#and others filled with things that made me think of him at the moment

[enhani-ki]

round with my baby - reader x ni-ki

warnings: smut, pregnancy scare, cursing, etc.

sex with your boyfriend ni-ki had never really been possible before. between his packed schedule and the fact that his dorm was never truly empty, there was just never a right moment.

you both always kept things quiet and sneaky—stolen kisses behind closed doors, hands slipping under clothes when no one was looking. every moans was muffled against the crook of each other's necks, always heated and hurried but stopping just before things went too far.

ni-ki didn't have much experience either, but he admitted that with you, he feels more confident. being close to you made him curious—eager to touch, explore, and try all the things he'd only ever thought about before.

"fuuuck," he groaned, head falling forward to rest against yours. "you feelーyou feel so good, baby."

and ever since he got some time off, ni-ki didn't wasted a second and spent every moment with you. he doesn't even care now if there were people in the dorm while he's fucking you.

"faster, riki—please, please," you cried out, fingers digging into his back as you tried to pull him closer, like it would somehow make him go deeper.

your inside walls were so warm, so wet, he swore it should've been easy to move—but you were gripping him too well, it's so hard to think straight.

your head was spinning too. his hips slapped against yours with so much urgency, his breathless moans falls with every thrust. you felt his cock twitched inside of you. he was close.

"wait—shit, shit, shit," he gasped, eyes wide as he tried to pull out, but it was too late.

ni-ki's cum was already leaking from your swollen pussy. it was still spilling from his tip also, thick and hot... your boy couldn't help it as it really felt too good to stop in time.

"oh my god—baby…" ni-ki kissed you, guilt flashed in his face, though his rock-hard cock was twitching against your inner thigh, begging to be inside again.

"mmh, it felt good," you whispered. wrapping your arms around him needy, even after he had filled you.

"yeーyeah? can i put it back in?" he asked, wiping the sweat off your forehead before pressing a kiss on your lips.

"yes, riki... hurry," you moaned. ni-ki lined himself back into the mess he made between your thighs, groaning as he slid inside. your body was already sensitive, overstimulated, but the moment he filled you again, you suddenly prefer if he could fuck you 'til you go dumb.

your back arched off the bed. "how—how come you're so good?" you asked him. leaning to bite his lower lip, enough for it to sting and for him to hiss.

ni-ki cursed under his breath before chuckling, eyes locked on the way your body trembled beneath him. the sheets were already soaked from the juices of slick and his cum dripping from your swollen cunt. "you're so sexy,"

he leaned back to watch himself slide in and out of you—slow, deep, then fast. the sight made his breath hitch, seeing how his cock glistened each time it dragged out before sinking back in. "babe, you're dripping everywhere…"

you hands clawed at his shoulders, "almost thereーriki, i'm—!" ni-ki felt your pussy throbbing inside, he picked up his pace the moment he heard you call out his name. "cum," he demanded, panting while kissing the corner of your mouth. "let me feel you, baby."

he held you tight the moment your walls fluttered around him, locking you in place as you came. your sharp cries filled the room, trying to push him away.

and without missing a beat, ni-ki started thrusting harder and faster, pounding into your soaking pussy while covering your neck with sloppy kisses and licks. "that's it, y/n... cum on my cock," he whispered. "soak me, and i'm gonna fill you up—i swear."

his words shot pleasure straight to your core that you can't stop leaking. he started cumming too almost instantly after, the hot spurts of his release surged deep inside your womb.

"fuuuck, take it all," ni-ki gasped, slamming into you a few more times while you milked him for every last drop of his seed.

his cock were still buried inside, twitching as he collapsed on top of you. ni-ki looked up to press soft kisses to your neck, your jaw, your lips "i love you so much, y/n..."

"i love you too, baby."

the period tracker, which you both used more as a joke at first, now looked insane—full of hearts and entries of unprotected sex.

...too many "didn't pull out" notes to count.

even when he hadn't moved yet, you already felt like crying. all ni-ki did was stay still inside, cock throbbing gently, but your eyes welled up.

he pulled back, gave a shallow thrust, then froze. "y/n…" he whispered, staring at your heaving tits. his brows were furrowed like he's thinking about something mid-fucking. "i—fuck—i don't know," he said leaning down to kiss your cheek, then your lips. "if i finish inside you again… you might really get pregnant."

your breath got caught in your throat, "huhー?" ni-ki kissed you again before you could say anything, his tongue roamed inside that all you could do was to whimper into his mouth.

"i'm gonna take care of you, baby."

days passed, then weeks. your body starts to feel strange, your body felt heavy, and on top of that... your period didn't come.

you ignored it and blamed it on stress, but you also stopped texting ni-ki back. you stopped answering your boyfriend's calls because every time his name lit up your screen, your stomach flip.

you don't know what to say to him. you weren't even sure what you feel but you know you needed space, even though all it did was make your head hurt more.

riki: talk to me, please.

riki: baby?

ni-ki showed up at your place eventually. he didn't say anything at first—he just sat beside you and pulled you into his arms to hold you tight. he kissed your temple, your cheek, and the top of your head.

"why don't you talk to me?" he asked softly, hurt, but mostly concerned.

"iーi didn't know how," you whispered. "i just… i feel weird. and i don't even have my period yet."

"riki… i don't know if i'm just being paranoid or if something's actually happening." you sniffled, his arms tightened protectively around you.

"it's possible," you continued. "i mean… with how much we've been—y'know…"

"with how much i came inside you every chance i get?" he finished the words for you, smiling gently as he tucked your hair behind your ear.

you looked away, blushing at his words. "don't say it like that… i wanted it too."

"i know, but it's still on me," he said softly. "i'm sorry, baby." ni-ki cupped your face and kissed you sweetly, brushing his thumb along your cheek... he loves you too much.

"i told you," he murmured. "no matter what happens—whatever you want—i'm going to take care of you... promise."

he then tilted your chin up until your teary eyes met his. "you're not alone, y/n."

"you're so pretty," ni-ki pulled you in his chest, letting you rest while his hand stroked your back gently. "you know what i'm thinking about sometimes?" he asked, burying his face in your hair. "coming home to you. you, wrapping your arms around me…"

"or letting me bend you over the counter, fucking you on the couch... having our mess all over the place."

"what?!" you laughed through a teary smile, feeling warm for the first time in days.

he chuckled too, "yeah. i want to see you walking around naked," he murmured, lips grazing your skin...

"you can be swollen, round with my baby."

you looked up at him and gave his arm a light slap, but your glare didn't last when he pouted, silently asking for a kiss.

you couldn't help it. you just chuckled and leaned in after watching your boyfriend turn to a man then back to being a cute ridiculous boyfriend again.

a/n: this is crazy T-T prayers for reader plzzz + posted this along with enhypen as your "stressed" boss check it out too (^_^) also made this listening to sweet love by chris brown.

masterlist: マスターリストm.list

[piratefalls]

saw fun ideas floating around of a buck/athena roommate era and it got me thinking

thinking about the first morning after buck moves in the last of his belongings. of athena waking up and smelling coffee brewing downstairs, listening to soft humming and sizzling bacon, basking in the sunlight shining through the window, trying not to think about who's not responsible for the sounds and smells coming from her kitchen.

thinking about athena finally pulling herself away from her bed, walking downstairs to find buck's back to her. telling herself that if she squints a little, tilts her head just right, that it's almost like bobby is there in his uniform fresh off a shift. that instead of lying down and resting he's making sunday breakfast like he used to when all four of them were still under the same roof. 

thinking about her shaking off the memories, reminding herself that it’s not sunday. that she doesn’t have to call the kids down to eat, doesn’t get to walk up to the man stood at her kitchen counter and wrap her arms around him, lean her weight into the strong body in front of her and find comfort. won't get to hear the way morning, baby pours from his smile, sweet like honey. the fact that bobby will never get to cook here in the kitchen he dreamed about for months. all of it sits like lead in her stomach.

thinking about buck turning around and smiling at her. it doesn’t fully reach his eyes, but they're not nearly as empty, his smile less brittle than it had been in the weeks immediately following bobby’s death. it doesn’t always feel like it but she's been getting better, too. they haven't talked about it, but it helps to be near someone who has a similar bobby shaped hole in their life. he gestures for her to take a seat at the counter and pushes a cup of coffee toward her, followed by cream and sugar.

“wasn’t sure how you took it. figured it would be a bad start to assume.”

thinking about athena nodding in thanks, shooting him a small smile as she sits down. that he turns back to dish out food and she notices that there’s far too much for just the two of them, huffing fondly because it’s such a bobby thing to do. she watches him portion out eggs and sees so much of her husband’s influence: the laser focus, the pride on his face when something turns out exactly the way it was supposed to, the joy of sharing it with others, it's all so bobby that it makes her heart ache.

that watching buck in this kitchen is another reminder that they'd loved him differently than the others, she and buck. the 118 had lost its captain, its members a dear friend, mentor, and loved one; but bobby was - had been, would always be - her husband, her person, her forever. with buck, bobby had filled a paternal role in his life that had been less gaping hole and more infected wound. bobby had helped heal so much in both of them, and now here they are, healing after him.

thinking about buck putting a plate of bacon, pancakes, and eggs in front of her. of athena reaching for the syrup and an old memory flashing before her, an offhand comment maddie had made in their ride-along what feels like a lifetime ago: that buck had made her eggs with shallots, but hadn't made her anything else because bobby’s lessons hadn’t yet gone beyond breakfast. that with a shaky smile, she tells him thank you. that he nods and, after a quiet moment, picks up his fork.

that bathed in warm sunlight, looking out at a yard that’s both old and new, they eat breakfast, and they miss him together.

[dreamwritesimagines]

Declassified [3] - Working Overtime

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves🩷 I hope you like this chapter as well! 🥰 Please let me know what you think! 🩷

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary: It's a skill to remain calm in stressful situations.

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, mentions of sex, explicit language

Word Count: 4137 (why is each chapter getting longer, ✨help✨)

Masterlist

“Do you ever see yourself in something like this?”

You pressed the phone between your ear and your shoulder while waiting for the assistant to put you through, and shoved the mini sandwich into your mouth to chew vigorously. It was Sam’s nephew AJ’s birthday party, and of course Bucky was here, which meant that you and his team were here as well. You weren’t complaining; you admired Sam, Sarah was so lovely, and Cass and AJ were probably the sweetest kids you’d ever met.

The only issue was that Bucky had cleared out his whole day so now you had to move his schedule on top of the meetings he already had. You had started working at 5 a.m. today, already had four Red Bulls and three cups of coffee on an empty stomach, so needless to say you were starving while your heart tried to climb out of your chest.

And for the record, your heartbeat had nothing to do with the fact that for the last half an hour, you were trying to ignore just how good Bucky was with kids, letting them hang from his vibranium arm to entertain them. You stole a look at him as he pretended to run from the kids with water guns, making them giggle excitedly as they went after him.

“Um….” You trailed off and swallowed your bite, dragging your gaze from Bucky to grab another mini sandwich. “I don’t remember the last time I watered the cactus on my desk. I don’t think I’d be very successful with—hi Ms. Miller! Thank you so much for agreeing to take my call, I know how busy you are.”

Kelsey smiled when Bucky grabbed AJ to place him on his shoulders with a monster roar, AJ’s laugh echoing in the garden as they started chasing Cass together.

“Is this what baby fever is?” Kelsey wondered out loud and you covered your other ear so that you could focus.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes would really appreciate it if we could move it to another time—absolutely, Friday 3 pm works for us. It’s a family thing—yes, it’s Captain America’s family but you know how close Mr. Wilson and Mr. Barnes are, his family is Mr. Barnes’ family too. Mm hm. Thank you so much again, have a wonderful day!”

You hung up and popped the mini sandwich in your mouth, then eyed the cup in Kelsey’s hand.

“Is there caffeine in that?”

Kelsey held it out of your reach. “It’s mine, go get your own from the kitchen.”

“Sharing is caring—”

“I don’t share my caffeine,” she told you and you heaved a sigh, then made your way to the kitchen, your eyes still glued to the phone. Sarah and her friend Emily whom you had met before were in the kitchen and you smiled at them.

“Hi.”

“Hi there,” Sarah said. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh yeah, I just came to see if there’s any coffee— just one moment please,” you said and pressed your thumb on the screen to send Paul a voice mail. “Paul! Hey, I talked to Miller, she’s fine with Friday 3 pm, which means you need to move the interview to 4:30 at least. You can contact Ryan, he’s on good terms with Caleb and has a soft spot for Bucky, he should be fine with it. If he’s not available, I’ll make a phone call to Tim, but you need to let me know in half, okay?”

You sent the voicemail and sent a quick text to Caleb, then lifted your head from your phone to look up at Sarah.

“Sorry. Um—I was wondering if there’s any coffee left, please?”

“Sure thing,” Sarah said with a small smile and filled a cup for you, then handed it to you.

“You’re an angel,” you said and your phone buzzed in your hand. You took a look at the text, then typed in your response while Sarah tilted her head to the right.

“You look a little jittery.”

“Oh yeah, I had four Red Bulls and this is my fourth cup of coffee,” you said and Emily raised her brows.

“It’s barely noon.”

“I started the day at 5 am,” you said, taking a sip of your coffee and Sarah shook her head.

“You need to take a break.”

“I’ll take a break when we put Bucky in DC,” you said. “Oh fuck. That reminds me, I still haven’t asked Kelsey for the latest poll—”

“I’m trying to remember if I’ve ever seen you without your phone in your hand,” Sarah mused and you sent a text to Kelsey, then looked up from your phone.

“Hm? Oh!” You let out a laugh. “I don’t remember either, to be honest with you. I hang onto this thing halfway through sex.”

Sarah and Emily exchanged glances and you made a face.

“Sorry,” you said. “TMI. I just, I barely have friends outside work and we talk about everything so it became a habit. I’ll need to take classes like that one Julia Roberts movie, did you guys watch that one? It was—”

“You have your phone in hand during sex?”

“Halfway through, and it’s not that weird,” you said with a nervous laugh. “My boyfriend works like 100 hours a week, so we managed to minimize the time while maximizing the effect. It takes us like 5 minutes, and then we both check our emails.”

 “Oh you poor thing...”

“No, I’m totally fine with it!” you said in a rush. “It’s a great arrangement because, I mean obviously if it’s sex vs work, it’ll be work. Sex can wait, work just doesn’t.”

“I barely know you, but I know that you need to dump that man,” Emily said. “I bet I can find someone for you.”

“Don’t worry, I already have someone in mind for her,” Sarah muttered to her with a knowing smile and you scoffed.

“No no, thank you so much,” you said. “Max and I have been together for years and like I said, our expectations match.”

“Don’t get me wrong but if you’re this tense every day, those five minutes aren’t doing much,” Emily pointed out and you took a deep breath.

“I’m a tense person in general,” you said. “Has nothing to do with anyone. I lost spelling bee when I was in first grade and then it turned me into this as a grown up.”

“Can I see your phone?” Sarah asked and you handed it to her, but your eyes widened when she put it in her pocket.

“Sarah?”

“Go socialize.”

“What?” you exclaimed. “No no no, you don’t understand, I need my phone—”

“I’ll give it back to you after half an hour. Go eat something, drink something healthy,” she said, taking the coffee cup from your hand, making you gasp. “There’s orange juice. Take some time for yourself, and I’ll give it back to you.”

“But…” you started but she walked out of the kitchen with Emily and you threw your head back, then rushed after her.

“Sarah! Sarah I can’t just go cold turkey, I will have withdra—”

“What is going on?” Bucky stopped you before you could walk past him and you looked up at him, then at Sarah who stepped out of the hallway into the garden. Your brows pinched together in frustration and you let out a breath, fanning yourself with one hand.

“I think I’m having withdrawals.”

“Over what?”

