him the love you couldn’t.

“You should,” you said, forcing a bright smile. “You guys would make such a good couple. She’s super sweet, and she’s really pretty.”

Bucky stared at you, his eyes searching again, like he didn’t quite believe you. “That’s what Steve said,” he muttered.

You tilted your head. “Wait, you asked Steve first? I thought I was the number one best friend,” you teased, trying to keep your tone light.

Bucky’s face dropped, panic flashing across his features. “No, no, no, no,” he said quickly. “You are. I—”

“Bucky,” you interrupted, smiling faintly. “I’m kidding. It’s fine.”

"You'll always be my number one everything, I hope you know that."

After Bucky left, the apartment felt quieter than usual. You sat on the couch, the remains of your lunch untouched on the table in front of you. Your phone sat heavy in your hand, and on a whim, you opened a new text message and typed out a simple line.

You: Congratulations on renewing your vows.

You sent it to your mom, watching the “delivered” notification pop up. Moments later, the message shifted to “read,” but no reply came. You sighed, a bitter chuckle escaping your lips. Typical. Shaking your head, you typed the same message to your father.

This time, at least, you got a response.

Dad: Thanks.

You stared at the message for a moment before typing back.

You: Your welcome, love you.

And then nothing. The little “read” notification popped up at the bottom of your screen, and that was it. You were left on read.

A laugh bubbled out of you, hollow and sharp. Of course. It was absurd, really, how predictable it all was. The silence was deafening, and you could feel it creeping in again—that familiar darkness that sat heavy on your chest, pulling you down.

You leaned back into the couch, staring at the ceiling. The air felt heavier, the edges of the room seeming to blur as the minutes ticked by. You didn’t know how long you sat there, lost in the swirling mess of thoughts in your head, when your phone buzzed in your hand.

It was a text from Bucky.

Bucky: She said yes...... :-)

You stared at the screen, the words feeling like a slap and a balm at the same time. You had told him to ask her out. You wanted him to be happy. So why did it hurt so much?

Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard for a moment before you finally typed a reply.

You: Of course she did, It’s you, Bucky <3 Any girl would be lucky to go out with you.

You hit send, feeling the ache in your chest grow sharper. Somewhere in his office, Bucky read your message, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. But as he stared at the words, his heart twisted.

If only you felt that way about yourself, he thought. Because it wasn’t Olivia he wanted. It was you. It had always been you.

But instead of saying that, he typed back a lighthearted response, masking the weight in his chest.

Bucky: You’re gonna make my ego blow up. I don’t wanna end up with a head as big as Sam’s.

When you read his text, you managed a small laugh, even as the heaviness lingered. You typed back a simple “lol” and set the phone down, your fingers trembling slightly.

The apartment was quiet again, the only sound the faint hum of the heater kicking on. You sank further into the couch, the ache in your chest spreading as the hours stretched on. Somewhere, Bucky was moving forward, and you were still here, stuck in place, sinking deeper and deeper.

The rest of the week passed in a blur, the days melting into each other like one endless stretch of gray. Morning, afternoon, evening—it didn’t matter. You spent most of it lying in your bed or on the couch, staring at the ceiling or scrolling aimlessly through your phone. Sometimes, when the weight became unbearable, you ran a bath, sinking into the warm water until it turned ice cold, letting it numb your skin as much as it could.

You texted your friends back when they reached out, just enough to keep them from worrying. You gave vague answers, dodged invitations, always with an excuse at the ready.

Natasha: Wanna grab lunch tomorrow? Maybe hit up that new place near the park?

You: Wish I could, but I already made plans with Sam. Next time?

Sam: Movie night at mine tomorrow? You in?

You: Sorry, can’t. Nat’s got me booked for the day.

Bucky: What’re you doing this weekend? I miss you..

You: Wish I could, but I promised Nat I’d help him with something.

The lies came easily, but they still stung. You weren’t proud of them, but it was the only way to keep them at bay. The thought of facing any of them, of seeing the concern in their eyes, was too much to bear. You weren’t ready to tell them the truth. Hell, you weren’t even sure you could say it out loud.

The thoughts crept in quietly, like they always did, settling in the corners of your mind and growing until they were all you could hear. You’d been here before, countless times, but this felt different. Worse. You didn’t think you’d ever been this low.

You’d always wondered what it would be like not to feel. To let the darkness swallow you whole, to just… stop. You’d thought about it so many times, toyed with the idea in the dead of night when no one else was around. You’d even tried, once or twice.

But there was always something—or rather, someone—who pulled you back. Bucky. He’d always been there, always managed to find you just before you slipped too far. And the guilt that followed was unbearable. Knowing that your pain hurt him, that it made him worry. It made you feel selfish, even though you knew deep down that wasn’t what he would want you to feel.

But this time… this time was different. Your friends were happy. Their lives were coming together, piece by piece. Natasha had her promotion, Steve was thriving at work, Sam was always chasing his next big project, and now Bucky was moving forward, too. And more importantly they all had each other.

It should’ve made you feel worse, knowing you were the only one stuck. But instead, it comforted you in a strange, twisted way. They were happy. They were thriving. And if they were thriving, it meant they were okay. It meant they didn’t need you dragging them down.

The days eventually bled together in a monotonous cycle: waking up, lying in bed for hours, moving to the couch when you couldn’t stand the silence of your room. Sometimes you’d scroll through social media, letting the curated happiness of others wash over you in waves of apathy and bitterness. Other times, you’d stare at the ceiling, letting your mind drift to places you didn’t want it to go.

You thought about your friends, about how they’d fight for you if they knew how bad it had gotten. They’d drag you out of bed, force you into the sunlight, tell you that you were worth it, that they loved you. But the thing was, you didn’t know if you wanted to fight anymore. Not this time.

It wasn’t that you didn’t believe them. You knew they loved you. But love didn’t fix the heaviness in your chest or the static in your head. It didn’t stop the days from feeling endless, didn’t make the darkness any less suffocating.

And the worst part was, you weren’t even sure you wanted it to stop. The thought scared you, but it was the truth. Fighting felt exhausting. And maybe, just maybe, it was easier to let it win.

The warm hum of conversation and clinking glasses filled Natasha and Steve’s living room. The four of them—Natasha, Steve, Sam, and Bucky—sat around the table, laughter occasionally punctuating their lighthearted arguments about whose turn it was to grab the next round of drinks. Bucky sipped his whiskey slowly, only half-engaged in the conversation, his mind drifting elsewhere.

“Hey,” Natasha said, snapping him out of his thoughts. “When’s Y/N getting here?”

Bucky frowned, setting his glass down. “Weren’t you with her earlier today? Shouldn’t you know?”

Natasha blinked in confusion. “I haven’t seen her since Steve’s birthday party.”

Bucky froze, the words hitting him like a punch. “What?” His voice was low, the edge in it unmistakable. “That was weeks ago.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed as she looked at Steve, then Sam, before turning back to Bucky. “Yeah, I know. Every time I reach out to her, she says she’s with you or Sam, dodges my calls and everything.”

Sam, who had been leaning back lazily in his chair, straightened up. “Wait, what? She told me she’s been hanging out with you, Buck.” He shrugged casually. “I haven’t hung out with her in a while. But it’s life, right? People get busy.”

Bucky’s chest tightened as his mind raced. “She told you she was with me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” Sam said, confused. “Why?”

But Bucky was already up, his coat in hand, his boots being shoved on in record time.

“Where are you going?” Natasha asked, standing now, her confusion quickly morphing into concern.

Bucky paused at the door, his eyes flickering between all of them. “She’s sad again,” he said, the words coming out like a realization, heavy with dread. Without another word, he was gone, the door slamming behind him.

Bucky ran through the streets, his heart pounding in his chest. By the time he reached your apartment, he barely noticed the ache in his legs or the sting of the cold air. He pushed the door handle, and it opened easily. Unlocked again, he thought bitterly, stepping inside.