“My phone, Sarah took my phone!”

Bucky frowned. “Why?”

“Because I hold it while I have sex,” you said. “Do you think you can get it from her?”

He gawked at you.

“You hold your phone while—”

“Okay, everyone needs to stop making that such a big deal!” you snapped. “It’s more of an emotional support thing, it’s not like I check my emails during sex, I check them right after!”

“Alright, let’s just…” Bucky gently steered you out of the hallway. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, still fanning yourself. “Is this how alcoholic people feel?”

“I don’t think they feel it within the first minute, Birdie,” Bucky said and you rubbed at your eyes.

“Can I borrow your phone?”

“No.”

“But listen, what if—” You pointed at him. “What if something goes wrong at work?”

He looked almost amused. “I’m standing right here,” he told you. “What would go wrong?”

“Your dick pics come out.”

“Impossible,” he said and grabbed a glass to put it in your hand. “Drink this.”

You looked down at the clear liquid, then shook your head.

“I can’t drink vodka, Bucky, it’s AJ’s birthday and I’m literally working—”

“It’s water,” Bucky deadpanned and you paused for a moment, then shrugged your shoulders and took a huge sip.

“Emily said I look tense,” you said, barely aware of the pout on your lips. “Do you think I look tense?”

“Absolutely.”

“I don’t look tense!” You hissed through your teeth and motioned at Sam who approached you and Bucky. “Let’s ask Sam, he’ll be honest. Sam, do I look tense?”

“I’ve never seen you not tense.”

Bucky let out a chuckle at the look of betrayal on your face. “Told you.”

“Sam, can I borrow your phone?”

“Do not give her your phone,” Bucky said and Sam’s eyes darted between you.

“Do I want to know what’s going on?”

“Sarah took my phone because for some reason she thinks I’m tense.”

“And how much caffeine is in your system right now?” Sam asked and you scoffed, waving a dismissive hand in the air.

“Four Red Bulls, three and a half cups of coffee. I’m totally fine.”

Sam turned to Bucky. “If you keep doing this to her—”

“I swear on my ma’s grave that I’m not doing anything,” Bucky said and you had to bite back your smile at the old Brooklyn accent that slipped through. “She refuses to listen to me. I sent her out of the office three times the other day so that she could take the rest of the day off, and each time she flat out said no and went back to her desk.”

“I was in the middle of going over your speech for the press,” you defended yourself. “I wasn’t going to just go home.”

“At least this way I can keep an eye on her,” Bucky told Sam while you sipped your water, looking up at him.

Bucky in casual clothes never failed to impress you. Yes, he could pull off a suit like no one else, but the fact that he could look this handsome with little to no effort, just with a t-shirt, leather jacket and jeans, had to be studied at schools in your opinion.

You opened your mouth to speak but as if on cue, sirens started going off and you frowned.

“Is that in my head or does anyone else hear that?”

Everyone’s phones started beeping and vibrating, multiple ambulances and police cars wheezing by, and both Bucky and Sam checked their phones while parents went to their children to get them inside.

“There’s been an attack,” Sam said, his eyes darting on the lines on his screen and Bucky nodded, his jaw tightening.

“Let’s go.”

“Wait, what?” you exclaimed while Sam ran to Sarah who was assuring Cass and AJ that everything was fine despite the worried look on her beautiful face. “Bucky no, it could be dangerous—”

He was already walking away from you. “Stay with Sarah.”

“But—”

“Stay with Sarah!” His tone held none of the softness it usually had for you, instead it sounded like an order, making you furrow your brows. The stern light in his eyes melted away when he took in your puzzled expression and he licked his lips, then stepped closer to you.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, his voice low. “I just need to know you’re safe, alright?”

“Buck, let's go!” Sam called out as he grabbed his shield and Bucky took off his leather jacket, his vibranium arm gleaming under the sun before they both ran out of the garden in the direction of sirens.

You could swear the whole garden was spinning around you as you stared at the road, then turned your head when someone gently touched your arm.

“Here.” Sarah handed you your phone. “Call your boyfriend, I’m sure he’s worried about you.”

“Thanks,” you said, fear twisting your stomach. “Sarah, he’ll—Bucky will be fine, right?”

Sarah gave you a calm smile and squeezed your arm in an assuring manner.

“I think you’re forgetting what he used to do before he got into politics,” she told you. “This is what he and Sam do best. They save people.”

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat and nodded your head, blinking back the tears.

“If he—” you started but stopped talking when your phone started buzzing in your hand, Max’s name flashing on the screen. “I’ll be right back.”

You walked away from her and answered the phone. “Max?”

“Babe, hey. You okay?”

“Yeah!” you said. “Yeah, I’m at Sarah’s house. You?”

“At work,” he said. “Can you see anything from there?”

You walked to the fences, then shook your head.

“No,” you said. “Do you know what’s happening?”

“They’re saying there are multiple people injured, they closed down a street,” Max said. “Do you want me to pick you up after I’m done?”

“No, stay where you are,” you said. “Don’t go outside until it’s clear out—” You took a look at the screen when your phone beeped. “My mom is calling, I’ll text you.”

“Okay, see you later,” he said and you hung up, then answered the call.

“Mom?”

“Oh thank God, your father and I have been so worried!” Your mother’s voice reached you. “Are you okay, sweetheart? You’re on speaker by the way.”

You rubbed the back of your neck, then nodded as if she could see you.

“Uh, yeah! Yeah I’m safe.”

“See, this is why I do not want you in New York,” your father said. “That place is a goddamn madhouse, something happens every day.”

You closed your eyes, familiar anxiety churning your insides.

“I mean honestly honey, what is wrong with here? Why did you have to move there?”

“Sweetheart, while I was on my retreat, I talked to Leah. Do you remember Leah?”

You rubbed your temples. “Mom...”

“Well you see, she says she can add you to the list for the next one when you—”

“I’m not going to go up on a mountain to listen to my inner thoughts and scream at the sky around bonfire, mom,” you cut her off and she heaved a sigh.

“But it’d be good for you! You are too tense.”

“What’s with everyone and saying I’m tense?” you asked, your voice going high-pitched. “I’m so relaxed!”

Fine, maybe screaming into a phone didn’t exactly prove that you were relaxed.

“Your boy seems to be doing well in the polls so far by the way,” your father commented. “Too much idealism, that one. DC isn’t exactly New York, did you tell him that they will eat him alive the moment he steps a foot in that congress?”

“He’s been around for over a century and broke through decades of brainwashing,” you said, your voice defensive for some reason. “I’d say he can handle a couple of politicians.”

“Oh do not talk about politics around me!” your mother said. “You know what it does to my nerves—Hannah? Hannah can you get me a Xanax please?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose.

“I uh….I gotta go guys, it’s work,” you said. “I’ll call you though, love you.”

You hung up before they could say anything else, and Kelsey grabbed your arm, waving the phone in your face.

“Bucky!”

Your heart dropped to your stomach. “Is he okay?”

“Yes and the internet is going crazy,” Kelsey said and you took a look at the screen, a shaky recording of Bucky stopping a huge chunk of a wall from falling on a small girl while Sam pulled an elderly man out of the car, firefighters and medics running around. You let out a breath as you watched Bucky carry the small girl to her mother, then go back to rip the door off a bus to help the people trapped inside.

“Holy shit,” Kelsey muttered. “I think he just won the election.”

Somehow, the election had become the last thing in your mind as you watched Bucky on the screen, a warmth dripping inside your chest but you swallowed thickly, then tried to smile.

“Right,” you rasped out. “Yeah. It’s good optics. Or something.”

                                         *

It was indeed an attack but thankfully, there were no casualties. People were lucky that Bucky and Sam moved as quickly as they did, and apparently all the news channels and people on the internet agreed with you.

And Kelsey was right.

There were multiple videos of Bucky saving people all over the internet, and you were sure you had read thousands of comments by now. After things got calmer, you had decided to go back into the office to get your mind off things and throw yourself in work, but needless to say, it wasn’t working.

At least your phone was back in your hand.

And you were sitting on the office floor.

You sniffed and reached out to put another paper on the floor, then changed it with the one on its right. You scribbled a footnote at the bottom of the page, still holding your phone tightly in your other hand, but your head shot up when you hear the door open and someone stepped into the bullpen.

And as if on cue, your heart started beating in your throat.

“Hey,” you managed to rasp out and he tilted his head.

“What are you doing on the floor?”

“I ran out of space on my desk,” you said. “And I’m trying to decide on the order of these meetings, so…”

Bucky lingered in his spot only for a moment like he was trying to figure out how to react, then cleared his throat and approached you to sit on the floor as well.

“You don’t want to be home after today?”

“I’m fine, Max is probably working anyway.”

“Birdie—”

“But hey, you’re back,” you said, swallowing the lump in your throat. “From your—your superhero stuff. Kels has a point, you’ve just won the election.”

From the clueless look on his face, it was clear that Bucky had not thought about that.

“What?”

“You haven’t checked social media?”

“You know I don’t do that.”

“Well, everyone is impressed with your heroic actions, a lot of journalist want to—”

“It wasn’t a heroic action, it’s the least I could do.”

“That makes it even more heroic.”

“And I’m not going to use it to win the election.”

“All your opponents would.”

“I don’t care.” Bucky shook his head. “No one should use helping the people in need as some sort of PR bullshit. It’s what everyone should do.”

“I figured you’d say that,” you murmured. “Well, it doesn’t matter if you want to use it or not, people are all over it. I think I watched like a thousand thirst traps of you since the afternoon.”

“What’s a thirst trap?”

You bit back a smile and grabbed a paper on the floor, then put it on top of the pile.

“That leaves out this press release then,” you muttered. “You should still talk to a journalist we trust, about what happened.”

“No.”

“Bucky, there’s nothing wrong with addressing—”

“They will turn it into a PR stunt if I do,” he said. “No.”

You heaved a sigh and grabbed the file on your left to shuffle through it, taking out a couple of pages as you sniffled again. His eyes found the crumpled tissue beside you, his gaze softening while you nibbled on your lip, forcing yourself to focus.

“Are you okay?”

The nod of your head wasn’t even convincing to you, so you weren’t really surprised that he didn’t believe you. You dared steal a look at him, your cheeks warming when you did so you lowered your glances to the phone in your hand, your nail pushing at the screen protector.

“Were you scared?”

You could feel the tears threatening to burn your eyes so you blinked fast, pursing your lips and shaking your head.

“Does your family know you’re safe?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled. “They called.”

“That’s good,” he said gently, like he was talking to a skittish animal. “They must’ve been relieved, huh?”

“I think so.”

“They’re okay? Back home?”

“Okay is a stretch but they’re—they’re them, I guess,” you said with a small laugh. “My dad and I fight every time we talk, and my mom can’t handle it. She can’t handle much, to be honest. That’s why she keeps going on these spiritual retreats and popping Xanax like candy.”

Bucky hissed in a breath. “Ouch. Sorry.”

You waved a hand in the air.

“Don’t be, it’s expected,” you said. “It’s such a cliché. How does that old song go? My daddy’s rich, my ma is good lookin’.”

His head shot up in excitement, a hopeful light glimmering in his eyes and the sight was so sweet that you couldn’t help but smile, your stomach doing a happy flip.

This right there, this was Bucky.

Bucky back in the 1940s, the guy who you saw in black and white pictures with the devilish charm and carefree grin, this was him.

“You listen to Billie Holliday?” he asked and you nodded your head fervently, sitting up straighter.

“Yeah! And Ella Fitzgerald too!” you said, pride laced in your tone. “I know all their songs. My grandfather had this huge collection, he had a bunch of signed records too, he displayed them on—”

“Babe?” Max’s voice cut through your rant and you turned your head, a frown pinching your brows together. You grabbed the papers and Bucky stood up, then offered you his hand to help you up. A warmth shot from your fingertips to your whole body the moment you placed your hand in his, your eyes locked in his, your heart leaping but you forced yourself to pull your hand back as the footsteps came closer before Max appeared in the doorway.

“Max?” you asked, trying to ignore the tingling in your hand. “What are you doing here?”

“You mentioned you’d be here, and I figured I could pick you up after today,” he said. “It’s been a weird day. I talked to your mom, she’s very worried.”

Right.

That was normal. He was your boyfriend after all, and you had no business feeling this warm and fuzzy around Bucky, who was your boss and also was not, in fact, your boyfriend.

Max shot you a look before giving a tight lipped smile to Bucky and you snapped out of your daze, then cleared your throat.

“Right. Um—Max, this is Bucky. And Bucky, this is Max,” you said. “My boyfriend whom I—whom I love very much.”

What.

The.

Fuck.

You had no idea why you felt the need to add that detail. Discomfort churned your stomach as soon as the words left your mouth but you swallowed the lump in your throat, plastering a lovesick smile on your face and grasping Max’s upper arm to squeeze it gently. Bucky held your gaze in his, his expression unreadable as he turned to Max who held out his hand.

“Hello Mr. Barnes,” Max said as Bucky shook his hand. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Likewise.”

“We should go,” you said before Max could say anything else. “It’s been a weird day, like you said. I’ll see you tomorrow, Bucky?”

“What’s the rush?” Max asked with a laugh and you shook your head, grabbing your purse and the files off the desk.

“No rush, just want to be home.”

And have an existential crisis.

“But—”

“Have a nice night Bucky!” you chirped as you all but dragged Max out of the bullpen, stepped outside and made your way to the car. Max got on the driver’s seat while you buckled your seatbelt on the passenger seat, and he turned to you.

“That was weird,” he commented. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nibbled on your lip, turning your phone in your hand as he started the car, then waved a hand in front of your eyes.

“Babe?”

You took a deep breath, then forced yourself to smile.

“Sure,” you said and slipped a little to lean your knees on the dashboard, your hand still warm with Bucky’s touch. “I’m fine. Just a long day.”

[myfictionaldreams]

Hiiiiii

Hope you are doing well🥺 ✨🦎

Sooo I thought about this one:

Natasha and Sam are helping the reader to defend herself with some weapons like a gun and a knife…

But Steve and Bucky don’t know this until she has to use those new skills…

Probably the hottest thing they have seen?

Their girl manhandling someone who hurts HER boys? Hell yeah

~ 🦎

⁀➷ Sweet & Armed // Mafia!Stucky x F!Reader

Summary: In a world of danger and dominance, she’s the soft center — until the day she proves she can bite just as hard as they bark.

Requested by: 🦎 -- Thank you for your request! I've also mixed this with your first request for the reader to do something nice for the boys. I hope you like it!

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, threesome, attempted kidnapping, violence, mild injury (bruised hand), protective stucky, domestic fluff, poly, dom/sub, double penetration, anal, praise kink, sir kink

Words: 4.5k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

The morning was peacefully quiet in the Rogers-Barnes estate—calm in the way only highly protected, 24-hour security could buy. Somewhere out of sight, a small army of guards monitored every inch of the surroundings.

But inside the homely kitchen, nothing stirred except for the soft hum of an old Sinatra vinyl playing low in the background, and the occasional bark from Dodger as he chased shadows across the polished floors.

You were barefoot, wearing only one of Steve’s soft white Henleys that dragged below your thighs, and a smile that only deepened each time the smell of cinnamon and warm sugar drifted from the oven. A few days ago, the recipe book you found had been shoved behind a row of aged Scotch bottles. The corners of the pages curving with age, handwritten notes smothering the recipes, add to the original recipes.

You’d found the jackpot with these books—the margins were filled with directions from Sarah Rogers and Winifred Barnes.

A surprise you were jumping on the spot to tell.

The dough under your fingers was sticky as you prepared another batch of treats. One tray was baking, and the other was already cooling. The boys would be up soon from the creaking of slow steps on the floor above your head.

As you were licking cinnamon sugar off your fingers, you turned, only to jump slightly as a low voice drawled from the doorway.

“Well, ain’t this a damn sight, Sweet Mama.”

Bucky Barnes stood shirtless in grey joggers, his hair a smidge longer than his usual buzz cut, facial hair freshly trimmed. He leaned against the doorframe, blinking sleepily, and still somehow looked like a sin.

You gave him a sheepish smile, hand on your chest, “You scared me.”

His blue eyes dragged down your legs, over the flour dusting your thighs. “My bad, doll. Didn’t realise angels made breakfast too.”

Before you could roll your eyes, he was behind you, wrapping both arms securely around your waist, his flesh hand warm and his vibranium one cool against your stomach. He nuzzled into your neck with a pleased groan.

“You cooking rugelach? My mom used to make this exact recipe. Damn near forot the smell.”

“I found an old book, I think it was hers.”

Bucky went still.

“You did?”

You nodded, wiping your hands on a towel and pulling it from the counter to show him. He stared down at the page and fading writing, then looked back at you with an emotion that didn’t often cross his handsome face.

“This…” he cleared his throat. “This means a lot, sweetheart. More than you know.”

Before you could reply, Dodger trotted into the kitchen, his wet nose nudging against Bucky’s leg, begging for scratches. “Good morning to you, too, Dodge. Have you been helping Mama bake?”

Just then, Steve’s heavy footsteps echoed from the stairs. Moments later, he was filling the doorway. “Something smells good.”

Bucky steps aside as Steve enters, tall, golden, and freshly showered. He pauses mid-stride, eyes landing on you standing barefoot surrounded by pastries, and his entire expression softens.

“Jesus, are you trying to kill us?”

You blinked. “What?”

He crossed the room, cupping your face in his warm palms, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “You. Looking like this. Making my ma’s cookies.” Steve turned briefly to Bucky. “You see this? This is wife behaviour.”

“Oh, trust me, I know,” Bucky smirks, stepping closer until you’re sandwiched between their bodies. Sighing into their hold, you spend a moment just breathing them in, thankful for moments like this where even simple actions could have so much appreciation from your boyfriends.

“Are we still on for that picnic later? I thought I could bring some of these treats along.”

Bucky’s the first to move away from the hug, moving over to the sink to fill a glass with water. “Yeah, Sam and Nat will be here around noon to load the car.”

“Dibs, I’m taking the bike”, Steve adds.

“Like hell, I own the bike, Steve,” Bucky snaps back, nearly choking on his water.

“Yeah? I ride it better.”

Dodger barked once, as if to cast his vote.

The argument might’ve gone on forever, if not for the moment you walked past them hours later, your sundress fluttering just enough to reveal the curve of your thighs as you bent to pick up your bag. You didn’t mean to do it. But you felt their eyes snap to you like magnets.

Steve’s voice dropped. “Forget the bike.”

“Yep, forget the bike, I’m riding with her.”

Bucky practically tackled Steve out of the way to the car to hold the door open for you, a move that had the blonde rolling his eyes and swearing under his breath for not thinking of it first. This was all after 10 minutes of arguing who would sit next to you, just to decide that there was plenty of room in the back seats for them to be on either side of you.

So there you were, with warm sunlight beaming through the tinted windows, the hum of the radio lowly playing in the background, and the subtle crackle of a secured radio line in the front seat where Natasha and Sam kept one ear tuned into security updates.

Steve and Bucky’s shoulders and thighs pressed firmly against yours, each had a hand resting possessively on your bare thigh, having pushed the flimsy material up slightly to be skin to skin.

“You smell like cinnamon. Are you sure you want to go outside today? I kind of want you all to myself. I don’t know how Buck’s feeling.”

Bucky's hand gently squeezes your thigh, smirking, “I’m trying to be a team player, Wilson’s been begging like a little princess for this for months.”

Sam, who was driving you all, calmly lifted his little finger towards his boss and best friend, causing a laugh from all three of you.

“You’re all ridiculous,” you say softly, leaning your head against Steve’s shoulder.

“Insanely in love with you. Not the same thing,” Steve corrects, kissing your temple for a couple of long seconds.

The car bumped gently as they pulled off the main road into a hidden field surrounded by tall forest and protected by surveillance drones overhead. You knew the place well. It was one of the few safe zones that hadn’t been compromised, a place where they could let their guards down just enough to breathe.

Blankets were spread across the trimmed grass, and the warm scent of late spring was in the air. Sam unpacked the drinks while Natasha laid out sandwiches and extra ammo clips with equal ease.

“Sometimes I forget how equipped you are. Where do you even hide these things?” you ask, nodding to the assortment of weapons.

Natasha smirks, flipping her red hair over one shoulder, “You say that like I didn’t grow up doing tactical training in sunflower fields.

Sam hands you a bottle of lemonade. “Enjoy the moment, boss lady. Days like this don’t come often.”

You nod thoughtfully.

For a while, everything is right. Bucy sat behind you with his arms loosely wrapped around your shoulders, tracing slow circles on your stomach as Steve fed Dodger bits of jerky and talked shit to Sam about his choice in baseball teams. Natasha laughed in a way you rarely heard, leaning in occasionally to give teasing digs to all the boys, but never you, she was always a girl's girl.

You were about to reach for another cookie when a football thudded into the blanket near your hand. Steve grins, “C’mon, baby. You ever tossed one of these?”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’ve seen you throw people.”

“Sam motion,” Steve shrugs, stretching. “Less screaming.”

You stand, wiping crumbs off your dress. “Okay. But if you make me run, you can walk home.”

That earned a while from Sam. “Boss lady’s got jokes now, huh?”

You return Sam’s earlier gesture with a middle finger, laughing whilst walking across the field. Each person had an exaggerated stance. Bucky was cocky, steve overly technical, and sam too smooth for his good. Natasha opted to watch from the blanket with her shades on, though you knew she wasn’t really relaxing; her eyes never stopped scanning the treeline.

Everything was perfect, until Bucky started with a ridiculous overhead throw, the ball whizzing past your head and landing a significant distance away in the field.

“Sorry, Doll!” but from his shit eating grin you knew he wasn’t that sorry.

With a deep sigh, you walked to the ball and, with more energy than necessary, threw the ball to Sam, which only landed halfway because everyone was so far away now.

Eventually, it was back to Bucky, who grinned and threw the ball past where you were standing, past even the field and into the edge of the forest.

Turning with a huff at your boyfriend's antics of showing off his physical skills, you disappear between the trees. Sunlight breaks into thin beams as the sounds of laughter fade behind you. The ball wasn’t too far away, easily spotted, and tangled in a bed of wildflowers and fallen branches.

You reached for it. And froze. The hairs on your neck lifted a second before instinct kicked in.

A presence behind you- too close, too quiet. Your fingers curled around the ball, but you didn’t turn just yet. Instead, you took a steadying breath, tucking it to your chest and walking quickly back toward the clearing.

And that’s when the air changed. Just as your foot broke the tree line, the sun's heat smoothing your face, you just knew.

There was someone behind you. Before you could fully react, an arm hooked toward your waist. You dropped the football and twisted hard, driven more by instinct than thought.

From the field, everything happened at once.

Steve;s gun was drawn, cock. “Drop her-NOW!”

Bucky was already moving, low and fast across the field, but you’d somehow managed to be so far away from the others with the little ball throwing that it would still take him more time than necessary to get to your side.

And what’s worse is that you were directly in front of the attacker, and there was no clean shot.

“Don’t move!” Natasha barked, her voice sharp, her gun drawn and pointed. “Sugar, pivot! Use your elbow! Disarm!”

The man’s grip tightened, but your training kicked in, Natasha’s orders reminding your shocked body to move. You ducked low, slamming your heel into his shin, and drove your elbow back into his ribs. As he flinched, you spun, knocking the gun from his hand, and delivered a clean, closed-fist punch to his jaw, just like Sam and Nat had drilled into you.

Pain burst through your knuckles, but you followed through. The man dropped, stunned, his nose gushing with blood, eyes dazed.

Your chest heaved as you staggered back, knuckles throbbing.

The unknown man groaned on the ground at your feet.

Natasha let out a low whistle from across the field. “Hell of a takedown!”

Bucky is suddenly there, hands cradling your injured hand whilst easily able to kick out his leg, booting the man straight in the head, knocking him unconscious. “You okay? Talk to me, Doll.”

You nodded, heart still racing.” I’m fine. I-he grabbed me, but I just moved, I don’t know what just happened.” You say a little out of it, the adrenaline thumping through your veins.

“You moved like someone trained by a fucking assassin.” Steve’s now at your side, checking the rest of your body, sounding both impressed and furious as he makes sure also to kick the man in the ribs, earning a wheeze. “You tell us everything, right fucking now.”

Sam and Nat appear on either side of you. “She’s been training with Nat and me for six months.”

Steve’s head whips around. “What?!”

“She asked. We said yes. Don’t act shocked, it’s saved her life, hasn’t it?”

“Holy shit,” bucky said, breathing hard as he stared at you like he was seeing you for the first time. “You- goddamn, hot mama.”

Steve lifts your hand, inspecting the angry swelling along your knuckle, checking each finger for movement. “You’re still hurt.”

“It’s just a bruise,” you try to justify, a little nervous that they’d found out about your training. It wasn’t like you were doing it for any specific reason other than safety. I hoped it wouldn’t get to a point where you’d have to use it, but with the type of jobs your boyfriends had, it was better to be safe than sorry.

“You punched someone, I mean, actually punched someone with those soft little hands-”, Bucky murmurs affectionately.

“And she won,” Natasha added, amused. “Flawless technique. You should see her with a blade.”

Steve looked like he needed to sit down. Or bend you over a table.

Instead, he kissed your throbbing palm reverently. “We’re gonna fix this. And then we’re gonna talk. And then…”

The blueness of his eyes darkened with the lowering of his eyelids, but it was Bucky who finished his sentence for him: “...we’re going to show you exactly how proud we are.”

The ride back was quiet. It was not cold but heavy, like the air was thick with unsaid things. You remained sitting between Steve and Bucky, your bruised hand resting on your lap, bandaged lightly from the first aid kit.

The clean-up team arrived just before you’d all left. The man was presumably taken back to the office and held there until Steve and Bucky began questioning him until they were satisfied with his answers.

Bucky hadn’t let go of your other hand. Steve’s fist was so tightly holding onto the door handle that you’re actually worried about it snapping off.

You’d been the one attacked, the one who fought back, but they were the ones unravelling.

No radio was playing, just the road humming beneath the tires, and the sound of Steve exhaling too often through his nose.

Glancing at Bucky, staring contemplatively out of the window, you nudge your shoulder against his to get his attention. “I’m really okay. It’s just a bruise.”

He didn’t answer at first, then quietly, “You shouldn’t have to be.”

Something low in your stomach tugs.

“I should have seen him,” Steve demands. I shouldn’t—Jesus, I'm trained to notice shadows moving wrong, and I let you walk into the woods alone.”

“Steve-”

He shook his head, jaw flexing, the door handle groaning as his grip tightened. “I swore to protect you, that's all I ever wanted. I dont give a damn about the name, or the territory, or the money. Just you and Bucky.”

“You do protect me. Both of you do, all the time,” you say softly, trying to sound reassuring.

His eyes darted to your injury, “You had to protect yourself.”

“I'm glad I could.”

Bucky interrupts as his fingers graze your chin, turning your face towards his, “That's not the point, Doll.”

You reach out, cupping Bucky’s jaw with your uninjured hand. “I love that you want to keep me safe. I love it so much, but it scares me sometimes. But I can't sit in a tower and wait to be reduced every time.”

The car rolls to a stop directly outside your home. Bucky opens your door, helping you out, his hand gentle on the small of your back. Inside, it is quiet. Even Dodger is tamer than usual, seemingly sensing the tension. Natasha and Sam have stayed behind to brief the others, leaving just the three of you—well, four, including Dodger.

Steve had his hands on his hips, staring down at the kitchen table where you’d once baked. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed.

Bucky moved towards the kitchen cupboard, returning with another first aid kit.

“Sit, baby. Let us clean you up properly.”

You perched on the edge of the counter as Bucky gently unwrapped the makeshift bandage, revealing the swollen skin of your knuckles. Steve hovered beside him, unable to stop touching you from your shoulder, your thigh, and the back of your neck. He needed to reassure himself that you were here, breathing and warm.

Bucky applied a cold compress, so delicately you barely felt it, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “Was it Sam who taught you that follow-through technique?”

You nod, “Nat taught me how to use a knife, but I just didn’t have one today.”

It was meant to be a joke, but Steve’s hand curled tighter on your waist. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“But you didn’t freeze. You didn’t falter. You fought.” Bucky meets your eyes, his voice low and full of emotion.

You nod slowly, staring down at your hands. “I just knew what to do.”

Bucky kisses the inside of your wrist. That part of you? That fire? It's ours too. Don’t ever be ashamed of it.”

Steve took your face in both hands, brushing his thumbs under your eyes. “We were wrong. You’re not fragile, you’re so fucking strong, baby girl. But you shouldn’t have to be.”

Your voice cracked, and your eyes tingled with fresh tears. " I don't want to be strong all the time. I just don't want to be helpless either.”

“You’re not. You never were,” Bucky reassures, his hands now resting against the outside of your thighs.

Steve’s forehead carefully rests against yours. “Let us take care of you now. Let us make it right.”

Your lips parted. You could feel the tension changing, twisting into something deeper, darker. Something ravenous and entirely earned.

You swallowed, breath shallow. “Please.”

They didn’t need another word.

Steve kissed you first. Right there in the kitchen, with your bruised hand still bandaged and Bucky pressing cold packs against the bruising. Steve dipped his head and took your mouth like it belonged to him, which, truthfully, it always had.

It was tender at first, filled with warmth and able to speak every emotion running through the man's head. But his control snapped when your other hand curled into his shirt, and a whine slipped from your lips.

“You just have no idea what you do to us,” he muttered, sliding his mouth down your neck, tasting your skin. “Seeing you like that, owning that bastard. God, baby. You don't even know.”

Bucky's fingers brushed your sensitive inner thigh as he stepped between your legs. His voiceis  more guttural. “You don’t get it, do you? You flipped that switch, sweetheart. We’re fucking gone for you now.”

You were dizzy with the way they looked at you, as if you were something they worshipped.

“Bedroom. Now,” Steve demands with a gruffness to his voice, eyes stormy with hunger.

Bucky effortlessly swings your body into his arms without hesitation, and you squeak in surprise, gripping his broad shoulders. Your response has Dodger barking in the background. “I can walk, you know!”

“Too slow,” Bucky grins, kissing your cheek. “You took down a grown man with a gun, but this is our domain, doll.”

They laid you on the bed like something sacred. The curtains were drawn, and the dim evening light cast golden halos around them both. Steve stripped first, pulling his shirt off over his head, then Bucky followed. Their muscles flexed under old scars, symbols of the life they’d led, the war they'd found and the kingdom they ruled.

“Allow me”, Bucky smirked, reaching for your dress and ripping it down the middle, leaving you in just your bra and panties. “Been wanting to do that all day.”

“Hey, I liked that dress!”

“Yeah? I’ll buy you 20 more. Now, I want to make you feel so good that you forget you ever had to use that hand for anything other than holding on to us.”

You shiver, nipples hardening beneath the material of your bra.

“Colour?” Steve asks softly, removing the last item of clothing on his body—his boxers.

Whilst staring at his hard, throbbing cock that pointed in your direction you responded, “green. So fucking green.”

Steve grins, kneeling on the edge of the bed. “Good girl.”

That praise shot straight through you, warmth flooding between your thighs. Bucky joined him, his metal hand cool against your stomach as he slid it lower, spreading your legs apart.

“So wet for us already, doll. I can see that wet patch through your panties. Just from hearing we’re proud of you?” he questions, gently teasing your inner thighs as your hips move towards him.