The apartment was dark, the kind of oppressive darkness that came from too much time spent with the blinds drawn. The bag of subs he’d brought over almost two weeks ago was still sitting in the exact same spot on the counter, untouched. His heart sank further as his eyes adjusted to the dim light.

He called your name his voice echoing slightly in the empty space.

A moment later, your bedroom door cracked open, and you poked your head out, your face pale and tired. “Bucky?” you said, your voice hoarse and more hostile than you intended. “What are you doing here?”

The harshness in your tone stung, but Bucky held his ground. “What are you doing?” he demanded, stepping closer. “Why are you doing this?”

You stepped out of your room fully, arms crossed over your hoodie, your posture defensive. “Doing what?”

“You know what,” he snapped, his frustration breaking through, his voice filled with emotion. “Why are you pushing us away? Why are you pushing me away? Why are you doing this again? You know I’m here for you, please let me help you.”

Your fingers played with the hem of your, his hoodie as you stared at the floor. “I’m not doing anything,” you muttered.

“Bullshit,” he said, his voice rising. “I just left Steve and Nat’s place. Guess who was there? Sam too. And guess what I found out? You’ve been lying to all of us.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, anger and shame swirling in your expression. “You don’t get it,” you shot back, your voice raw. “You don’t get to judge me.”

His face softened, his tone lowering. “I would never judge you,” he said firmly, taking a step closer. “You have to know that. I’m here for you, but you’re not letting me be here. You’re not letting me help you, just let me in.”

“Maybe I don’t want your help,” you snapped, your voice breaking. “Have you ever thought of that? Maybe I don’t want it.”

Bucky froze, his jaw clenching as he stared at you. The words hit him harder than he expected, and his face dropped, the hurt clear in his expression. “Are you taking your meds?” he asked quietly.

You let out a bitter laugh, a tear slipping down your cheek as you wiped it away angrily. “Meds?” you repeated, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “The meds don’t work! They’ve never worked! ”

His brows furrowed in concern. “When did you stop taking them?”

“When my insurance ran out!” you admitted, your voice sharp and full of bitterness, as frustrated tears started to spill.

Bucky stilled, the pieces falling into place. “Why did your insurance run out?” he asked carefully.

“Because I got fired months ago!” you shouted, the words exploding out of you. “I lost my job, okay? That’s why! Are you happy now?”

The room fell silent, the weight of your admission hanging heavy between you. Bucky’s face was a mix of shock and hurt, his mouth opening and closing like he didn’t know what to say.

“Leave,” you said suddenly, your voice trembling with anger and exhaustion. “Just leave me alone, Bucky. I want to be alone. I don’t want you here! I don't need you here! Just leave me the fuck alone.”

“Y/N…” he started, his voice soft, but you cut him off, yelling louder this time. “Get out!”

He stood there, frozen, the internal battle raging across his face. He knew he shouldn’t leave you—not now, not like this. But your words had cut deep, and the sheer overwhelm of it all was too much.

“Fine,” he said finally, his voice cold. “You want to be alone? Be alone.”

He turned and walked to the door, pausing only to lock it behind him before slamming it shut. The sound echoed through the empty apartment, and you stood there, the silence swallowing you whole.

It was what you wanted. But as you sank back onto the couch, the ache in your chest grew heavier, and the tears you’d been holding back finally broke free.

You didn’t want to be here anymore.

This is our last dance

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #sebastian stan x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes angst #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky fanfic #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes ff #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes imagine #james bucky barnes

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sunflowerwinds · 6 months ago

Text

pulling you in | e.w

summary: the next day, new tattoo and all, you try and distract yourself from your overwhelming feelings and focus on the activities set for the day. your heart and mind are all over the place and you don’t know what to do anymore. ellie apologizes in a way that makes you even more stuck on who you want to turn to.

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

contains: mature language, reader being so confused with what she wants (bare with me), adorable pining!, more oblivious!reader: it’s painful atp

word count: 3.2K

a/n: first of all, the support for this series makes my heart soar. second of all, i’m almost to 2k follows which blows my mind. i am forever grateful for the support my writing has gotten from the little gay people on this app <3

under the summer stars masterlist

It was safe to say that you had screwed up any chance of being with Ellie. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be or in the stars for you. Whatever saying that referred to being made for each other did not apply to you and Ellie.

Maybe saying Abby was a good thing; bring you down from this fantasy world and move the hell on. You were leaning back in a lawn chair, slathered in sunscreen and wearing sunglasses to protect your retinas from the burning UV rays (and shamelessly staring at a certain somebody). The children in your cabin were playing some good old-fashioned duck-duck-goose before they had their big Tug-O-War match between all the cabins.

You could see Ellie from a distance with her own group digging in the sandbox for some ‘fossils’. Your eyes were practically formed into hearts seeing her enthusiastically explain all the dinosaur bones and which deceased animal they belonged to. Her geekiness made her even more attractive to you if that was even possible.

No. Enough.

You shook your head and found yourself glancing over at Abby’s group who were running through the extra-large bubbles, giggling happily. The tall blonde had admiration written all over her face at how much fun the kids were having; bright smile and all. You would be lying to yourself if you hadn’t been checking out Abby’s muscular arms and legs when she would break out her athletic shorts and shirts.

“You know just because you like girls doesn’t make your staring any less creepy?” You hear from beside you which causes you to jump a little.

You smack Dina’s leg for scaring you. You’re beyond glad you were wearing sunglasses as you didn’t want him to be right. Could everyone tell that you were gawking at Ellie’s fingers gently caressing the rocks like she was touching your thigh last—

My god, you needed help.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you shrug your shoulders, grabbing your handheld fan from the tote bag next to you on the ground and shaking it in front of your face.

“Come on. You don’t think I know you’re eye-fucking Ellie?” She mutters close to you as you both glance around but neither of your groups were paying attention to you guys.

“Not Ellie,” you state simply.

Dina audibly gasps and kneels down next to your chair, peeing over the direction you were.

“Wait, are you gawking at Abby?” She questioned with a soft chuckle.

“Maybe?” You say unsure of what you are truly feeling.

“I mean, yum, but I didn’t you were serious about moving on from Ellie,” Dina emphasized as you both stared at Abby grabbing one of the large coolers and moving it to where the kids were.

You sighed as your eyes flickered over at the one that held your heart before fixating on Abby once again.

“Yeah, well, it’s not like I’m going to do anything about Abby either. Just admiring from afar.”

“And where has that gotten you over the past three years?” Dina deadpanned, raising her brows at you as she patted her sweaty upper lip with the back of her hand.

You remained silent as she got you there. Dina stood up from her position next to you, patting your shoulder before jerking her head towards the Tug-O-War makeshift arena.

“C’mon. Enough pining. We gotta get the kids for Tug-O-War. It’s mine against yours first,” Dina cheekily responded before jogging over to her campers.

You shot up from your seat and grabbed your whistle that was dangling around your neck, slotting it into your mouth to blow to get everyone’s attention. All of your campers froze their game of Duck-Duck-Goose, immediately scurrying over to you.

“Alright, campers! You guys ready to do Tug-O-War?” You shout with enthusiasm in your voice.

The kids started screaming with excitement, matching your energy times a million. You winced a little bit but kept your smile.

“I said,” you pause for dramatics. “Are you ready for Tug-O-War?” You over-enunciate every word which resulted in an uproar of cheers.

You chuckle softly and motion for the kids to follow you to the makeshift arena. There, a few feet across, was your friend and opponent, Dina and her campers. The brunette had her arms crossed over her chest with a playful narrow, motioning that she was watching us. You mouth that she was going down to which she scoffed and rolled her eyes.

The mediator, Jesse, cleared his throat as he explained the rules of the game. Basic no-cheating, no pushing, shoving, etc. He had one hand on his hip with a megaphone in the other.

“Lookin’ good, mediator,” Dina calls over to Jesse who points warningly at her.

“You know the rules, Miss Dina. No sweet talking.” Jesse gave her one more glance before clearing his throat.

You snort to yourself before instructing your kids to keep their feet planted and wide and to tug as hard as they can. As soon as Jesse shouted ‘Go!’, everyone in your team began pulling with all their might. You watched as Dina’s team was completely thrown off guard and slipped over the dry grass beneath their sneakers. You kept shouting that the kids had it and to not let go.

After one final tug from your team, the ribbon in the middle of the rope moved past the white indicator line. You gasped as Jesse shouted, ‘One point to the Daisies!’. You huddled in with the kids, bouncing up and down with glee at the victory. In good spirit, the opposite teams gave each other high fives just like after a little league baseball game.

This went on for about an hour; each winner fighting against one another until it came to the last two. Not your surprise, you and Ellie’s campers came neck in neck with the points. On the sidelines, all of the other campers and friends of yours were cheering for both sides to not show preference for either team.

Ellie’s green eyes were narrowed at you with a taunting eyebrow raise while you scratched at your nose with your middle finger to discreetly flip her off. She caught it almost instantly and shook her head, prodding her tongue into her inner cheek.

“Our finalists, the mighty Daisies and the strong Dinos are about to have their final throw down. The winning team gets this highly expensive, one-of-a-kind trophy!” Jesse announced which caused the entirety of the camp which resulted in an uproar of cheers.

It was a trophy off of Amazon that read ‘#1 Champions’ that was 7 bucks but Jesse knew how to get the kids more and more competitive and eager to win. You locked eyes with Ellie from a few feet away, a shiver sliding down your back when she licked her lips before tightly gripping the thick rope.

The veins on her arms and hands protruded out, her sweat making them glisten under the hot sunbeams. You just needed a photo of what you were looking at and you would be content forever. Distracted by her annoying good looks, you tripped over your own feet when Jesse announced that the final Tug-O-War was on.

But you quickly held your ground and began tugging the rope as aggressively as possible, trying not to get overwhelmed by the amount of cheering coming from your friends and other campers. It took a few minutes before the Dinos did one final tug that caused the flag in the middle to move past the white line.

You glanced down at your hands, sighing at the sight of a few burn marks as you released the rope. Ellie was surrounded by her campers, all excitedly jumping up and down with her. You couldn’t even be sad about losing seeing her so happy. She had rubbed every single one of their heads, telling them how cool and strong they all were.

“Our winners; the Dino cabin!” Jesse shouts into the megaphone, jogging over to hand Ellie the medium-sized trophy.

Ellie snatched it from him to hold it up over her head to show it off. She then grabbed the megaphone from Jesse as well, clearing her throat as she began to give a speech.

“I just want to say thank you to my amazing group of campers. I couldn’t have done it without all of these Incredible Hulks over here,” Ellie smiled like a maniac as the campers started clapping. “But it’s getting too hot out here guys so let’s head over to the Arts cabin to make our bracelets with some snacks and drinks. Let’s go, everybody.”

You told your campers to follow you to the Arts cabin, making sure to let them know how great they did regardless of not being in first place. They all agreed but told you they were excited to get bracelet making. That eased your worries. As much as you enjoy these competitive activities, you are terrified that the kids will begin to feel bad about themselves.

As your group entered the cabin, you instructed your kids to wait in line to get snacks and drinks. You watch them all carefully make their way over to the four lines when you feel a hand rest on your clothed shoulder.

“I didn’t think Ellie could beat you,” Abby’s low voice mutters.

“She’s toned, Abs. I think it was a fair one so,” you shrug your shoulders as you check the list of activities on your clipboard.

“Yeah, I guess so but I was rooting for you.” Abby gave your shoulder a soft squeeze.

You turn to her with a friendly smile, raising your eyebrows at her own slightly frizzy braid.

“Well, I mean we all know why you were winning your Tug-O-Wars,” you eye her biceps, reaching one hand forward to touch the heated skin from being out in the sun.

Abby seemed to just let you touch her, the muscle tensing under your fingers. You look at her and notice how obvious you are with this weird attempt at flirting. You retract your hand and clear your throat.

“So, later when we take our campers to the campfire for s’mores, can I save you a spot?” Abby blatantly stares at your lips before flickering up to your eyes.

From across the room, you make eye contact with Ellie who seems more confused than anything. Jesse was rambling to her about something that you weren’t able to hear as she was helping him set up the bracelet-making table, twiddling with the strands.

“Yeah, Abs. That sounds good,” you nod after forcefully tearing your eyes away from Ellie’s tense posture.

“Yeah?” Abby asks once to confirm.

You hum to ease her mind, nodding with a kind smile.

“Okay, I’ll do that,” Abby nods more so to herself before jerking her head over to her group of campers.

As Abby left you by yourself with your hammering thoughts, you felt a nudge to your hip. You look down to see one of your campers holding up a string to you.

“Can you help me make a bracelet for Beth?” Carter questions, adjusting his baby. blue glasses on his face.

“Yeah, of course, bud.”

“I sorta got mad at her earlier and I want her to know that I’m sorry for doing that,” the little blonde boy expresses, shyly messing with the string.

You thought it was so adorable to see kids express their emotions differently. You’ve noticed as people age, emotions become harder to express. There was no fear in his eyes; a little timid, sure but he knew he had to express it somehow. Yes, people are complicated but children are so open; so innocent.

“I’m sure you didn’t mean it, Carter.”

From across the room you spotted Beth, giggling with Vanessa quietly as they made their own bracelets. Carter quietly told you that he noticed how much she wore the color purple so you helped him pick out the different shades of purple beads to slide onto the bracelet.

The crowd of kids chattering was a weird comfort to you. You couldn’t express it enough how much you loved this job.

After the children had their snacks and finished up the crafting, Tommy and Joel escorted everyone’s campers to their assigned cabin. The counselors cleaned up the art room during that time period. You had no desire to clean so you snuck out to sit on the steps as you waited for everyone else to be done.

As you doodle on your clipboard, you hear the door open behind you and you pretend to make notes instead. That is until you look over your shoulder to see Ellie standing with her arms crossed behind her back.

“Hey,” you grinned at her.

Ellie reciprocates the gesture, looking away from you for a moment.

“Hi,” the auburn-haired girl tilted her head at you. “I was wondering where you went.”

Was your back sweating from anxiety or the heat?

“Sorry. I… didn’t really feel like cleaning,” you weakly chuckled before focusing back on your scribbles and doodles.

“It’s not a lot to clean so you’re good. I just wanted to, uh,” Ellie cleared her throat before making her way closer to you, the boards beneath her feet slightly squeaking.

Before you knew it, an object hit your clipboard right underneath your graphite nonsense. Your eyes drop to it and your brows furrow in confusion.

“What’s this?”

You question as you stare at the bracelet that Ellie has now thrown on the clipboard in front of you resting on your knees. It was a mixture of beads of your favorite colors with your initial smack dab in the middle.

“An apology in a way. I noticed you’ve been kind of distant today so if it was something I did or said,” Ellie scratched behind her ear as she grinned weakly at you. “I’m sorry.”

So that’s why she had been making bracelets earlier. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t been acting weird or distant all of today. You hadn’t talked to Ellie on your own once, which clearly didn’t go didn't go unnoticed by the freckled girl. You felt like an insensitive ass acting this way.

“Els, it’s a personal thing. I’m sorry for being weird,” you stated as you fiddled with the bracelet.

“It’s okay. Just… wanna make sure my favorite girl doesn’t hate me,” Ellie nervously chuckled.

What the hell was she doing to you?

”I don’t think I ever could,” you admit as you admire the slightly too-big bracelet.

Ellie nodded, her green eyes darting from the apology in your hands to your expression. She seemed so antsy to give it to you; secretly afraid that you would hate it or think it was strange or pushing a boundary.

“How’s your tattoo?” Ellie questioned.

“Oh, um, all good. You did amazing, Els.” You reassure her.

“Can I see it to double-check? For… irritation.”

You stare into her wide green eyes, noticing how dilated her pupils are. There was the smallest ring of green due to how much the pupils were taking up her eyes.