You whimper, “always wanna be good for you.”

“You are,” Steve breathed, kissing down your chest, his facial hair rough against your sternum as he squeezes your breast through your bra. “You’re our good girl. Always. “

With a simplicity that was to show off his strength, Steve tore through the centre of your bra, your breasts slipping free, your underwear following the same response until you’re naked beneath them.

Steve covers your chest, his thumb and finger rolling one nipple whilst his tongue flattens against the other. With his big, bulky body covering your torso, you’re unable to keep an eye on Bucky, but you can feel him, especially the way his body now squeezes down between your thighs, legs resting over his shoulders.

You felt buckys tongue first, slow, flat licks up your slit, savouring you like a reward. His fingers held your hips down as you squirmed, moaning softly as your fingers grip Steve’s biceps, just for something to hold onto.

Bucky’s moan is your underdoing, just the raw, grunt of the tone, and the vibrations adding just enough pressure against your clit as his mouth circled it. He was moaning like you were the weetest thing he’d ever tasted. “She’s dripping, Steve. Every moan and word, she's squeezing around nothing. Our girl here tastes so fucking good.”

“Hmm, how about we wreck her, Bucky?” Steve's voice is ragged as he watches your body tremble and react to the man between your legs. “I want to see her fall apart, just for us.”

Hearing them talk about you like this, whilst you’re pressed down into the mattress, taking the pleasure is enough to have your eyes rolling back, your pussy tightening before wave after wave of your orgasm pulses deep in your core.

“That’s it, baby girl, you’re doing so well for Bucky, coming all over his face like that. You look so beautiful letting go,” Steve encouraged, his fingers continuing to tweak your nipple, only adding to the heightened stimulation of Bucky’s tongue.

“Sir-oh my god, sir!” you cry out, body trying to arch into the touches but unable to with their hulking forms holding you down.

“Say it again,” Steve’s eyes flare, widening as he licks his lips.

“Sir!”

“Fuck, Doll,” Bucky chants, groaning as he sucks on your clit hard, coaxing another whimper from you.

“Come here.”

You’re not even in control of your body anymore with the after orgasm glow, but thankfully, Steve is moving you for you. With ease, he’s turning you over as he slips underneath your body, so you’re now straddling his waist. Your thighs are shaking, trying to hold up your weight, so you slump chest to chest against Steve, leaning into his warmth as his hands soothingly stroke up your spine.

“Colour?”

“Green”, you say without hesitation.

“What do you say now, baby? You want both of us? Want to be filled front and back?”

Your whimper is pathetic as you nod repeatedly, shifting your hips back until the tip of his cock is captured between your bodies as you grind down against it.

Cool metallic fingers press into your arse cheeks, massaging the muscles as you continue to rub yourself against Steve. “Gotta go slow, yeah?” Bucky’s voice drifts from behind you as he kneels further down the bed between Steve’s legs. “Gotta stretch you open first, make sure you are nice and ready for us, Doll.”

You hear Bucky reaching into the bedside drawer, followed quickly by cold lube squirted onto your tight hole. Slicking up his fingers, he starts with one, working it up to the knuckle before pulling out. Each time he slowly enters, you can feel your arse trying to relax before tightening as another wave of arousal bursts through you.

“Please, sir, I can take it! I need you inside me,” you beg, kissing over Steve’s pecs.

“Just wait, baby. I don’t want to hurt you,” Bucky encouraged you, adding another finger as you’re grinding down onto him.

A third finger is inside you, and you’re reaching back to Bucky, trying to pull him closer.

Thankfully, he does as he eases his fingers out of you. “Shh, you’ve got to take Steve first, okay?”

“Yes, sir”.

Bucky reaches between your bodies, gripping Steve’s cock and manouvers hislength until you’re able to slide back onto it. Your cries of pleasure are nearly drowned out by Steve’s as his hands hold onto your hips, controlling your movements, keeping you still as his dick throbs inside your cunt.

Then Bucky is there, laterhing his cock in more lube and pressing his hips against yours. Slowly and deeply, he inches himself in. The stretch is perfect; you can feel it everywhere. So much, but never too much.

“Doing so good, baby girl. So perfect taking both of us. Breathe. You can take it. You were meant to take us,” Steve’s voice is gentle but authoritative, keeping you calm as you didn’t realise you’d been holding your breath.

Their movements were so fucking slow, perfectly slow to begin with, letting your body adjust to being full. Then you’re taking over, rolling your hips, their cocks inching in and out.

“Fuck, this tight little hole feels so good, always so good for us. You’re milking us both,” Bucky gasps, his fingers flexing on your hips where his fingers are linked with Steve’s.

Your mouth is hanging open, a constant string of explicits and cries as all you can do and want to do is lie there and take their cocks, being as close to them as you can get.

“That’s it, I can feel you squeezing us, Doll. Come for us,” Steve encouraged, rocking his hips into you with firmer strokes.

The orgasm hit like lightning, a burning tingle starting between your legs and spreading through your limbs. It doesn’t slow down either. The pulsing of your cunt goes on and on as Steve and Bucky just keep on fucking you.

“Please-” you whisper into Steve’s chest, body limp and beautifully sated.

“You want our come, baby?” Steve asks, already knowing the answer as he grunts with another thrust of his hips up into you.

“Yes, sir. Please!”

“Good girl, take it all,” Bucky shouts, his hips speeding up until he’s as deep as he can go, pausing and trembling, heat seeping into your insides as he cums. Steve, holding tightly to your waist, thrusts and thrusts until he, too, holds still.

They held you there, bodies pressed tight to yours, still buried deep but with their come mixing with your juices.

And then they were gentle again. Bucky cleaned between your thighs with a warm towel, drying the area afterwards to ensure you weren’t too sore.

Kissing your bruised knuckles, Steve makes sure you’re mentally well, that you aren’t feeling too spaced out, but you’re perfectly present and happy.

“We’ve got you now.”

“You’re ours, baby.”

[hanimanny]

“i only know that i feel tired, antiqued; i feel as though i’ve been awake for a long long time”

HOMESICK

synopsis: when the exhaustion of loving finally takes you.

tags: xavier x non!mc, ANGST!!! hurt/ comfort(?)

word count: 4.4k

likes + comments + reblogs appreciated

authors note: xavier’s version of this. let me know if you want versions of the other Lis. also please give me some ideas!!! divider by: @fairytopea

ACT I: VIGIL

Laughter has never been so suffocating.

You watch, not from a distance, but next to MC.

You think it's worse to be this close and to hear everything you're hearing now. In all the years of trials and tribulations of knowing Xavier, have you ever heard him laugh so brightly, smile so widely, or love so loudly?

The quiet, ever aloof prince of Philos—the man you followed, crossing stars, passing meteors, abandoning the place you once called home—beams brighter than his evil.

You think about all the things that built up to this moment.

To you, he was the stars: bright and all-encompassing. His silence—always silent—ever consuming, as you trailed in the shadow he left behind. Throughout the years of companionship and camaraderie, you followed blindly, as you always do, even when you knew what following him meant: an ill-fated destiny you could never rewrite.

You knew MC once before—the same woman who took the world by storm, a hurricane in his life that devoured him whole, leaving nothing for you behind.

Just like the MC you once knew, this MC is just as captivating.

The universe is playing a sick joke. He is your longest companion, the very last of your kind—the last light of your planet, your world, your culture. You left it all behind because, to you, loving him meant more than the comfort of your people and the safety of your planet. Loving him was worth leaving everything behind.

Ironically enough, he thought the same thing.

And despite it all—the friendship, the companionship, the camaraderie—you’re not even a placeholder for the love he holds dear. Nothing but white noise that followed him around, that clung to him at every turn.

A persistent, pathetic, piteous echo.

You are so close, and yet, so far.

Pulled in by the gravity of his very being. You think—thought—that all this time, just being beside him would be enough to soothe the dull ache of your heart, the perpetual pain that roamed your bones, and the exhaustion that swallowed you whole.

Like a dreamer, you think of the ways he could love you in the same capacity he loves her. That if you show up enough times, reach out and fill the silence he leaves behind; that the days of dedicated devotion, the sacrifices made along the way, would surmise to something worthy of being loved.

Worthy of being seen.

You’re left stranded in his orbit, gravity pulling harder the more you think you’ve got a handle on your thoughts. The pain, the agony, the suffering. Thinking that sticking by his side was all you ever needed, that you can’t be greedy—because having him was enough, and having him be yours was pure insanity.

You hear the laughter erupt once again, likely from a silly joke MC made. You pull yourself out from whatever hole you've dug, pull your lips into a smile the best you can, laughing along. It's hearty and very becoming of your character, you think, since MC wraps a secure arm around yours and squeezes with affection.

You allow her, of course—straining your cheeks until they burn, letting out a long-drawn sigh that fills the room.

Despite what others may think, as you converse along luridly, as if the volume of your voice could hide the heavy heart you bear, you've never been so quiet.

…

ACT II: DREAM

You once thought that the convenience of being neighbours was a good thing.

Next door to Xavier—close to him, but never next to him.

Walking to the Hunters Association together, coming home together, eating together. Just being together.

But you could tell Xavier wasn’t ever there—not really.

Despite being with him for so long, his mind was usually elsewhere. Sometimes in dreamland, but mostly—actually, always—drifting to her.

At some point, in between the solo bickering and one-woman conversations, you, too, found yourself wandering.

Like your mind sanctioned itself in your own self-made isolation.

Quieter. Smaller. Dimmer.

You stop talking as vividly—maintaining just enough energy to keep up appearances. Your voice, so used to fading into the background, remained where it was so oftentimes pushed towards—away from everything. Everyone.

You stop tagging along in the mornings, early days, and late nights, save for the obligatory lunch with your co-workers.

You stop leaving your apartment, taking refuge in a bed you’ve grooved your body into, like a coffin awaiting your arrival. An apartment you’ve grown used to, replicating the only home you knew.

And you’re just so tired. Tired of it all. Exhaustion clings to you like chasing breath. Sleep evades you like the plague.

It was your choice to cling to hope—to leave your home and to follow, naively, in hopes that one day, he would look at you the same way you look at him. To experience his love: the soft edges, the warmth, the gentleness. To think quiet, everlasting devotion would get you anywhere—devotion that controlled you, consumed you. Devotion that you thought would be enough, as silly as it sounds, to at least hold a candle next to the sun.

Devotion that instead puts you in the hands of despair.

You’re stupid to still hope, to yearn for a love that was never yours to have. To attempt to go against fate—against an entire lifetime of love.

So really, it was your burden to bear—and bear it alone.

And the funniest thing of it all? Xavier never once visited you. Checked on you. Sought you out. Even the tenant right below you, Charlie, visited, offering warm welcomes of fresh bread and a simple smile.

As you lie on your couch, enveloping yourself in the embrace of your own naivety, forced by Jenna to take a day off, you listen to the familiar silence.

Which is soon broken by the snubbed sound of light that snuffs the room.

It’s the first time in weeks—29 days, 21 hours, 2 minutes—Xavier has stepped foot in your apartment.

You don’t make a move to look at him or say anything like you normally do.

You both reside in the deafening silence. One by choice, one succumbed.

For the first time, Xavier breaks the silence: “You weren’t at work today.”

You could laugh, scream, cry, or all of the above, but you don’t.

Quietness reaps your soul.

Xavier continues. “MC was worried about you.”

A lifetime's worth of companionship, and he wasn’t even here to seek you out.

You truly are stupid.

Xavier isn’t used to the silence—not this kind. Despite being so quiet all the time, this silence was completely foreign. It was heavy and uninviting, almost suffocating.

There’s a moment of unrelenting anticipation as he waits to see you respond.

When you don’t, he steps forward. One step, then two—then he’s at the foot of the couch, peering down at you like a deity summoned—unconsciously shining with that light of his.

Steel blue eyes bore into you, trying to read you.

But you’re too fractured to be read. At least not clearly.

“Are you okay?”

‘Am I okay?’ You want to laugh at the thought, to make fun of the words asked.

Were you ever okay?

You miss it all—your family, your friends, your people, your home.

To think, once there was a time you chose to abandon it all in the name of love—where you thought complacency was where you belonged: beside a man you knew never loved you, maybe never even liked you.

Now you can only sneer at the fact, as you reminisce about a place far and forgotten, only finding a place deep within your memory.

Xavier prompts a different question. “Have you been sleeping?”

And for the first time in a while, you finally speak.

“I’ve been dreaming a lot.”

First, about you. About us. About what could have been. About what never was.

“What about?” His voice holds something softer than you ever thought possible from him. Something reserved only for her, never for you.

It almost makes you break. To confess everything. To finally open up your heart and pour all your pain out. To free yourself from self-made shackles and unwanted thoughts. To hear the very softness you crave—to be held, caressed, embraced.

But you don’t. Because even with that unreadable look in his eye—the same eyes you’ve longed for all this time—you know what they hold.

Obligation

“Home,” you say simply.

For the first time in a while, Xavier looks at you—really looks at you. He’s known you all this time, the image of you ingrained in his brain like second nature. He knows you—you’re his oldest friend, most trusted companion. He's seen all sides of you, but the person he’s looking at looks nothing like the you he remembers.

He looks at you and can’t even recognise you. Cruelly, for a moment, he even wonders if it’s really you.

“I don’t see any changes.” Xavier takes a quick glance around; everything remains stagnant, as it always has.

You don’t correct him—not this time. You hum a noise between affirmation and acknowledgement and drift off to a place once forgotten.

Silence consumes the soul once again, with Xavier wondering when he had become so complacent with it all: with your constant presence, voice to fill the spaces he’s left behind, unrelenting energy, and unwavering spirit.

“You’re right. Nothing has changed.”

…

ACT III: DRIFT

Xavier hasn’t visited since.

Not that you didn’t expect it.

You still see him at work, at lunch with MC, and on the rarest occasion, you bump into him in the hallway of your apartment complex—like strangers.

You do your best to find a new rhythm in this life, as your absence becomes more common and your presence goes with the echo of your voice. You’re seen less and less.

Maybe you were never seen at all—not truly.

You find that it’s easier to deal with heartache in the same way Xavier deals with everything: in silence.

Silence, although not foreign, not even new to you, seeks you out and sticks to you like a foreboding message.

You’ve spent years so bright, a will so strong it held on tight enough to kill you. Your loudness brought you here, away from Philos, so as the bits of your spirit whittle away along with your soul, silence is left to fill in the gaps of an empty shell.

You learn to live without Xavier in your life—as though he isn’t the last thing you have of your home, of the love you once felt, the comfort, the security. You learn to live without Xavier and learn to nurse a pain that has become something of a lover.

You had to learn to live because the world kept spinning—even when you’re lost in a place, unfamiliarly familiar, and can do nothing but live on.

But are you even living at this point? Even a dead girl walking has rights to a life—to living.

You’re leaving for another mission. In spite of Jenna’s protests, you’d rather fight to exhaustion—to blend the pain in your chest with the ache of muscles.

Your face reflects your volition. Eyes pulled down by the weight of your burden, face pale like a dying star. Despite trying, your smile doesn't quite reach your eyes, your laughter isn’t as bright, and your voice isn’t as loud.

You wait for Jenna’s reluctant orders. She’ll be damned if she lets you out on another solo mission—because despite your incredible hunting rates, you too are human.

A voice so familiar pulls your attention, and you look up to see Xavier standing before you—ice blonde hair and steel blue eyes in tow.

How long has he been standing there?

“Jenna assigned me as your partner for the mission.” Your face shows no expression—and not for lack of trying.

You laugh inwardly at the thought.

You're too much like him, in a sense. Loving hard enough to abandon your home, to follow blindly with fate—in spite of your own shortcomings. To silently love, quietly devote, and slowly disappear.

You purse your lips and let out a sigh too heavy for someone like you.

Xavier is almost taken by surprise.

“Let's go.” Xavier can hear it in your tone, and see it in your voice. How truly tired you really are—incomparable to his ever-waking sleepiness.

Your exhaustion runs you dry.

Again, silence befalls the two of you—an unwelcome rhythm that has found a place in the cracks of your relationship.

For the first time, Xavier trails behind you. Watching you. Observing you. And if he didn’t see your face or know your frame, he’d think the person walking in front of him was nothing but a stranger.

This time, Xavier walks in your shadow.

…

ACT IV: SILENCE

You think you’re fading.

The remnants of who you once were have been whittled down to the bone. You’re broken—maybe you always have been. Maybe this was who you were always supposed to be.

You’re so tired, not just emotionally but physically too.

The never-ending stream of wanders is starting to take a toll, even on professionals such as you and Xavier.

Your sword is dull, chipped at the edges, and your wounds scatter across your frame, staining your skin in a dirty shade of red.

Even the almighty knight is struggling to keep up with the demand.

So, as you find refuge in a murky cave, to recuperate the best you can, you find that the full-body ache starts to return.

You lean against a well-placed boulder, breath shallow and your grip loose, as your eyes haze over the fire in front of you.

You feel the warmth reach out for you—gently, creeping through the shell of yourself.

It’s quiet, save for the crackle of the flame.

You feel peaceful for once—the hunt muddling your thoughts so much that you can’t even think straight. Or maybe it’s the exhaustion of not sleeping.

Despite it all, you feel a strange sense of tranquillity. One with the throb in your chest that makes it hard to breathe, but is easier to deal with now that everything aches.

It’s peaceful, you think, as you fade into whatever hole you’ve dug all those years ago. Your mind is muddled, and your soul flickers with the last bits of who you were.

Suddenly, you’re pulled back out—again by the very men who left you there, like a nostalgic toy forgotten all these years.

Your eyes pull away from the fire.

You soak in his gaze. It holds none of the same love you see him give out so freely to MC. It’s hard and stern—years of knighthood sewn into his features. He looks at you like he doesn’t know you at all.

Calloused hand gripping your shoulder—it’s firm enough to shift your attention, your body facing him.

You look at him and try to find the line between succour and obligation. Try to find one thing that says you mattered—even just for a second.

You were foolish to believe that you could remain just his friend, companion, comrade. You were stupid, dumb, idiotic.

You were completely blind to it all—to think that his love could have relieved something burning in you. Something insatiable. Something permanent.

“You’re drifting.” Xavier’s voice cuts through your messy thoughts and heavy heart.

You’ve been drifting.

You don’t make an attempt to joke like you used to—not even a weak smile. You sit back and stare at him like you don’t even know him.

“You’ve been doing that more often.” You take a moment to digest what he says—something he’s noticed entirely on his own, not by MC’s worrywart love.

Once upon a time, you would’ve thought it was normal for him to notice these types of things—the dullness of a close second. But now, you’re surprised. Shocked, even. Like he’s seeing you for the first time.

“Where are you going?” he prompts, and his voice holds something so intrinsic to the soul. Something you can’t find here. Something like home.

You’re fading, like the light of his evol—dimmer, as you’re pulled into the gravity of your own mind.

You’d like to tell him—if not as a lover, then a friend:

I’m lost. I’m gone. I’m tired. I’m sad. I’m furious. I’m not myself. Not with what’s left of who I am.

I am not home.

You don’t. Despite something inside you telling you you must. That it’s not worth dying on this hill.

You think: How much deeper of a hole can you dig before you vanish? Before you're gone? Forgotten? Never having existed in the first place.

Until you’re not a person, but a memory.

You don’t tell him anything, because that’s not the kind of relationship you have—not anymore.

In the midst of the silence, your voice finally breaks through.

Quiet. Cracked. Almost gone.

“I’m thinking of going home.” There’s finality in your tone. Weak as your voice may be, Xavier hasn’t heard such certainty from you in months.

His eyes knit in confusion, contort in concern.

Maybe you’re just tired. But there’s something to your expression—an unspeakable hollowness that wasn’t there before. Your eyes haze over with something distant.

A body without a soul.

Like he always does, he remains silent. Never reaching out. He’s seen you get through worse, come back stronger. He’s seen everything. He knows you.

Or maybe... he knew you.

All the years of companionship will amount to something. It has to. He’s known you for so long. You stuck by his side even through death. You truly were the one stable thing in his life. Never needing to chase—always there, beside him. With him.

It was always you and him—even as he fights his way through the forgotten memories of MC, you remain.

Though, something claws at him, as his hand gently travels down your arm. To reach. To ask what you meant. To wonder if you meant the apartment beside his, where it reflected the culture of Philos, somehow capturing the stars in every object you bought.

He wants to ask if home is with him.

But he doesn’t.

Silence is there to greet him again—him only, he thinks, because you seem so used to it now.

Unfamiliar territory.

His eyes travel to his hand on yours, afraid to let go for some reason. As if letting go meant never seeing you again.

Your head is slumped motionless against his shoulder. His eyes peer onto your back—and then he sees it.

The blood stains the rock behind you. Your back is adorned with gashes that soak your uniform.

“Y/N,” he calls out, like it’s the only thing he knows. Because it’s the only thing he can do.

He hears no response. Not even a whisper of a shallow breath.

It’s not quiet. Not even small.

It’s silent.

Then he feels it. The way your eyes droop down to the fire. The limpness of your hand on his. The paleness. The coldness.

The death.

His spare hand reaches out.

He shakes you. “Don’t close your eyes.”

But you don’t abide—swaying with the motion of his force.

You could do anything. Do everything. Move mountains. Slay beasts. You were strong. Firm. Confident. He knew you could get through anything.

“Come on, just open your eyes. Can’t you do that?”

“One breath. That’s all I need.”

“Hold me tight, Y/N.”

Xavier cradles your gaunt body as he pulls your head taut to his shoulder. He rocks you like a sleeping child, holding you tight—tighter than he ever has before.

He’s shaking—and not from the cold.

He doesn’t know what comes over him, but suddenly, the silence breaks.

And he hears everything. Sees everything. Feels everything.

And he cries.

Because that’s all he can do.

…

ACT V: LINGER

Xavier likes to think that he notices your absence.

The way people step over the shells of your name, the routes taken to avoid the common spaces you once occupied in the living. The untouched work desk, memorialised by those who remembered her. The vacancy next door — the home she built away from home — now barren, her things sold, thrown away, or forgotten.

MC, who was so loud with her affection, mourned just as passionately. Her heart sewn onto her sleeve as she cried the loss of a friend. Flowers tended on the desk of a fallen soldier, and distance built from the apartment upstairs.

But really, he doesn’t.

The way you’ve faded so naturally out of his life — never moving, never reaching. The walk to and from home is the same. His apartment is the same. His life remains the same. Like you were never there. Like the image of your smile wasn’t something that pushed him through distant times.

Like you never meant anything to him.

Like the years of friendship, companionship, camaraderie — all amounted to a tombstone with your name etched into it.

And he hates himself for it.

For being so complacent. For never seeing you. Never hearing you. Never reaching out. For always thinking you’d remain the same: the loyal, competent pillar in his life. For thinking that his silence meant nothing to you.

Because it did. It meant everything.

He hates how he’s living life like he always did — like you weren’t ever part of him. Regret, guilt, grief — they all settle in his bones, for a person he can’t even remember.

Along with the memory of you, time passed, as it always does. And as time passed, he slowly forgot.

Your goals and aspirations. Your loves, your hates.

Your dreams.

He can barely remember your face. The last time you laughed. Your smile.

He can barely remember you at all.

Only pulled in by the gravity of his grief, where he finds you at the centre of it all.

To think he was so far from you. The irony now is that he can’t ever leave.

Stuck on a cursed image of a woman who meant so much to him.

Who held the moon up so he could shine with the stars.

He sits on his bed, light voided from the room. The pictures from your apartment piled by his bedside, facing the stars, watching — as you always did.

For the first time, he’s not tired at all.

Is this how you felt? How restless you were?

When he showed up that time, too worried about MC and her anxieties. Too quick to solve her issues that he hadn’t noticed how your eye bags sank deep enough to stain your spirit. How you lay, lost, drifting to a place he couldn’t reach.

Dreaming of home.

And just like his home, his culture, his people — you too join the faint memory of Philos.

His phone buzzes, bright. The screen illuminates the room.

Xavier thinks it’s MC again — she doesn’t know the depth of what you and Xavier shared, but she understood the weight of long-term partnership.

At first, he answered every time — to relieve her worries, to silently say he was fine.

But now, everything feels like a farce.

A lie he tells himself as much as he tells the world.

If the absence, the silence, isn’t acknowledged — maybe it’ll keep things still. To stop time from moving.

Because if time doesn’t move, then the memory of you won’t fade.

And you’ve faded enough.

He picks up the phone and waits.

Then he hears it — the soft laughter he longed for. It’s gentle and hearty, so full of life.

Xavier peels the phone from his ear to peer at the screen.

Then he sees it. The light. The brightness of a smile lost to memory, now alone. It’s displayed in front of him — teeth bared, lips stretched wide with a feeling he hasn’t seen in years.

It’s you.

Laughing so freely. Smiling so widely.

You’re alive.

Xavier scrambles upright, leaning forward to see the screen more clearly.

It’s you — in clothes he’s never seen you wear, in a room he’s never seen before, with a face he barely remembers.

But he knows it’s you. 

How could he ever forget? Not truly.

So desperately, he calls out. Announcing himself, finally reaching out.

Your eyes perk in surprise as you lean in.

“Holy shit, did he just say my name? That’s crazy!” you giggle, and Xavier is too overcome with emotion to even question the absurdity of your words.

“No wonder people were glazing this game on Twitter!” you laugh before the call cuts.

Xavier’s too stunned to react. He taps rapidly through his phone to check the caller history.

Unknown.

He scrambles to call again.

Anticipation sweating off of him.

He holds his phone tightly and then— You pick up.

Your face: confused.

“Damn, I didn’t even level his affinity up yet and he’s calling already,” you mutter, peering at the screen.

Xavier looks dishevelled, almost destroyed. His hair is a messy heap, and dark circles shadow his eyes. The usual soft glow of his skin— dulled, lifeless.

He’s worn thin. A dead man walking.

“Hey,” Xavier says softly, almost inaudibly.

He watches your face shift — confusion to elation.

“Oh my god, you can even talk! Let me try again.”

And then you speak — not offhand commentary, but to him.

“Hi,” you greet, brightly enough to light up the room.

Xavier is at a loss, and doesn’t reply. But unlike before, you speak again.

“This is so cool. So like, does this count as my daily interaction?” you ask aloud, maybe to yourself, maybe to him— he can’t tell.

“Right, probably not in his programming to answer questions like that,” you mumble, before turning your full attention back to him.

“I’ll see you soon, alright? I hope this mechanic isn’t a glitch.” You grin softly.

And nothing in Xavier’s entire career could’ve prepared him for this.

But he’s not letting this opportunity go. Not when he has another chance to hear you, to see you — and even if he can’t touch you, he’ll never let go.

He’s not letting you slip.

Not now. Not ever. Not again.

“All right... I’ll see you soon,” Xavier replies simply.

Watching your face glow is enough for him.

The way your lips stretch, teeth bare — a face full of life.

Here, he decides: he’ll wait as long as you need.

As long as you want.

He’ll wait until the phone screen glows once again. He’ll wait to see you again.

Close enough to hear you. To see you. But never touch you.

…

ACT VI: ECHO

“Hi Xavier”

The unfair proximity of a dream

[fushigurokogane]

"𝙅𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙆𝙣𝙤𝙘𝙠 𝙉𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝙏𝙞𝙢𝙚." Pt.3

fem!reader x megumi fushiguro an: hihihihihihi!!! so, im thinking about this, but im not sure if i should do it. Should I make this into a series?? I feel like I could do a few more parts. If you wanna be part of the taglist, just comment below!! Pt.1 - Pt.2

The next few days passed with a new kind of quiet between you and Megumi.

Not the cold kind. Not avoidance.

But the charged kind—like every moment was filled with things neither of you had the nerve to say out loud.

He didn’t tease you again after that night. He didn’t need to. The way his eyes lingered a bit longer, the way his shoulder brushed yours during missions, the way his voice softened when he said your name—it all said enough.

And you were starting to unravel. Slowly, surely. He was becoming a problem.

Because this was Megumi. Stoic, sharp, silent Megumi—who knew how to read a room in five seconds but could ignore his own feelings for years. Who never asked for help but was always the first to show up when you needed him. Who was safest when he was distant, and most dangerous when he started letting you in.

And you’d already been let in.

You just hadn’t figured out what to do with it.

-

It wasn’t until a storm rolled in that things shifted again.

You were curled up on the couch in the shared lounge, rain beating against the windows, a movie playing low on the screen—something dumb and not worth remembering. Everyone else had cleared out for the night, too tired from the latest assignment. But not Megumi. He walked in quietly, a towel around his neck again, dark shirt clinging to his still-damp skin from the shower.

You glanced up. “You know, one day I’ll be emotionally strong enough to see you like this and not short-circuit.”

He didn’t smile, but his voice had a softness to it. “You’ve gotten better.”

You rolled your eyes but made room for him on the couch anyway. He sat next to you, not too close—but close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, smell the faint cedar of his soap.

The movie played on, unnoticed.

“Hey,” you said after a few minutes, voice quieter. “What you said… the other night. About liking it when I look at you like I see you…”

He turned his head toward you, brows slightly lifted. He remembered.

“…Were you being serious?”

The silence stretched, but not in a bad way. More like he was choosing his words with care.

“I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.”

You looked down at your hands. “I wasn’t sure if you were trying to mess with me.”

“Have I ever messed with you like that?”

You paused. “No.”

“Then you should believe me.”

His voice had that depth again—that unshakable calm that only made your heart race faster.

“I see you too, you know,” you said, barely above a whisper. “Not just the strong sorcerer part. I see the way you carry everything. The way you protect everyone even when it tears you up. I see all of it. And I still… like you.”

It felt like dropping a stone into still water. Heavy. Real.

Megumi didn’t speak at first. His eyes just stayed on you, dark and unreadable, but there was something raw in them now. Not vulnerability. Not quite.

Just honesty.

He reached out slowly, his hand brushing your jaw, then resting against your cheek like he wasn’t sure if you’d let him hold you—but hoping you would.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know how long I’ve felt this,” he said, voice low, close. “You always looked at me like you knew. Even when I didn’t say a damn thing.”

You leaned into his touch, heart loud in your ears. “Maybe I was waiting for you to catch up.”

His lips curved—not quite a smile. But something softer.

“I’m here now.”

And then—finally, finally—he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that wasn’t rushed or possessive. It was quiet. Steady. Like a truth that had taken its time getting here, but had always known where it was going.

When you pulled back, you stayed close, foreheads touching.

Outside, the storm kept raging.

Inside, for once, everything felt calm. --- Part 4....??? Series..??

taglist: @ehcilhc @amesenseii @vintag3u @obsessivestrawberrysimp @moonymoo1 @arabella0001 @sassymilkshakewitch @sutefa02 @hawkwithsocks @akiducky (I just tagged a bunch of ppl that commented for different parts on other posts)

©fushigurokogane - please do not copy, translate, or plagiarize my work!

[leo-in-the-pitt]

Turning Point

This is Chapter 5 of the Beginning to End series !

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Wife!Reader 

Summary: You and Jack are newlyweds who also just so happen to be expecting your first baby. These next 9 months will be the best and worst of your life whether you realize it or not.