“Sure, yeah,” you carefully lifted up your shorts leg to show her the small sun.

It was a bit splotchy but adorable nonetheless. You had put on soothing shea butter lotion and washed it gently this morning so it was good as new. Ellie reached her fingers forward to carefully trace over the detailed spiral in the middle. Goosebumps rose instantly to the surface of your skin despite the drastic heat outside.

“Looks good. It suits you.” Ellie confesses to you, grinning as her thumb traces over the inked section of your upper thigh.

“I might visit you again to get more. Maybe some finger ones?” You suggest, holding your hands out to her.

Ellie carefully takes your hands in hers.

“It’d be pretty hot, honestly,” Ellie murmured like she didn’t want her comment to be heard.

“Yeah, I thought so too,” you add on with a cheeky smile, nudging her shoulder.

Ellie’s entire face flushed at your words, releasing your hand as she muttered a soft ‘shut up’. You simply chuckled as you rested your head on her shoulder.

“Well, I’ll see you later at the campfire. I just wanted to give that to you before I forgot.” Ellie scratched behind your ear with a chuckle, moving on from her slight mistake.

“Mmm, I would take a shower first though,” you tease.

Ellie shook her head and scoffed.

“Really? After I gave you a gift?” She muttered as she leaned down to place her sweaty front side over your seated back.

You let out a string of groans and ‘get off’ before Ellie reluctantly lifted her body up and off of you. She stood up on her feet and nudged your leg with her Converse-covered feet.

“I’ll see you in a bit.” Ellie nodded before turning on her heels.

You sigh as you twiddle with the sweet gesture from the freckled girl. You silently watch her make her to her own cabin, probably wrangling for the children to quiet down so that she can do a headcount.

“Getting over her, huh?” You hear from behind you which causes you to nearly jump out of your skin.

Dina’s standing there with her arms folded across her chest, the wooden door behind her shutting softly.

“I don’t want to hear it, D,” you sigh as you stand up on the chipping blue wooden staircase.

Dina continuously tries to voice her opinion on how she feels but you make a noise of protest every time. She walks up to you and places both hands on your shoulders, forcing you to listen to her at this point.

“I just don’t know why you’re forcing yourself to fixate on Abby and why you don’t just tell Ellie how you feel.”

You’ve heard this twice now and you can’t help but feel like maybe they’re right. It’s high-risk, high-reward explaining how you feel to Ellie. You would give anything to know exactly how she felt about you so that you could ultimately just either push the crush away or finally open your mouth to tell her you want her more than you needed oxygen.

“You think I should?” You question curiously, your eyes pouring into Dina’s heartfelt ones.

“Yes. 99%” Dina replies.

You groan at her answer, trying to move away from her. She chuckles and shakes your shoulders to refocus your attention on her.

“I’m kidding. Seriously, 110%. I don’t think you see how Ellie looks at you, dude.” Dina emphasizes this with complete sincerity.

Steve’s words, too, echoed in your brain as you took in what Dina said to you.

“I’m just saying if I know flirting,” he leaned down to mutter to you, “and I think I do, she wants you just as badly as you want her. My personal opinion is to go for it.”

Should you? You were making your head hurt with the constant back and forth. Ellie was the lucky one. She had no idea what was going on in your head and this you were thankful for. The sun was setting and it was nearly time for the campfire.

You walked away from Dina with a pounding question in your head: Abby or Ellie?

tag-list: @abbyshands @ih8chickentenders @elliesprettygirl @justhereforinspopics @be3flow3r @hearts4joongie @plutolovesyou @bready101 @joanvisitsrome @elliewilliamssrealgf @hysteriawillnotsuccumb @shady-lemur @melanie-watermelon @elliescoolerwife @ucannotcompare @sakiigami @shalalala-sana @joordynn @ummlover @thisiscarlatrying @phattywithawham @mxquelo @kisssssessssssyj @xyaxyn @claymoreshaze @a-little-bit-of-everybody

#ellie williams fanfic #ellie tlou2 #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams fic #ellie williams fanfiction #wlw #sapphic #ellie williams #cherry’s fics!

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whiteferraristurns · 3 months ago

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𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 ⚠︎︎ none. no use y/n. fluff

𝐁𝐑𝐈ꨄ rapper chris!!👅

reblogs, likes and comments are heavily appreciated ᥫ᭡

Late Night in the Studio

The hum of the city faded into the background as you entered the studio, a small black bag clutched in your hand. The dim, moody lights cast a soft glow over the walls lined with platinum records, awards, and Chris's signature graffiti art—raw, messy, undeniably his. The faint scent of sandalwood and vanilla drifted from the candles flickering on the windowsill, the only soft contrast to the electric energy in the room. The space felt familiar, yet every time you entered, the charged energy made you feel like you were stepping into another world.

It was late—later than you would have preferred to be out on a Thursday night—but Chris had insisted, and you couldn’t deny the pull his voice held over you. You were used to the chaos that came with his life, the late-night calls and the constant tug-of-war between your schedules. But something about tonight felt different.

You leaned against the doorway watching how the pink lights lit up his features perfectly. “You look like you’re thinking hard over there,” Chris turned, adjusting his headphones before pulling them down to hang around his neck. He shot you that lazy grin that always made you feel like you were the only person in the room.

“Just wondering why you’ve got me out here at midnight,” you teased, your lips pulling up into a smile. “Don’t you ever sleep?” Chris shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets with that lazy, too-cool look he always wore. “Can’t sleep when I’ve got inspiration running through me. You should know that by now.”

You rolled your eyes, taking a seat on the leather couch that stretched against the wall. It was worn and cracked, but you’d spent enough time here that it almost felt like home. “So I’m here to be your muse?” You arched an eyebrow, teasing, but deep down, you couldn’t deny the warmth his words brought.

Chris didn’t answer right away. Instead, his fingers ran over the soundboard, tweaking a few settings as he let the beat play softly in the background. He shot you a glance over his shoulder, his eyes dark and serious. “Actually, yeah. This one’s got your name all over it.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and full of meaning. Your heart skipped, but you tried to play it cool, tilting your head with a small smile. “You really expect me to believe you wrote a whole song about me?”

He nodded, and you could see the sincerity in his eyes. “It’s wouldn't be the first one”

Your mouth went dry. You knew he poured his life into his music, but the idea that he’d written about you was something else. You glanced away, biting your lip to hide the mix of emotions swirling inside you. “I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“Don’t say anything,” he murmured, leaning against the soundboard as he met your gaze. “Just… listen.” Chris hit play, and the room filled with a steady, soulful beat, layered with smooth guitar riffs that softened the intensity of the bassline. Then his voice cut through, raw and honest, each line hitting like a confession.

“She’s the pulse that keeps me steady, when the world’s too loud to bear. She’s the reason why I’m breathing, even when there’s smoke in the air.”

The lyrics rolled over you, each word hitting deeper than you’d expected. You breath caught as you heard the pain, the longing, the way he seemed to reach for you through every line. It wasn’t just a song. It was a part of him—a part of your bond. You listened, your hand messing the necklace he had gotten you for your birthday. As his voice continued, weaving a story of nights you’d spent together, of whispered words in dim rooms, of a connection that neither of you knew how to define.

“She’s the storm that keeps me grounded, the spark behind every verse,” he rapped, his voice deep and resonant, each word laced with something you couldn’t quite name. “When I’m lost in this world, she pulls me down to earth.”

The track finally faded into silence, you blinked, realizing your eyes were damp. You hadn’t even noticed the tears pooling, too wrapped up in the emotion of it all.

“Chris…” you started, but words failed you. How could you tell him that you felt it too, that every time he left for another city or hit the stage, you were there with him, a part of your heart stitched into every lyric?

He crossed the room, sitting beside you on the couch, his knee brushing against yours. The air between you both was thick with things unsaid, but his eyes told you everything you needed to know.

“It’s not easy, you know?” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. “Balancing all this. Sometimes, I don’t know how much longer I can keep pulling you into this world.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his words sink in. You’d always known that dating Chris meant sacrifice, meant that your time was often borrowed and fleeting. But the thought of letting him go was harder than you wanted to admit.

“You’re not pulling me anywhere, Chris,” you whispered back, your hand reaching out to brush his. “I’m here because I want to be.”

For a moment, he looked away, his jaw tight. You knew that look—he wore it when he was fighting back something deeper, something vulnerable. You reached out, your hand resting on his, grounding him. Slowly, he turned back to you, his fingers threading through yours.

“What if it’s too much?” he asked, his voice low and hoarse. “What if… I’m too much?”

You shook her head, squeezing his hand. “You could never be too much, Chris. You’re just… everything.”

Your words hung in the air, soft and steady, the truth of them lingering between you. And in that moment, you felt like you were finally laying your cards on the table, every piece of your heart exposed. You leaned forward, closing the gap between you two, your lips brushing his in a gentle, tender kiss that held everything you couldn’t put into words.

When you pulled away, he held you close, his forehead resting against yours, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you stayed like that, just breathing, just existing in the same space.

“I don’t know where this is going,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, “but I want to figure it out with you.”

You nodded, feeling the truth of his words settle in her heart. “We’ll figure it out, one verse at a time.”

And as you sat together in the dim studio, surrounded by his music, you knew that whatever happened, you’d face it together—through the highs, the lows, and everything in between. Because no matter what, you had each other, and that was enough.

𝐁𝐑𝐈ꨄ short n’ sweet. please tell how this was I lowk hate it😭

more fic’s will be out soon I just thought I’d post this one now since it’s been sitting in my drafts since the day after the video

TAGS ʚ♡ɞ

@sturniqloo @iillovechris @themotherofmattschildren @chrislilcumslvt @ghostlyplug @mattsfavginger @chrissturnioloenthusiastforlife @ncm9696 @starfuckoff @heartz4matt

#movieshots🎬#✩rapper!chris彡 #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo imagine #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo oneshot #chris sturniolo fanfiction #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #Chris sturniolo fluff #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets fandom #sturniolo triplets fluff #sturniolo oneshots

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notyetneedcoffee · 1 year ago

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Mine

Kinktober - Biting/Marking Kink NSFW - Adults Only

Summary: Bucky wants you to remember him while he's away

Bucky shoved a pile of black t-shirts into his duffle bag.

“How long will this trip be?” You sat in bed, knees pulled up and arms wrapped around them.

It was still dark. The alarm had gone off at four in the morning. Bucky tried to be quiet as he got ready in the bathroom, but you were awake and determined to see him off.

“Couple weeks.”

He efficiently packed the rest of his bag while you watched. His shaving kit and toothbrush were thrown on top of his clothes. You noticed he didn’t take any personal items. If it was going to be a low-stakes mission, he would usually take a couple books or something else to distract himself. Only the bare essentials were packed for the bad ones. Bucky moved around the room, clad only in his black boxer briefs. At least you got to admire him before he left.

“What’s that look for?” He asked. You didn’t even see him look at you.

“What look?”

“You’re chewing your lip and lookin’ like I’m heading off to World War III.” Bucky closed up his bag.

“Maybe I’m just anxious for you to go.” You tried to tease.

His eyebrow arched up. “Got someone in the wings, Doll?”

“Maybe.” You raised your chin.

Bucky tossed the bag on the floor, crawling up the bed like a predatory animal. “Maybe,” he licked his lips. “I should make sure anyone looking knows you’re mine.”

A thrill raced through your body. You fought to keep the smile from your face. “Just how do you plan on doing that?”

His voice lowered to a deep, dangerous tone. “You know exactly how, Dollface.”

Bucky tugged the blankets away from your naked form. Taking an ankle in each hand, he yanked you down onto your back with your legs wrapped around his hips. Putting his weight on one hand, he stroked your breast with the other.

“Do you really think I would leave without making you happy first?” He bent forward sucking your nipple. Your back arched, wanting more. He chuckled. “Or that I would go without making sure you felt my touch for days?” His teeth nipped and sent a zing of pain and pleasure straight to your core.

“Buck,” you whined and tugged at his hair. He bit and sucked across your breasts until it was almost too painful, only to sweetly kiss and lick the sensitive skin. It left you panting and writhing beneath him.

“Mmm,” Bucky crawly lower. “My beautiful girl.”

He nipping the skin of your inner thigh. You jerked, but he held you. Bucky face buried between your legs. You clawed at the sheets. Rushes of heat. Shots of pain. Washes of pleasure. His mouth, tongue, and teeth made you shake.

“Fuck,” You panted. “Bucky, ah fuck.”

His fingers sunk deep into your wet core, curling and pumping to fill the room with wet, sloppy sounds. He grinned at you, face wet and lips pink. “You going to come for me, Doll?” You nodded desperately, unable to speak. “That’s right. Cause this pretty little pussy is mine. Isn’t it?” You whined as you hurled toward the edge. He knew. The fingers of Bucky’s other hand rubbed at your clit. “Fuck yes, Doll. Now.”

You snapped. Came apart. Shook. Flooded over his hand.

Bucky freed his cock and slid into your quivering cunt. You moaned, wrapping yourself around him. He groaned, pulling nearly all the way out before plunging all the way in again. Over and over. Powerful, but not nearly fast enough.

“Doll.” He groaned in your ear. “Can I, uh fuck, can I mark your neck?”

“Yes,” You breathed. Normally, the bruises were only for places hidden by clothes. At the moment you didn’t care. “Yes, want to feel your teeth.”

“Oh, shit.” Bucky’s pace increased. He panted. You clawed at his back, his ass. He pulled your hair, arching your neck. The pressure built. You cunt clenched. “Fuck. You close, Doll?”

“Yes.” You whined.

He fucked you faster, his mouth kissing and nipping at the base of your neck. You began to quiver. His hips pushed deeper.

“Yes,” You panted. “Let, ah fuck, let everyone know, ah, let them see I’m, oh fuck, yours.”

Bucky moaned, hips snapping, coming hard, and biting down. Pain zipped down your body, pushing you over the edge to a blissful release. You held tight as little quakes echoed through your body. His soft mouth kissed over sensitive skin.

“You’ll have a good one here, Dollface.” He kissed your neck gently. “Sorry.”

“Mmm. Not sorry.” You sighed. “Totally worth it. Besides. It’s scarf weather.”

He laughed, making his whole body shake. Kissing you deep, Bucky smiled against your lips. “I may say you’re mine, but really I’m lucky as hell to be yours.”

What more? Check out my Master List.

#Kinktober #Bucky Barnes Smut #Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes fic #Bucky Barnes fanfic

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connorsui · 5 months ago

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The Faint Glimmers of Yesterday

Dabi x reader (main), Shoto x reader (platonic relationship)

genre/ warnings: Angst, straight up depression, Imprisonment, rough kiss, small moments of fluff in between (ur memories are making u cry harder synopsis : After the war, Touya, is captured by the government and faces trial for his crimes. His girlfriend who has stood by him through everything, is left to grapple with the reality of his conviction. As she fights through the cruel media, the judgment of the world, and her own broken heart, she clings to the memories of their time together, Note: I wanted convicted dabi …i blame pinterest for this …mommaaaaa im in loveeeeee with a criminaaaalllllllll

VIP: @greenmanshoe

w.c: 5.4K

The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the streetlamp outside the window that cast long shadows across the bed. You lay beside him, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was a comforting sound, strong and reassuring, each beat a promise that he was still here with you, if only for a little while longer. His chest rose and fell in a slow, rhythmic cadence, grounding you in the present moment as you tried to savor every second.

His voice, when he spoke, was low and gravelly, like the distant roll of thunder. It resonated through you, wrapping around you like a protective embrace, carrying a depth of emotion that he rarely allowed himself to show. The scent of him was intoxicating—a mix of smoky wood, like charred cedar, and the sharp tang of his cologne, with an underlying warmth that was distinctly him. It was a scent that clung to the air around you, a constant reminder of his presence, even when he wasn’t there.