Warnings: Established relationship, implied age gap, strong language, some fluff but also porn with plot, unprotected PIV, fingering, oral (both m and f receiving), daddy kink, praise kink, pregnancy, birth trauma

WC: 12.7k

First Night Back

Fortunately for you and Jack, Robby was able to get you a full week off before coming back to work after the wedding. The week was filled with you two sitting on the couch next to each other creating a registry for not only the baby but, for things to fill your home with eventually.

“You ready to go back tonight?”

“I wish I could stay home with you all the time but, yeah, I’m ready.”

The buzz of the ER returned like muscle memory.

You and Jack stood side by side in the locker room.  His hair was still damp from the quick shower he'd taken before you left the house. You could smell his shampoo in it. 

“Ready for the honeymoon shift?” Jack said, his voice dry but warm.

You snorted. “Nothing says romance like traumas and code blues.”

He leaned over and kissed your temple. “At least you’re here to make it tolerable.”

You walked out together, and the noise hit instantly—monitors beeping, a patient yelling from triage, an EMT calling out vitals mid-roll-in. It should’ve felt overwhelming. Instead, it felt weirdly familiar. 

“Well, well, well look who’s back.” Robby said from across the ER.

Dana held her arms out. “We’ve got a full board just for you two. Pedestrian versus car in Trauma 1. Sepsis in 3. Psych eval holding in 5 and refusing meds. And,” she added with a smirk, “some kid in curtain 8 swallowed a Lego.”

“So glad to be back here,” you muttered, walking away to find your first case back.

You and Jack split off instinctively, no need to even speak. You caught him glancing at you as he passed. A flicker of we’re okay. We’re doing this.

The night was filled with case after case, barely any time to talk to each other. Mostly just him asking if you were okay in passing. But you always made time to catch each other eyes from across the ER.

There was a lull around 2am when Jack came to find you. He looked over at you, and his expression softened. “You sure you’re okay?”

It wasn’t the first time he’d asked tonight. Or this week.

You sighed. “I’m pregnant, not broken. I’m fine.”

“Just making sure.”

You leaned your hip against the desk, pretending you didn’t notice the subtle way Jack’s eyes scanned you from head to toe—evaluating.

“Jack.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender but said, “I’m allowed to care.”

You softened. He wasn’t wrong. It was part love, part habit. The way you’d both learned to read each other in triage, in chaos, in the stillness between codes. Except now the stakes were higher. 

6:50 a.m. — Change of Shift

You were charting the last of your overnight notes when you heard them before you saw them.

Dana, breezing through the doors with a coffee in one hand and her ID badge already clipped on crooked. Robby beside her, muttering something. And Langdon, as always, trailing behind them.

“Look at you,” Dana said the moment she spotted you, dragging her chair backward across the floor to sit right beside you. “Pregnant and still functioning. Honestly, it’s inspiring. Or maybe terrifying.”

You didn’t look up. “Don’t talk to me until I’ve had a nap and a bagel.”

“Fair,” Robby said, dropping his bag on the counter. “But before we begin, serious question: Are you going to have your baby in this hospital?”

“Well, our OB is upstairs so don’t think we have too much on a choice. But no, you guys are not allowed in the room. You can all wait in the waiting room.”

Groans came from all of them before Dana and Robby walked away. Landon staying behind.

Langdon leaned against the counter, his eyes narrowing at your charting speed. “You’ve been up all night?”

“Sure have,” you said, popping the final signature on your trauma note.

“You should be home. Resting.”

Jack, walking past, paused just long enough to throw in, “She also threw a pen across the unit when her monitor froze, so…thriving.”

You shot him a glare, but your lips twitched. “It didn’t hit anyone.”

Langdon grunted. “I’ve seen less motivated attendings take two weeks off for a cold. And you’re still here?”

You shrugged. “Only sixteen weeks, not sixty. I can still do my job.”

“You look like something’s bothering you kid. You fuck up on your first night back already?”

“I’m offended that you would even think that but, no. Its about me and Jack.”

“It’s about your sex life isn’t it?”

“That obvious?”

“Somehow these conversations always turn into a sex talk regardless of how hard I try to say away from it and anyway you guys are married now and you’re carrying his child so even if I don’t want to think about it, obviously you guys are having sex.” Langdon blinked once.  “So go on.”

You exhaled, feeling immediately ridiculous but too far in to stop. “It’s just- we’ve been weird lately. Hesitant. Ever since I started showing. I mean of course we had sex on our wedding night and one other time last week but, it felt off in a way.”

Langdon nodded, letting you keep going.

“He’s being careful. Like, overly careful. Gentle in a way that makes me feel like I might shatter. And I know it’s coming from a good place. I just- I miss feeling like myself. Like us. There’s this invisible line we keep dancing around, and I’m starting to wonder if he’s scared of hurting me. Or the baby. Or both.”

Langdon leaned back in his chair. “Definitely both.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve seen it before, felt it before actually,” Langdon said. “New father, already in love with a kid he hasn’t met yet, suddenly sees his wife as precious cargo instead of a woman with her own needs and desires.”

“So what, I’m just a vessel now for this baby?”

“No,” he said, firmly. “You’re still you. But he’s navigating something new. He’s terrified. And you’ve always been the strong one, so his instinct is to protect what he doesn’t understand.”

You were quiet for a moment. “And how do I deal with that?”

“Talk to him,” Langdon said simply. “Tell him you’re not made of glass. That being close, being touched, being wanted—it still matters. Pregnancy doesn’t erase who you are in the relationship. It just shifts the balance. He needs permission to stop treating you like you’re breakable.”

You nodded slowly. “And if he still hesitates?”

Langdon gave you a look. “Then you remind him who the hell you are.”

You laughed, tension breaking just a bit. “You’re not the worst at this, you know.”

Langdon reached for his coffee. “Don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation.”

“Mel is really lucky to have you.”

He smiled gently. “Not as lucky as I am to have her.”

You stood. “Thank you.”

He looked up. “For what it’s worth, you two are solid. You’ll figure it out.”

You nodded again, already composing the conversation in your head. It wasn’t just about sex. It was about closeness. About not letting this new chapter turn into distance.

You grabbed your bag and stood slowly, a hand reflexively brushing your belly.

Jack appeared behind you, looping his fingers through yours. “Ready for our appointment?” he murmured.

You nodded. “Oh my god. I forgot about that.”

“That’s what you have me for.” He kissed your cheek.

As you walked out together, the ER faded behind you. There was no need to sneak out the back door to go upstairs to your OB. Basically the whole hospital knew you and Jack were expecting. News spread like wildfire once you told Dana, Mel, Robby and Langdon that they were allowed to tell whoever they wanted.

———————————————————————

16 Weeks - OB Appointment

The waiting room was quiet, bathed in that too-soft, too-warm light that always made you feel like you might accidentally fall asleep sitting up. 

You were still in your scrubs, badge clipped to your collar, shoes a little scuffed from twelve hours of trauma and chaos. 

Jack sat beside you, one leg bouncing restlessly. 

He nudged your knee. “You good?”

You nodded. “Just tired.”

“Want me to be quiet?”

You glanced at him. “You’re never quiet.”

Jack smirked but didn’t argue.

The nurse called your name, and you both stood. Jack’s hand instinctively found your back as you followed her down the hall. She didn’t comment on the way your steps slowed, or the way your eyes flicked toward the ultrasound machine.

“Hop up here,” she said gently. “The doctor will be in soon. We’ll take a listen first.”

You lay back, pulling up your scrub top just enough to expose the curve of your belly. The nurse squirted cold gel onto your skin and pressed the doppler into place.

It took a moment—one long, aching second—before you heard it, the whoosh-thump-whoosh-thump of a tiny, relentless heart.

Jack let out a breath you didn’t realize he’d been holding. His hand found yours without needing to look.

“Strong,” the nurse said, smiling. “Mid-150s. Baby’s happy to be in there.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden sting in your eyes. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Or maybe it was the way Jack was staring at the monitor like it held every answer to every question you hadn’t asked.

Then the doctor came in. “Vitals are great, weight is on track, and baby is measuring right on schedule. Any new symptoms?”

You hesitated. “Some weird pulling when I twist or stretch. Sleeping’s harder.”

“That’s normal—your uterus is growing, everything's are adjusting. Stay hydrated, rest when you can, and if it gets sharp or constant, page me.”

You cleared your throat. “Can I ask something?”

Jack looked at you sharply.

The doctor nodded. “Of course.”

You didn’t look at Jack. “Is it safe, you know to- to keep being intimate?”

He almost choked letting out a cough.

 “Absolutely. Unless your having complications—which you’re not—sex is totally safe. The baby’s protected by the uterus and amniotic fluid. It’s normal for things to feel different, emotionally or physically, but there’s no medical reason to stop unless either of you wants to.”

He stared at the ceiling, cheeks burning. Jack’s hand tightened around yours again.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

The doctor smiled at you both. “Just listen to each other. This is new territory, but you’re a team. You’ll figure it out.”

When he stepped out, the room was quiet again, save for the faint echo of that tiny heartbeat still ringing in your ears.

He turned his head toward you. “Didn’t see that coming”

You shrugged, sheepish. “I wanted to hear it from someone that’s an expert in this field.”

He laughed. “I needed to hear it too.”

Later That Night — At Home

The house was dim, lit only by the soft amber glow of a lamp in the living room and the blue flicker of the TV. 

You came out of the bathroom in one of Jack’s old t-shirts and boxers, towel-drying your hair. He was on the couch, legs stretched out, wearing sweats and a t-shirt with the look of a man who hadn’t stopped thinking since that OB appointment.

You sat beside him, letting your weight lean into his. He immediately curled an arm around your shoulder.

Neither of you spoke for a while. You just breathed, syncing up with him again. 

Eventually, you murmured, “You were really quiet after I asked the doctor that question.”

Jack nodded. “Was just taking it all in I guess.”

You tilted your head toward him. “You’ve been scared around me. I guess I just thought our first week of together after the wedding would be us having sex everywhere and anywhere.”

“Yeah.” His voice was raw honesty. “You’ve been pushing through like nothing’s changed. But everything has. And I don’t want to be the reason something goes wrong.”

You touched his chest, over his heart. “Don’t be fragile with me here.”

Jack looked at you then, fully, like he was trying to memorize every inch of your face.

“I missed you,” he whispered. “And I didn’t know how to get back without hurting you.”

You took his hand and brought it to your belly. “We’re right here. Still me. Still us.”

He leaned in, forehead pressing to yours, like he’d been waiting all day to just be this close.

“We can go at whatever pace you want.”

“Jack, I’m growing a child, there’s are so many hormones flowing through my veins and these hormones are telling me that you need to have sex with me as much as you possibly can.”

“Tell me if something’s too much,” he said softly. “If anything feels wrong. I just- I want you to feel good. Wanted. Safe.”

You smiled. “I already do.”

The kiss started soft but, deepened quickly. Not rushed. Just full of need that had gone unsaid for too long.

His hands found your hips like he remembered them. You pulled him closer, needing that weight, that warmth, that certainty that came only from this—from him.

You climbed on top of him without hesitation. Your legs wrapped around him, his thumbs rubbed small, knowing circles just above your waistband. His tongue finding your mouth, swirling around yours. You lifted yourself around him, resting your bodyweight onto his lap.

He let out a soft groan. You adjusted yourself and felt his excitement growing underneath you. 

His hands now inside your shirt around your waist. You reached down to the hem of his sweatpants. He adjusted himself off the couch slightly, just barely giving you enough space to slide your hand into his boxers. 

“Ah fuck.” 

You wrapped your hand around his already solid cock, your thumb rubbing past his tip, already slick with precum. 

“Excited already…daddy?” You whispered, lips curling into a smirk. 

He let out a breathy laugh, but there was a softness in it—like this moment meant something more than just release. “Why don’t you keep going and I’ll let you know.” 

His hands left your hips and went above his head as you put your hand onto his chest. You other hand began to pump up and down on him. Firm enough to make him squirm underneath you. 

He was breathing hard and fast. His eyes closed with his head up to the ceiling. You could feel the veins on his cock pulsating in the grasp of you hand. 

His hands left your hips and rested above his head, giving you control. You placed your free hand on his chest, steadying yourself as your grip on him tightened. You began to stroke—slow, firm, deliberate.

He was breathing harder now. His jaw clenched, eyes shut tight, chest rising and falling in quick succession. You could feel him throbbing in your hand, every pulse syncing with his shaky breaths.

You leaned in, your lips grazing his ear. “Cum for me, Daddy.”

“Fu—fuck, babygirl.” His body tensed beneath you, arching as his orgasm hit. You felt him spill over your hand—hot, sticky, desperate.

You stroked him through it, coaxing every last drop out of him. And when you were done, your hand slid out and came to your mouth, licking him off your fingers one by one, eyes locked on his.

“That’s my good girl,” he breathed, brushing your hair back, his hands settling around your neck. “Clean up the mess you made.”

“Love how you taste in my mouth.” You grinned, collapsing beside him on the couch.

He put his hand on your thigh, stopping you from going any further. “Where do you think you’re going?” 

“Thought you needed a second before we do anything else.”

He nodded his head upwards. “Fuck that, get on top of me right now babygirl.”

He lifted up his hips up, pulling his pants and boxers down to his ankles before sitting back down on the couch. 

You stood up off the couch, putting yourself directly in front of him. “Take them off.”

You lowered his boxers on you, red lace panties underneath. 

“Those too.” His eyes were dark, voice deep.

Panties hit the floor with you stepping out of them. His shirt the only piece of clothing still on your body, barely covering your lower half. 

“Come up here.” He tapped his thighs with both hands. 

You straddled him again, knees pressed into the cushions on either side of his legs. His hands gripped your waist under the shirt, tugging you closer. You framed his face with your hands and kissed him—hungry, messy, needing more.

He was hard again by the time your hips shifted just enough.

He grabbed himself with one hand, positioning his cock at your entrance. He slid inside you in one long, perfect motion.

Your breath caught.

He filled you. Completely.

He pulled your body closer, lips crashing together. 

You rested for a moment, letting yourself adjust to his size inside of you. His hands moved to your lower back, holding you there, grounding both of you in the moment.

“God, baby,” he whispered against your collarbone. “You feel so fucking good.”

You breathed out shakily, forehead resting against his. “I needed this.”

“I know.” His thumbs followed the curve of your hips. “Me too.”

You rolled your hips—slow at first, savoring the way his breath caught, the way his eyes fluttered closed. The drag of him inside you was almost too much, but somehow not enough.

Your bodies moved together, falling into rhythm like muscle memory. 

“Look at me,” he said, voice rough and quiet.

And you listened.

He cupped your face with one hand, the other gripping your hip to guide your pace. There was nothing rushed about him.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured. “Carrying our baby. Still wanting me to fuck you.”

Your heart swelled, throat tightening. You bit your bottom lip as you rocked against him harder, chasing that edge—but not just for the release.

His hands slipped up your back, under your shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside. His mouth found your chest, trailing kisses across your breasts, slow and open-mouthed, worshipful. You threaded your fingers through his silver curls, gasping when he sucked gently at your nipple.

“Jack—” His name broke in your throat.

“I’ve got you,” he said, kissing you again. “Let it go.”

You ground down harder, your body tightening, the heat building deep and fast now. He matched you thrust for thrust, his hips lifting up off the couch. 

“Cum for me,” he growled into your neck. “Let me feel you fall apart while I’m inside of you.”

Your climax hit fast and hard—hips bucking, breath caught, muscles clenching around him. You cried out his name as waves rolled through you, your nails digging into his shoulders.

He wasn’t far behind. His grip on you tightened, and with a low, groan, he spilled into you, pulling you down to him, chest to chest, heart to heart.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Just held each other. Just breathed.

You rested your head against his, bodies slick and tangled and trembling.

“Fuck I missed this,” you whispered. “I missed us.”

Jack kissed your forehead, lips lingering. “We’re still us. Just more now.” He looked down at your stomach. 