Touya’s arm was draped lazily over your shoulders, his fingers idly tracing circles on your bare skin. The silence between you was heavy, filled with the unspoken tension of what was to come. You knew where he was going, what he was planning to do, and the thought of it made your heart ache.

“Do you really have to go?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, afraid that speaking any louder would shatter the fragile peace you’d found in this moment. You wanted to hold onto it, to hold onto him, for as long as you could.

Touya didn’t answer right away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, gazing down at you with those intense, piercing blue eyes that had first drawn you to him. He was beautiful in a way that was almost dangerous, all sharp edges and raw power, but to you, he was everything.

“You know I will…even if ill rather be here,” he finally replied, his voice low and rough, like gravel beneath your fingertips.

“But you don’t have to,” you insisted, your fingers clutching at his shirt, trying to keep him close. “You know that, right? We can—”

He cut you off, pulling you tighter against his chest, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head. His lips pressed to your forehead, then your cheeks, each kiss soft and lingering, as if he was trying to memorize the feel of you.

“Baby… baby, listen to me,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “Even if I had gone with you to the heavens above, I would have still found a way to rain hell upon that man.” There was a dark, fierce determination in his voice, one that sent a shiver down your spine.

“I Just- …you know how I feel about all of this …its difficult to come to terms with it”

“I know…and I’m sorry”

You closed your eyes, trying to savor the feel of him, the sound of his voice, the way his body felt against yours. You wanted to remember everything—his laugh, his smile, the way his hair felt when you ran your fingers through it. The memory of helping him dye his hair black flashed through your mind, and a bittersweet smile tugged at your lips.

You could still remember the way he’d sat on the floor, legs stretched out, while you carefully applied the dye, trying to get every strand just right.

“Careful, babe,” he’d teased, his voice lighter than usual, a rare playful note threading through it. “Don’t want to end up with half my hair still white. Unless that’s your way of saying you like me better that way?”

You’d laughed, shaking your head as you tried to concentrate. “No way. You’d look like a half-done project. We’re going all in, Touya, no shortcuts.”

He’d smirked at that, leaning back a little, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. “All in, huh? I like the sound of that. But you sure you’re not just looking for an excuse to touch me?”

You’d felt your face heat up at his teasing, and before you could respond, he’d leaned forward, closing the distance between you, his lips hovering just above yours. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging,” he’d murmured, his breath warm against your lips. “A kiss for your man?”

You’d giggled, trying to focus on the task at hand, but he was too close, too tempting. The dye on your fingers was forgotten as you leaned in, brushing your lips against his in a soft, lingering kiss. He’d tasted like mint and something darker, something that was purely him, and you’d melted into him, laughing against his mouth as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his lap.

“I think you’re more dye than human now,” you’d teased, pulling back slightly to see the smudges of black dye on his face and hands.

He’d chuckled, a sound that was rare but so precious to you, and he’d wiped a smudge off your cheek with his thumb. “Well, if that’s the price I have to pay to get you this close, I’ll take it.”

The two of you had spent the rest of the evening in fits of laughter, trying to clean up the mess you’d made, but neither of you really cared. It was one of those moments where the world outside didn’t matter, where it was just you and him, caught up in each other, in the simplicity of being together.

As you lay on his chest, savoring every second of the fleeting peace, you felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. The warmth of his body, the scent of his cologne, the low rumble of his voice—it was all so familiar, so comforting, and yet there was an undercurrent of sadness in every beat, every breath. The reality of what was to come weighed heavily on both of you, a silent tension that neither of you wanted to acknowledge. But the future was inevitable, looming over you like a dark cloud, threatening to tear apart the fragile moment of tranquility you’d created together.

You closed your eyes, letting the memory of your time with him wash over you, holding onto the feeling of his arms wrapped around you, the softness of his lips against your forehead. You wanted to believe that this moment could last forever, that you could somehow hold onto him and keep him safe, but deep down, you knew that was just a dream—a dream that was slipping through your fingers like sand.

As sleep began to take you, your breathing slowed to match his, the rise and fall of your chest syncing with the steady rhythm of his. The world around you started to fade, the edges of your consciousness blurring until there was nothing left but the sound of his heartbeat, growing fainter with each passing second.

And then, just like that, the warmth was gone. The scent of him, the comforting sound of his heartbeat, the soft feel of his skin against yours—all of it vanished, leaving behind a cold, empty void.

Touya blinked, disoriented, as the familiar warmth of the bed was replaced by the harsh, unyielding concrete of a holding cell. The dim light of the streetlamp outside your window was gone, replaced by the cold, fluorescent glare of a single overhead light. The comforting scent of his cologne was replaced by the acrid smell of cigarette smoke and the musty air of confinement.

Touya sat alone in the cell, his back against the wall, the orange jumpsuit stark against his pale and damaged skin. His head was bowed, small strands of black hair to his white falling into his eyes as he took a long drag from the cigarette between his fingers. The smoke curled lazily around him, the faint glow of the cigarette the only warmth in the room.

But even in this cold, lonely place, the memory of you lingered, a small, precious light in the darkness. As he exhaled, the smoke seemed to carry your scent with it, mingling with the stale air of the cell and bringing with it a wave of bittersweet memories. Your laughter, your smile, the way your eyes sparkled when you teased him—all of it flooded his mind, momentarily pushing away the cold reality of where he was.

He tilted his head back, resting it against the wall as he closed his eyes, letting the memories of you take over. The feel of your fingers in his hair, the sound of your voice as you called his name, the way you’d looked at him with those soft, understanding eyes—it all played out in his mind like a movie, a vivid reminder of what he was fighting for, of why he had to keep going, even when everything else seemed hopeless.

But as much as he wanted to hold onto those memories, the cold reality of his situation refused to be ignored. The cuffs around his wrists dug into his skin, the rough fabric of the jumpsuit chafing against his bruised body. The cigarette burned down to the filter, the last ember glowing faintly before it, too, was extinguished, leaving nothing but a bitter taste in his mouth.

Touya opened his eyes, the weight of his thoughts settling heavily on his shoulders. The oppressive silence of the cell was a stark contrast to the warmth and comfort of the memories that had filled his mind moments before. The harsh fluorescent light above seemed to mock him, a reminder of the distance between the past and his present confinement.

He shifted uncomfortably, the heavy cuffs around his wrists clicking faintly as he adjusted his position. The cold concrete pressed against his back, and the musty air was thick with the lingering scent of cigarettes and old sweat. Each breath he took was a reminder of how far he was from the moments of tenderness and intimacy that had just been vivid in his thoughts.

Touya’s mind drifted back to the way your eyes had softened when you looked at him, the warmth of your laughter that had seemed to fill the room. He could almost feel the softness of your touch, the way your fingers had intertwined with his, and the way your presence had made everything feel just a little bit brighter.

But that brightness was now overshadowed by the grim reality of his situation. He longed to escape the confines of the cell, to feel the warmth of your embrace again, to hear your laughter and feel the gentle pressure of your lips against his. The stark contrast between the memory and the reality was almost unbearable, making the pain of separation feel even sharper.

He took another drag from the cigarette, the smoke swirling around him, mixing with the bitter taste of his own despair. The cigarette burned down to its final embers, and he flicked it away, the small glow disappearing into the darkness of the cell. The emptiness left in its wake seemed to mirror the void he felt inside, a gaping chasm where your presence used to be.

As the distant clamor of footsteps and voices echoed through the corridors, Touya’s mind was pulled back once again to the present. The sound seemed to serve as a cruel reminder of the separation between him and the person who had become his lifeline. The heavy cuffs around his wrists and the rough fabric of the orange jumpsuit were harsh reminders of the distance between the warmth of his memories and his current confinement.

He knew that the days ahead would be tough, that the reality of his situation would not change anytime soon. But in his heart, he carried the memory of you with him, a precious treasure that he clung to in the face of adversity. And though the cell was a harsh and unforgiving place, the thought of seeing you again, of holding you close and feeling your warmth, was a beacon of hope that guided him through the darkness.

Meanwhile, in the car parked just outside the courthouse, you were enveloped in an atmosphere of tense anticipation. The memory of Dabi's warmth clung to you, a bittersweet comfort in the face of the looming confrontation. Shoto's presence beside you was a grounding force, his quiet strength a stark contrast to the chaos that awaited you outside.

The sound of reporters' voices grew louder, mingling with the rhythm of your anxious heartbeat. As you sat there, holding onto the memories of Dabi's embrace, the car's interior seemed to offer a fleeting sanctuary from the storm outside. But the reality of the situation was about to break through the bubble of tranquility you had tried to maintain.

Shoto turned to you, his expression softening with concern. “We don’t have to go in,” he said quietly, his voice gentle yet resolute. “You can stay here. It’s not too late to turn back.”

You shook your head, your voice trembling with determination. “I have to go. I’ve stood by him through everything. Leaving now… it would be like abandoning him when he needs me the most.”

Shoto’s gaze softened, and he nodded in understanding. “I’ll be with you every step of the way. You’re not alone in this.”

With a final, deep breath, you prepared to step out of the car. The echo of your own heartbeat seemed to match the pounding of Dabi's heartbeat you remembered from your last moment together. Shoto’s supportive grip on your hand anchored you, offering a semblance of stability as you faced the reality of the courthouse steps.

You opened the car door, and the swarm of reporters and the harsh reality of what was to come loomed ahead. Their cameras flashed like vultures, and their questions cut through the air with relentless sharpness.

“Is it true you’re in a relationship with Todoroki Touya?” “How does it feel to be in love with a villain?” “Do you think he deserves to go to prison for life?” — “Do you feel any kind of guilt for the people he murdered?”

You could feel their eyes on you, judging, condemning, trying to tear you down. It took everything in you not to crumble under the weight of their scrutiny. But before you could respond, Shoto was there, pushing them back with a fierce protectiveness that contrasted with his usual calm demeanor.

“Step back,” he ordered, his voice cold and commanding. “Give her some space.”

He placed a reassuring hand on your back, guiding you through the throng of reporters, shielding you from their relentless onslaught as best as he could. Each step you took toward the courthouse felt like a battle against the rising tide of anxiety and doubt, but Shoto’s presence was a constant, calming force.

Inside the courthouse, the atmosphere shifted to a sterile, oppressive silence. The white walls and harsh lighting felt like a stark contrast to the warmth of the memories you held dear. Shoto guided you to your seat, his hand lingering on your back for a moment longer, a silent promise of unwavering support.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves as you focused on the front of the room. The judge entered, and the proceedings began, each word echoing through the courtroom like a relentless hammer.

The doors at the far end of the courtroom creaked open, and your heart skipped a beat as Touya was led in, shackled and clad in the orange jumpsuit that marked his new reality. His gaze met yours briefly, a fleeting moment of connection that spoke volumes despite the distance.

In that moment, amidst the harsh, unfeeling gaze of the courtroom and the cacophony of legal proceedings, you knew that your love for Touya was unwavering. No matter how harsh the world was or how dark the days became, you would face it all with him, holding onto the memory of the warmth and affection you had shared. And though the future was uncertain and fraught with challenges, your commitment to him remained steadfast, a beacon of hope amidst the shadows.

The courtroom was an unforgiving place, a stark expanse of white walls and cold, clinical decor that seemed to sap the warmth from the room. The air was thick with an almost palpable tension, a pressure that made it difficult to breathe, let alone think. Each tick of the clock on the wall seemed to stretch into eternity, magnifying the anxiety that churned in your chest. You sat in the front row, your gaze fixed on the front of the room, trying to steel yourself for the inevitable. The hardwood benches felt uncomfortably hard beneath you, a physical reminder of the harsh reality you were about to face.

The room's cold precision only served to highlight the gravity of the moment. The judge’s robe rustled as they took their seat, and the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall seemed to stretch each second into an eternity. Every detail of the room—the sterile whiteness of the walls, the clinical brightness of the overhead lights, and the stern faces of the people around you—was etched into your mind, magnifying your anxiety. You could hear the distant murmur of conversations, the shuffling of feet, and the occasional clink of metal as the guards adjusted Touya’s restraints. The growing dread in your stomach coiled tighter with each passing second, making it hard to focus on anything but the impending moment of devastation.

When the judge’s voice cut through the room with chilling authority, announcing the sentence of “Life in maximum security,” it felt as if the very ground beneath you had shattered. The finality of the words hit you with brutal force, an unyielding grip of despair that seemed to squeeze the air from your lungs. The courtroom fell into a heavy silence, the verdict hanging in the air like a dark cloud. Dabi’s shoulders sagged under the weight of his sentence, his usually defiant posture giving way to a crushing resignation that you could see from where you sat. His face, once a mask of fierce rebellion, now reflected a profound anguish that mirrored your own.

The guards began to move, preparing to escort him out of the room with mechanical efficiency. Time itself seemed to slow, each tick of the clock stretching into an eternity as the shackles clinked in a cruel metronome, marking the end of your last moments together. The metallic sound echoed through the courtroom, mingling with the murmurs of the crowd and the relentless clicking of cameras. The cold, unfeeling reality of the situation pressed in on you, each second a reminder of the brutal separation that was about to occur.

Driven by an overpowering need to be close to him, you stood up, your legs feeling like lead as you moved forward. The courtroom seemed to blur around you, the faces of the onlookers and the flashes of cameras fading into insignificance. The guards hesitated as you approached, their stern faces softened by a flicker of uncertainty. Touya’s gaze, however, never wavered from yours. There was an unspoken plea in his eyes, a desperate hope that you could somehow alter this cruel fate.

When you finally reached him, Touya’s cuffed hands reached out, trembling slightly as they grasped your waist. The cold metal of the cuffs pressed harshly against your back, a stark reminder of the reality that separated you. He pulled you close, his breath mingling with yours as his lips captured yours in a kiss that was both urgent and desperate. The kiss was a frantic outpouring of all the words and emotions he could no longer express, a silent scream against the cruel fate that had befallen him.

The world around you—the whispers of the courtroom, the flash of cameras, the distant murmur of voices—faded into insignificance. All that mattered was the intense connection between you, the desperate way his lips moved against yours, and the raw need to hold onto this fleeting moment of intimacy. His kiss was a tumultuous mix of longing and regret, his rough lips pressing against yours with a force that was almost bruising. The taste of him—smoke, fire, and something distinctly Dabi—flooded your senses, making your head spin.

You could feel the cold metal of his cuffs digging into your skin, a painful reminder of the distance that now lay between you. His hands trembled as they gripped the sides of your face, the clinking of the cuffs a soft, sorrowful counterpoint to the fevered intensity of the kiss. He pulled you closer, as if he could lose himself in you, merge with you, and escape the harsh reality that had torn you apart. His tongue tangled with yours in a desperate dance, each movement a blend of hunger and heartbreak.

As the guards began to pull him away, Touya’s grip tightened with a fierce, almost desperate intensity. His eyes locked onto yours, burning with a raw, unfiltered emotion that made your heart ache. The distance between you grew, each step he took toward the exit a knife twisting in your heart.

“You deserve better, you know that right?” he whispered against your lips, his voice cracking with the weight of his despair. His words were almost inaudible, but you could hear the deep sorrow and regret in his tone, a desperate cry for help that you could do nothing to answer.

“I love you!” you shouted, your voice breaking as you tried to cling to the last remnants of this moment. The words were a lifeline, a final declaration of the love you both shared. The look of agony on his face as he was torn away from you was almost more than you could bear, the sadness etched into every feature a mirror of your own.

Touya looked back at you, his gaze a mixture of fierce love and unbearable sadness. “I love you too,” he rasped, his voice rough and laden with emotion.