You smiled into his skin. “Yeah. More.”

His hands settled over your belly, still resting inside you.

“I love you,” he said softly.

“I love you, too.” You kissed him again—slow, deep, and full of all the things you couldn’t say out loud.

———————————————————————

18 Weeks

“So, been meaning to ask you, you guys doing any better now?”

“Oh, Lang, trust me you don’t wanna know how much better we’re doing.”

“Yeah, I really, really could’ve gone my whole life without seeing the look of your face right now.”

“Whatever, guess your advice worked.”

He lifted his coffee cup up in a salute. “My advice always works. Anyway aren’t you guys supposed to go look at a house later?”

Langdon perked up. “House hunting again? I thought you guys were getting burned out.”

“We are. We’ve looked at, like, fifteen places and nothing feels right. So I’m not getting my hopes up.”

He shrugged, easy and steady. “You’ll find it. That ‘oh, this is ours’ feeling. It shows up when you least expect it.”

You gave a half-smile. “You get surprisingly sentimental when you’re over caffeinated.”

He grinned. “Kid, I get sentimental when I care. And you two? You’re the real deal. Don’t settle for a house that doesn’t feel like it knows your names already.”

After Shift

The sun was at its highest point when you pulled up in front of the house. 

Jack was already waiting on the sidewalk, hands in his coat pockets, rocking on his heels. He gave a small wave when he saw you.

“This the one?” you asked as you stepped out, eyeing the house.

“Apparently,” he said, looking up at the place like it was a riddle he couldn’t quite solve. “Our agent said it just came back on the market this week.“

The exterior was older—white paint a little faded, porch railing crooked. But the windows were big, the trees in the yard were bare, leaves on the ground, and there was a creak in the front step that made you smile for no reason.

The agent greeted you at the door and waved you in with a soft “Take your time. Take it all in.”

You stepped inside—and something shifted.

It wasn’t flashy. The floors were original hardwood, scuffed in all the places that said someone lived here for a long time.The kitchen was dated, but the sunlight poured in like the house knew how to catch it.

Jack walked a few paces ahead of you, quiet. Not cautious—just thoughtful.

You followed him through the living room, past a fireplace that would need work, and into a small room tucked in the back.

You looked around—window facing the yard, soft echo from your footsteps on the floor. Small. Safe.

He didn’t say anything. Just walked over to the window and looked out into the overgrown backyard.

“I can see us here,” he said, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

You stood next to him, shoulder against his. “Even with the popcorn ceilings?”

He smiled. “Especially with the popcorn ceilings. Definitely getting rid of those though.”

Jack followed close behind as you climbed the creaky stairs, your hand grazing the banister that could definitely use refinishing. 

At the top, the hallway narrowed. Three doors, slightly ajar.

You pushed open the first one. Small. Bright. The window faced east—you could already imagine morning light filling the crib, soft blankets folded over the chair you’d place in the corner.

Jack stepped beside you. “Definitely the nursery,” he said softly.

You moved to the second room. Bigger. The shape of a bed against the wall, dresser under the window, maybe a little chaos in the corners—Jack’s shoes, your half-read books.

“Our room,” you said.

He nodded, and then nudged the third door open with his foot. The last room.

Neither of you spoke as you stepped in. It was almost identical to the nursery—same creaky floorboard near the closet, same slanted ceiling that gave the space a little character. But this time, when you looked at it, you saw something different.

A twin bed. Toys on the floor. A sleepy toddler dragging a blanket behind them on a Sunday morning.

Jack moved behind you, his hands slipping onto your belly from behind, chin resting gently on your shoulder.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked quietly.

“I might be.”

“A second one?”

You turned your head toward him, half-smiling. “Too soon?”

Jack grinned. “Little bit. But not really.”

The baby kicked again—like he was chiming in.

You laughed. “You hear that? Your brother’s already opinionated.”

Jack kissed your shoulder, his voice warm against your skin. “Guess we’ll keep the extra room ready. Just in case.”

You both stood there a moment longer, wrapped in silence and the distant sounds of the old house settling around you.

———————————————————————

20 Weeks

Your next OB appointment. You didn’t remember this one either. Not that you needed to. Jack kept track of everything—dates, vitamins, test results. He was your living, breathing calendar.

This appointment you wanted go over your birth plan. 

“Of course. Let’s talk about what’s important to you. Any specific preferences? Vaginal delivery? Epidural? Who you want in the room?”

You looked at Jack first. He gave you the tiniest nod, that quiet go-ahead he always gave when the decision was yours, and he’d back you no matter what.

“I’d like to try for a vaginal delivery,” you said. “And I want an epidural, if I don’t need to feel all the pain, I don’t want to.”

The doctor made a note of it. “Totally fair. Birth doesn’t always go according to plan, but we’ll make sure you feel supported every step of the way.”

“And I’ll be there,” Jack added, like it wasn’t even a question. His voice was steady, but there was something in the way he said it. You reached for his hand without thinking, and he took yours immediately.

The OB smiled again. “Husband in the room. Got it. Anyone else?”

“No, just him. No matter how much anybody else wants to come in, I need them to stay in the waiting room, unless they need to drag jack out of the room for freaking out too much.”

“Which is a very real possibility.”

“Got it. Any thoughts on interventions? Vacuum, forceps, C-section if needed?”

You hesitated. That part scared you more than you liked to admit. But Jack squeezed your hand before you could answer.

“I’d like to avoid a C-section unless absolutely necessary,” you said. “Same with everything else, if possible of course. But do whatever you have to.”

“Completely reasonable. We’ll aim for low intervention, high support. I’ll note that flexibility is key. How long are you planning on staying at work?”

“As long as I can.”

You didn’t need to look at Jack to know that he was shaking his head.

“All up to you. If you want a note that you need to stop working let me know. It’s yours whenever you need.”

You exhaled slowly. It felt like you were drawing the map for a trip you couldn’t see yet but, at least now, the path had a shape.

The rest of the night was spent relaxing before your next shift. Going over your plan with Jack again. And getting some much needed sleep before work.

That night, between cases and chaos, you caught him just as he was sitting down to chart. 

“Hey, um—can I talk to you really quick?”

His head snapped toward you, brows pulling in. “Yeah. What happened?” His hand went straight to your belly.

You placed your hand gently over his. “The baby’s fine. Perfect, actually. I just...need to show you something.”

You held out your hand, fingers beckoning. Jack narrowed his eyes, voice softening. “Where exactly are you taking me?”

You smirked. “Don’t worry about it.”

You tugged him into the empty on call room, backing up until your spine met the wall.

His eyes darted around the space. “What are we doing in here?”

“Everything,” you whispered, grabbing the front of his scrubs and pulling him in close. “I need you right now, Jack.”

He hesitated only a beat, eyes going toward the door. Then he sighed, low and hungry.

“Well, if we’re doing this here...” His hand slipped away from your waist. “At least let me lock the god damn door first.”

The soft click of the lock was the only warning before you reached for your waistband, untying your scrub pants. Your top hiked up slightly, revealing the curve of your belly.

Jack’s eyes darkened as his hand found your stomach.

“God, you look so fucking good,” he murmured, voice rough. “Carrying my baby. Still this desperate for me to be inside of you.”

His hand moved lower, cupping you over your panties. “Fuck. You’re soaked already.”

“All for you,” you whispered.

His thumb pressed through the fabric, slow and deliberate.

“Ja-Jack,” you gasped, shifting your hips into his hand. “Please. I need your fingers inside me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

He slid your panties aside, two fingers running along your folds—slow, teasing strokes that sent electricity racing through your core. He dipped just enough to coat his fingers in you, but not enough to satisfy.

Then, finally, he pushed inside.

You bit down on your lip, head falling back against the wall.

His other hand came up fast, covering your mouth.

“Shhh,” he whispered in your ear. “Quiet, babygirl. Don’t want anyone knowing how fucking filthy you get for me.”

Your hands searched behind you, gripping for anything to brace yourself. The angle. The pressure. The thickness of his fingers curling just right. 

Moans broke from your throat, muffled against his palm.

He moved faster, deeper. Fingers fucking you with practiced precision while his thumb rubbed tight circles around your clit.

Your body started to quake.

“Look at you,” he growled. “Falling apart on my fingers. My perfect girl. My perfect mommy.”

Your eyes rolled back as the orgasm slammed into you—white-hot, unexpected, unstoppable.

You shook against him, clinging to his arm as your legs threatened to give out.

Jack held you upright, never letting go, fingers slowly easing out as he kissed your temple.

Still breathless, you whispered against his shoulder, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

He smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Not a chance. You’re carrying my whole world in there.”

Jack pulled his fingers from you slowly, like he hated to let go.

You were still trembling, thighs pressed together, leaning against him for balance as he gently fixed your panties back into place.

“Fuck,” he murmured, brushing his lips against your temple. “You okay?”

You nodded, eyes glassy, breath still uneven. “Yeah, yeah Just don’t think I can walk back out there yet.”

He chuckled, low and quiet. “You’re gonna have to. I’m not carrying you back to the nurse’s station with your legs like jelly and my cum on your thighs.”

You smacked his chest, trying not to laugh.

A sound. The unmistakable knock on the door.

Both of you froze.

Then came a voice—muffled but unmistakable.

“Hey, Abbott you in there? We got a GSW coming in 5!”

Dana.

Jack’s eyes went wide. You slapped a hand over your mouth to stifle the nervous laugh bubbling up.

He mouthed fuck and motioned silently for you to stay put while he moved toward the door.

“Yeah, one second” he called, voice a little too casual.

In one smooth motion, he straightened his scrubs, cleared his throat, unlocked the door—and stepped out.

“Sorry,” he said to Dana, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s go?”

Dana blinked at him, skeptical. “You’re sweating. You okay?”

Jack smiled. “Yeah just- just wanted to grab a quick nap. You know how these rooms get, pretty stuffy in there.”

You could hear the forced calm in his voice, and it made your cheeks burn.

Dana glanced past him, trying to peer into the room. “You in there alone?”

Jack blocked the door slightly with his body. “Yup. Just me.”

A beat passed. Then she raised an eyebrow.

“You seen your wife?” Dana asked. “She just kinda disappeared. Gonna need her for this one too.”

“Bathroom, I think,” he said smoothly. “You know, gotta pee all the time when you’re pregnant.”

Dana made a face. “Ugh. Say no more.”

Jack waited until she turned down the hallway before he exhaled and slipped back into the room, shutting the door behind him again—quietly this time.

You were still against the wall, lips parted in disbelief. “Did we seriously just almost get caught by Dana?”

He grinned. “We absolutely got caught by Dana.”

You stared at him, then burst out laughing—quiet and breathless and wild.

“I can’t believe you just lied to her face like that.”

Jack leaned in, hands braced on either side of your head. “I’d do a hell of a lot more than lie to protect this.” His voice dropped low.

Your laughter faded into something softer. More vulnerable. You reached up and brushed a thumb along his jaw.

“Next time,” you whispered, “we pick a room that doesn’t echo.”

He kissed you, slow and lingering.

“I’m already looking forward to next time.”

“Oh, you’ll get a next time. I’ll make sure of it.”

———————————————————————

22 Weeks

Just four weeks after looking at the house, you two were moving in. Everyone had been helping. Everyone.

People constantly at the apartment helping you pack things into boxes. Robby and Langdon going to the store with Jack to pick up all the furniture you wanting for the house. Dana, Collins, and Mel helping you find the perfect decor.

And now here you stood in the middle of your new living room, surrounded by cardboard boxes and the faint smell of old wood and fresh paint.

Jack was upstairs, wrestling a dresser up the narrow hallway, swearing under his breath in the gentlest way possible. You could hear the dull thud of a drawer sliding out, followed by the scrape of furniture against the banister.

Your hand rested on your belly. Twenty-two weeks. So close, yet so far.

You turned slowly in a circle, trying to decide which box to open first. The one labeled KITCHEN – FRAGILE stared back at you like a challenge. You ignored it and went for the one marked BOOKS – LIVING ROOM.

Jack thumped down the stairs a minute later, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Okay,” he said, out of breath. “I don’t care what the listing said, that hallway is not ‘spacious.’”

You grinned. “You got it up there, though?”

“Barely. I think it’s staying with the house when we die.”

You sat on the arm of the couch, letting the stretch in your lower back ease out. “I was going to start on the books.”

Jack glanced at the box. “Start with the ones we never read but pretend we did. Those can go on the living room shelves.”

He crossed the room to you and crouched down, one hand brushing against your knee, the other settling on your belly. “How’s he doing?”

You shrugged. “Chattier than usual. I think he likes the noise.”

“Or he’s already judging our furniture arrangement.”

You looked around. The couch was at an awkward angle, the coffee table hadn’t made it in yet, and you still hadn’t decided if the painting from your old apartment belonged anywhere in this new place.

It was chaos, but it was yours.

Jack leaned his head against your leg. “We’re really doing this,” he said, quieter now. “This whole thing. House. Baby. All of it.”

You ran your fingers through his silver hair. “We are.”

You felt home.

——————————————————

24 Weeks 

Your belly had rounded out more noticeably now. Jack couldn’t keep his hands—or his eyes—off of. Even during the most chaotic shifts, he found a way to check in: a hand on your lower back, a squeeze to your palm during charting, the kind of quiet glances that spoke louder than words.

You were 24 weeks today, at work while he was at home. Hopefully putting together more furniture that had just come in.

He texted you during rounds. “24 weeks. Viable. Our little one could make it of their own now.”

That night, it stormed. The kind of downpour that made traffic impossible, left sirens echoing too often, and made everything feel a little more raw.

You came home late, soaked and silent. Too tired to cook. Too wired to sleep.

Jack was the one who finally said it, after hours of half-watching some muted show from the couch.

“Come here.”

You were already next to him, but he opened his arms like he meant it—like he needed more.

You crawled into his lap, careful of your belly. He cradled you against him, one hand on your thigh, the other curved protectively around your stomach.

“The baby kicked earlier today,” you whispered into the crook of his neck.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “You didn’t tell me.”

“I wanted to wait until it was just us.”

His expression softened. He brought both hands to your belly now, thumbs brushing side to side like he was trying to feel her through will alone.

And then, like magic, another kick.

His face lit up like he’d been handed the universe.

You nodded, and he exhaled the kind of breath people only release when they’re holding too much love at once.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so in love with something I haven’t even met.”

You leaned forward and kissed him—soft and slow.

Your hand slid under his shirt, fingers tracing the planes of his chest. His lips moved against yours like a promise.

He lifted your shirt carefully,, until your belly was exposed.

Then he sank to his knees in front of you on the couch, lips brushing against the stretch of skin just above your navel.

“Hi baby,” he whispered. “It’s Daddy. You keep growing strong in there, okay? I’ll take care of her out here.”

You blinked back sudden tears, heart too full, body aching with love and something deeper.

He looked up at you, reading your expression instantly.

“C’mere,” he said softly, rising to his feet. 

“Let me take care of you, too.”

———————————————————————

26 Weeks

The nursery didn’t look like much yet—just a pile of boxes, a folded-up rug, and the smell of fresh paint still lingering faintly in the air. You stood in the doorway with a mug of chamomile tea, watching Jack wrestle with the instructions for the crib.

You stepped inside, careful over the half-unrolled rug, and knelt beside him. “Want me to read while you build?”

“God, yes. I’ve been pretending this part makes sense for twenty minutes.”

You took the manual, flipping through to the page with the exploded diagram. “Step one says attach Panel A to Side B using bolt type—wait, why are there three types of bolts?”

Jack looked at you like he might cry. “They’re identical, I swear.”

You laughed, and he softened at the sound, reaching to squeeze your knee. “Don’t laugh at the father of your child in his hour of need.”

“I’m laughing with you.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“Not yet.”