As the guards dragged him away, his gaze remained fixed on you, a burning intensity in his eyes that spoke of the depth of his feelings. The last thing you saw before the doors closed was the look in his eyes—raw, unfiltered emotion that mirrored your own. The courtroom’s harsh reality settled around you, but all you could focus on was the echo of his voice and the fading warmth of his kiss. You stood there, your lips still tingling from the intensity of his kiss, your heart aching with the depth of your loss.

As the crowd slowly dissipated and the room began to empty, you remained rooted to the spot, tears streaming down your face. The overwhelming silence of the courtroom was a cruel echo of the love you had just lost, a constant reminder of the emptiness left by his absence. Each step you took toward the exit felt like a mile, each breath you took a struggle against the crushing weight of your grief. The world outside seemed distant and surreal, a stark contrast to the emotional storm that raged within you.

Shoto was at your side in an instant, his hand firmly resting on your shoulder as he gently guided you away from the courtroom. The corridor outside was a chaotic swirl of reporters, their questions and flashes of cameras relentless in their pursuit. The cacophony of voices seemed distant, almost surreal, as if you were submerged in a sea of white noise. Your mind was numb, trapped in the echo of Dabi’s final moments, and the world beyond that room felt hollow and unrecognizable.

“Miss, how do you feel about Todoroki Touya’s sentence?”

“Why do you keep avoiding us? — are you standing beside him?”

“Was your relationship with Todoroki Touya really as deep as they say?”

Each question pierced through you like an arrow, the sharp barbs of their curiosity aggravating the raw wound in your heart. The name Todoroki Touya, the name you had clung to in the silence of your love, now felt like a dagger twisting in your chest.

Shoto moved with a protective fierceness, his usually composed demeanor cracking under the strain of the moment. “Back off!” he shouted, his voice cracking with the force of his command. “All of you back off!”

Despite his efforts, the throng of reporters pressed in, their intrusive questions a relentless assault on your already fragile state. The weight of their scrutiny felt suffocating, each question a fresh cut to the wound left by Touya’s departure. Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision and making it hard to breathe through the rising tide of panic and despair.

Shoto’s concern was immediate and palpable. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, guiding you swiftly toward the waiting car. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” he said softly, his voice steady but laced with a deep concern that mirrored the ache in your own heart.

The moment the car door closed behind you, you collapsed into the seat, your chest heaving with the effort to keep your sobs contained. Shoto settled beside you, his hand gently rubbing soothing circles on your back as you succumbed to the overwhelming grief. His touch was a small comfort amid the sea of anguish that threatened to drown you.

“I can’t live without him,” you choked out between sobs, your hands trembling as you pressed them to your chest. “He was everything to me, Shoto… I don’t know how to keep going without him.”

Shoto’s grip tightened, his own heart breaking at the sight of your pain. “I know… I know it hurts,” he murmured, his voice a gentle anchor in the storm of your emotions. “No matter what happens from here on out I would be beside you— I would do whatever it takes to get the both of you together for as long as possible…you just have to bear with this for now”

The drive home was a blur of muted colors and blurred lights, the world outside the window merging into a haze of despair. You barely registered the movement of the car, your mind still trapped in the courtroom’s crushing weight, replaying every agonizing moment. Touya’s kiss, so fervent and desperate, was a fading echo in your memory, the touch of his lips now a ghostly warmth against your own.

When you finally stepped through the door of your apartment, the silence was overwhelming, a stark contrast to the chaotic noise of the courtroom. The space, once a sanctuary filled with shared moments and laughter, now felt like an empty shell—a hollow reminder of the love that had been so brutally torn away. The walls seemed to close in on you, the emptiness amplifying the ache in your heart.

Shoto stood in the doorway, his expression a mixture of concern and helplessness. “I’m going to stay nearby tonight, alright? You don’t have to go through this alone. I’ll be here when you need me.”

You nodded numbly, your movements mechanical as you made your way toward the bedroom. Shoto’s gaze lingered on you, a silent testament to his worry, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. The weight of your grief was a suffocating cloak, one that you couldn’t bear to share, even with someone as compassionate as Shoto.

Once you were alone, you collapsed onto the bed, the sheets still faintly imbued with the scent of Touya. Clutching the fabric to your chest, you inhaled deeply, seeking solace in the last remnants of his presence. But the comfort was fleeting, a cruel mockery of the warmth that used to fill your life. The harder you tried to hold on, the more those memories slipped through your fingers like grains of sand. His scent, once so potent, was fading, replaced by the cold sterility of your apartment. The feeling of his touch, the warmth of his body beside yours, was now just a distant memory, barely more than a ghost.

As you lay there, staring at the ceiling, a soft memory floated up from the depths of your mind. You remembered a day when Touya had come over for a surprise visit. You had been lounging around the apartment, feeling a little down, when he burst in with a playful grin.

“Guess who’s here?” he’d teased, his voice full of mischief.

You had looked up in surprise, and his grin had widened. “Touya, what are you doing here?”

He had sauntered over, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “What? I can't drop by my own girls house?...you wound me, sweetheart. How about a kiss to seal the deal?”

You had laughed, shaking your head. “And how is that supposed to help?”

With a dramatic flourish, he leaned in and pressed his lips gently against yours, his kiss light and teasing. “See? Instant mood boost,” he’d said, pulling back with a satisfied smirk.

You had felt a warm flush spread across your cheeks, your heart fluttering at the affection he had showered on you. He had cupped your face in his hands, his eyes twinkling with playful affection. “Still think I’m a bad influence?”

Before you could answer, he had leaned in again, his kiss deeper this time, filled with a tenderness that made you melt. His lips had moved against yours with a sweet, lingering touch, his breath mingling with yours as if he was trying to savor every moment.

As the memory faded, you found yourself reaching up to touch your lips, trying to hold onto whatever was left of him. The warmth of his kiss lingered on your fingertips, a fragile reminder of the love you had shared. You pressed your fingers gently against your lips, whispering into the emptiness of the room, “Don’t let go of me.”

The only response was the echo of your own voice, bouncing back at you in the silence. And as your eyes drifted shut, the last thing you saw was his smile, the one that always made your heart skip a beat. The one that promised, no matter what, he was never truly gone.

Because as long as you remembered him, as long as you held onto the love you shared, he would always be with you—in the softness of his kisses, in the teasing banter, in the echoes of the dark.

The tears came again, relentless and all-consuming. You buried your face in the pillow, muffling your sobs against the softness of the fabric. Every sound, every memory, seemed to dissolve into the void of your grief. His voice, his touch, were slipping away, becoming distant echoes in the vast emptiness of your heart.

“You deserve better, you know that right?,” his words reverberated in your mind, a cruel reminder of the reality you had to face. It felt like a punch to the gut, a cruel twist of the knife.

But how could you move on? How could you erase the only person who had ever made you feel truly alive, who had ignited a fire in your soul that now left you cold and empty? The pain of losing him was more than just heartache; it was an unbearable void, a chasm of loneliness that seemed to swallow everything in its path.

Your fingers fumbled through the closet, seeking some tangible piece of him. You found one of his shirts, the fabric worn and comforting. Pulling it out, you clutched it to your chest, the scent of his cologne a bittersweet reminder of the man you loved. It enveloped you, a ghostly whisper of what once was, mingling with the tears that streaked your face.

“I miss you so much,” you whispered into the darkness, your voice trembling and breaking as you cried. The words were a desperate plea to the empty room, a final declaration of love to a presence that now only existed in memory.

In the oppressive silence that followed, with the weight of the world pressing down on you, you held onto his memory like a lifeline. The ache in your chest was a constant companion, a reminder of the love that had burned so fiercely and was now reduced to ashes.

As you lay there, trying to find some semblance of peace in the quiet of the night, you clung to the fragments of him that lingered in your heart. You hoped that somehow, amidst the crushing despair, you would find a way to navigate this overwhelming pain. But for now, all you could do was hold onto his memory, let it lull you into a fitful sleep, and dream of a world where love didn’t end in sorrow, where time hadn’t been stolen away so cruelly.

Jesus christ this is the longest fic I have ever released so far ...damn ...

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