You handed him the correct bolts—probably—and settled beside him, your back leaning against the wall. 

You watched as he slowly pieced the frame together, getting into a rhythm. The room felt warm, despite the January air outside. You two had basically ignored the holidays with everything else going on.

The walls were pale blue now—soft and quiet.

Jack slid one of the sides into place, then sat back on his heels, wiping his hands on his jeans.

“Oh god, it’s done,” he declared.

“Certified by the ER doc?”

“I’ll get it notarized.”

You looked around. The rocking chair was still in the box. The mobile was still in the bag. There were folded baby clothes in a laundry basket in the hall, waiting for a dresser you hadn’t found yet.

But the crib was up.

Jack sat beside you, his shoulder against yours, both of you looking at it like it had just made something real that wasn’t quite real before.

“You okay?” he asked after a while, voice low.

You nodded, slowly. “Yeah. Just hitting me a little.”

“What part?”

You took a breath, exhaled slowly. “That there’s going to be a baby sleeping in that crib soon.”

Jack looked over at you, and his expression softened into something you’d seen a thousand times but never got tired of. That quiet, steady awe he reserved just for you.

“Our baby,” Jack said. 

You leaned your head against his shoulder. “You think we’ll be any good at this?”

“I think we’ll be tired. And messy. And figuring it out every day. But yeah.” He kissed the side of your head. “I think we’ll be pretty damn good.”

You closed your eyes for a second, letting the weight of the moment settle.

“You know,” Jack said, voice casual, “we still haven’t settled on a name.”

You smiled. “We’ve ruled out a lot, though.”

“That counts for something.”

Jack looked over at you. “Okay, so what do you like?”

You hesitated, watching the light from the window spill across the floor. “I keep thinking about names that sound solid. Not trendy. A name that would be good for when he’s an adult trying to get a job.”

Jack nodded thoughtfully. “I still like Wesley for a boy.”

You smiled faintly. “Yeah. That one can stay on the list. Even though you heard it on TV somewhere and it has no meaning to us”

“It’ll have meaning once theyr'e here.” He turned his head toward you. 

“I think it kicked just now, maybe it is a boy after all,” you whispered, one hand on your belly.

Jack moved to kneel in front of you, resting his palm gently over yours.

“You like that one, huh?” he said to your stomach, smiling.

You both sat with it for a minute in silence. It was the kind that stretched and softened between people who knew how to share it.

“So Wesley for a first name or middle name?” Jack sat up, crossed his legs. “Do we honor someone? Or do we just pick something that sounds good?”

You shrugged. “We still have a couple weeks. I’m sure something will come to us by then.”

Jack looked up at you, eyes soft. You reached for his hand, and together, you sat there, naming the future, one piece at a time.

———————————————————————

28 Weeks

You hadn’t planned on finding out.

At first, it was just going to be a surprise. Something you’d discover together in the delivery room, sweaty and overwhelmed and crying. But over time, the not-knowing started to weigh heavier than expected.

Jack never pushed. But you caught him daydreaming from time to time, talking to your bump in quiet moments, cycling through baby names. Jack had a strong feeling you were carrying his son. Only talked about boy names.

So when your OB offered to write it down in a sealed envelope, you nodded without hesitating.

You didn’t want to open it. Until tonight.

“I want to know,” you said softly, sliding the envelope across the kitchen counter to Jack. “If you still do.”

He looked up from where he was getting dinner ready, eyes wide. 

“You sure?”

You nodded, pulse already racing.

He wiped his hands on a towel, drying them carefully before picking it up.

“You open it,” you said.

“No,” he said gently, “I want to see your face when you find out.”

Your chest tightened. Hands trembling just slightly, you broke the seal. You unfolded the single piece of paper.

And read the word.

BOY.

It didn’t hit you all at once.

Then Jack stepped around the counter, reading it over your shoulder.

And everything stopped.

He laughed—but it broke halfway through, a sound caught between disbelief and something close to a sob. He pressed his forehead to yours, arms wrapping around your waist and belly in one movement.

“A boy,” he whispered. “We’re having a son.”

You laughed too, and suddenly the tears came fast. 

Jack held your face in his hands. 

“A son,” he said again, voice. “I swear I’m going to love the hell out of this kid.”

You ran your hands through his hair, brushing it back from his face as his eyes stayed locked on your belly.

“I think he already knows,” you said.

Jack looked up at you, eyes glassy. “He’s going to know everything. Every day. How much we love him. How much he’s wanted.”

And for the first time in weeks, the future didn’t feel so far away.

———————————————————————

32 Weeks 

Your schedule had barely lined up with Jacks in the past couple weeks. But once it did, Jack had plans for you two. 

The night went on, chaos as usual. Until 4AM. 

He caught your eye in the hallway—just a glance, but you knew that look.

You had just sat down to eat a quick snack when he appeared behind you, voice low, warm against your ear.

“Follow me.”

You glanced around. “Jack—”

He turned, walking away like he hadn’t just whispered something that set your skin on fire.

You followed him anyway.

The on-call room door clicked shut behind you a moment later. The lights were off. Jack didn’t turn them on.

He just backed you against the wall with a hand on your belly and a kiss that made time stop.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he murmured against your mouth. “You’re happy. Glowing. Carrying our son.”

His hands slipped under your scrubs.  One slid around to the small of your back, the other resting protectively over your bump.

“I love how you say our son,” you whispered, already breathless.

“Say it again?”

You smiled. “Our son.”

His hand dipped between your legs without hesitation, cupping the heat he knew was waiting for him.

“Fuck, babygirl,” he groaned. “You’re always so ready for me.”

He lifted you onto the edge of the nightstand, working fast but careful. 

Your legs parted, scrubs halfway down, his mouth on your neck, hand moving between your thighs until your head hit the wall behind you.

“Quiet,” he whispered. “You know these walls are paper thin.”

“Then don’t make me moan,” you shot back, voice thick with want.

His grin was wicked. “No promises.”

He dropped to his knees and disappeared between your legs, and all you could do was bite your knuckle and hope the shift stayed quiet five more minutes.

Jack’s tongue dragged through your folds like he was memorizing you all over again.

Slow. Deep. Obsessive.

Your thighs trembled around his shoulders, your hands gripping the edge of the cot so tightly your knuckles ached.

“Jack—” You breathed his name like a warning.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t even slow.

His tongue circled your clit with precision while his fingers slipped inside you, curling up at just the right angle. 

It was too much yet somehow not nearly enough.

You came hard and fast, biting back a cry as your body arched.

He stayed with you the whole way, holding your hips, riding out every pulse of your orgasm like he wanted to feel it himself.

By the time you opened your eyes, he was already standing, undoing his scrub pants with one hand, eyes locked on you like he might not survive another second without being inside you.

“Turn around,” he said, voice rough and ragged.

You obeyed, turning to face the wall, breath still uneven.

He slid into you slowly, deep and the sound that came out of both of you was pure relief.

“God, you feel so fucking good around my cock babygirl.” he groaned.

Your forehead pressed to the wall, mouth open, body rocking back to meet his every thrust.

“Harder,” you whispered. “I can take it daddy.”

He gave you what you asked for. Each stroke slamming into that sweet spot inside you, his body hot and heavy behind yours, his rhythm fast and hungry.

“You’re mine,” he gritted through clenched teeth. “My wife. The mother of my child. My whole fucking world.”

You pushed back into him harder, chasing that edge again.

“Then don’t stop,” you gasped. “Show me.”

And he did.

The pleasure built fast. Frantic and unstoppable. You reached between your legs, fingers circling your clit.

“Ja-Jack—”

“Fuck, I’m close.”

“I’m gonna—”

You came together, your body clenching around him, his hips jerking deep inside as he spilled into you.

The only sound in the room was your breathing, shaky and uneven.

He leaned over you, still buried inside you, pressing soft kisses to the back of your neck.

“Get dressed before someone…

A knock at the door made you both freeze.

“Hey!” came Robby’s voice. “Tell me you’re not doing what I know you’re doing in there!”

Jack groaned and dropped his head into your shoulder, chuckling.

“One minute!,” he whispered. He pulled out of you slowly. “Worth it.”

Since this had become somewhat of a habit, Jack had towels ready to clean himself off of you.

You tried to walk out first. Tried to act like it was just another on-call nap.

But you didn’t even make it to the nurse’s station before the ambush.

Robby stood with a cup of coffee in hand, leaned against the counter with the same smug look he wore anytime he caught anyone doing something even almost against the rules.

“You two owe me new ears,” he said flatly. “And a therapy session.”

Dana, sitting beside him, didn’t look up from her chart. “At least pretend to be subtle next time. We have patients trying to survive, and you two are in there giving the walls a show.”

You felt Jack step up behind you, his hand finding your lower back as always.

“We were gone maybe twenty minutes,” he said.

Dana finally looked up. “You were gone forty-five minutes. And you walked out looking like you just finished a marathon.”

Jack grinned unapologetically. “Best forty-five minutes of my life.”

“Yeah, we all know that wasn’t the first time.” Said Robby while rolling his eyes.

Langdon appeared from around the corner, perfectly deadpan. “If HR asks, I didn’t hear a thing. But if I ever get stuck in that on-call room, I’ll just sleep outside instead.”

You groaned and buried your face in Jack’s shoulder.

He wrapped his arm around you like a shield. “Hey, she needed a break. Doctor’s orders.”

Robby snorted. “Oh yeah? Was the baby involved in that medical necessity?”

Jack didn’t miss a beat. “He approved.”

That brought everything to a halt.

Dana’s eyes widened. “He?”

You blinked, cheeks warming. “Yeah. We decided to open the envelope.”

Langdon raised a brow. “So the orgasm was celebratory?”

You made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Can we please change the subject?”

Too late. Dana stood, walking around the counter to hug you with a wide grin.

“A boy,” she said warmly. “God help us all.”

Jack leaned in and kissed the side of your head, completely unbothered by the teasing. And for a moment—amid the chaos, sarcasm, and inappropriate comments, it felt like everything was exactly how it should be.

“Hey, you ready to head home?”

“Yeah, I just need to talk to Robby first. Should be quick.”

“Glad you’re finally taking your time away from here.”

You went to Robbys office where Collins was sitting inside talking to him.

“Hey, you mind if I steal your husband for a couple of minutes?”

“He’s all yours.” As she was walking past you, she put her hand on your growing stomach. “Hey there baby boy!”

You stepped inside and shut the door. “Ugh, this back pain is going to have me admitted soon enough.”

He nodded and gestured to the chair across from his desk. “Sit. Talk to me kid. Whats going on?"

You lowered yourself into the chair slowly—thirty-two weeks in, and even basic everything came with sound effects now.

Robby leaned forward, arms resting on the desk. “How you feeling?”

“Tired. Hungry. Nervous.”

He nodded. “So, business as usual.”

You cracked a smile. “I- I wanted to get started the paperwork for maternity leave.”

Robby didn’t say anything for a second, just looked at you. Not with surprise, he knew it was coming.

“When are you thinking?” he asked.

“I’ll think I want to work up to 36 or 37 weeks, depending on how I’m feeling. 

“Think that’s a good idea. How long do you want after?”

“Well I think that 12 weeks would be good enough but, Jack wants me to take 6 months.”

“If you take 3 months or 6 months, you’ll always have a place here.”

There was a quiet moment. He scratched something on a notepad, then leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “You know it’s going to be weird here without you.”

“Don’t worry, you’d have to physically drag me out of here to keep me from coming back after.”

“I know.” He gave a faint smile. “Still going to be weird.”

You shrugged. “You’ll have Jack. He’ll keep you in line.”

Robby snorted. “Jack barely keeps Jack in line.”

“Yeah about Jack actually.” Your tone became more serious. “He’s just been so anxious recently, you know all the baby stuff and now the house and work. I- I need to know that if something goes wrong during delivery…if something happens to me…” You took a deep breath. “You’ll take care of Jack.”

Robby didn’t move. For a long second, he just stared at you. Then he leaned forward, slow and steady, until his arms rested on the desk in front of him. “You think he wouldn’t be taken care of?”

You shook your head. “No, that’s not—he’d survive. Of course. But he’d fall apart first. And he wouldn't let anyone see it. Not even Dana. Not even Langdon. Not anybody. He’d keep working. He’d try to act like he was okay, and it would eat him alive.”

Robby sat back slowly, his face unreadable. Then he spoke, and his voice was softer than you’d ever heard it. “You think I haven’t already thought about that?”

You blinked.

“I’ve known Jack for too long,” he said. “Watched him lose patients. Watched him get in fights. Watched him fall in love with you so fast it scared the hell out of me.” He let out a dry breath. “I’ve already thought about what I’d do. I just hoped I’d never need to.”

“I know it’s unlikely,” you said, more to yourself than to him. “But things go wrong. Even when they’re not supposed to.”

He nodded slowly. “You’ve been on both sides of the trauma bay. You know better than anyone.”

The room went quiet for a long time.

Then Robby leaned forward again, lacing his fingers on the desk.

“If something happens,” he said, “I’ll take care of him. I’ll make sure he doesn’t drown in it. I’ll bring him home. I’ll put food in his fridge and get him to shower and tell him he’s not okay, and that’s fine. I’ll do all of that. As many times as it takes.”

You swallowed hard, eyes stinging.

“But,” Robby added, “You don’t get to disappear on us. You hear me?”

You let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah.”

“I mean it. You’re allowed to be scared. But you don’t get to check out. Not if I’ve got a say in it.”

You nodded, brushing at the corner of your eye.

Robby stood and came around the desk. For a second, he just looked at you—like a brother would. Then he reached down and pulled you into a hug, careful of your belly but not at all careful with his heart.

“I got you,” he murmured. “Both of you.”

And for the first time in weeks, your breath felt like it reached all the way down into your chest again.

You let the silence settle for a beat, eyes drifting to the framed photo on Robby’s desk— a picture of Collins and their child at the beach, sand stuck to their legs, wide grins that didn’t care about sunscreen or the time.

He caught your gaze. “It changes everything you know. Having a kid.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’ll be good at it, though. Both of you.”

You blinked a little too fast and looked down at your hands. “We’re trying to figure it out.”

“You don’t have to know everything yet. You just have to show up.” He paused, then added, “That kid’s already luckier than most.”

You didn’t say anything right away. Just nodded. Let the words sink in.

Robby cleared his throat and reached for a folder. “I’ll email you the HR packet. We’ll work out the schedule. You just tell me if anything changes, okay?”

You stood, placing a hand on your belly with a small smile. “Thanks, Robby.”

As you turned to leave, he added, “Hey.”

You looked back.

“If I hear even one more thing about you and Jack using that on-call room like a honeymoon suite, I’m locking it from the outside.”

You laughed. “Deal.”

And as you stepped out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind you, you felt a little lighter. 

One step closer to meeting your son.

———————————————————————

34 Weeks

Jack stood alone at the supply cart, restocking syringes with mechanical precision. The rhythm of it was almost meditative.

Robby found him there, hands in his jacket pockets, lingering like someone who had something to say and didn’t quite know how to start.

“Glad she took the night off.”

“Yeah she spent the whole day throwing up, almost had to bring her here as a patient. But she’s okay now, just needs to rest for a couple days.”

“You think she’ll make it to 36 weeks here?”

“For the baby’s sake, I hope not. But knowing her and her stubbornness, she will."

Robby leaned against the wall, silent for a moment. “She came to see me 2 weeks ago.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed slightly. “About the maternity leave?”

“Yeah,” Robby said. “But not just that.”

Jack set the last syringe into place and shut the drawer. “Okay?”

Robby watched him for a second. “She asked me to take care of you.”

Jack stilled.

“She said if something happens, during delivery, if so…meshing happens to her, she wants to make sure you’re not alone.”

The silence stretched between them.

Jack didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. Just stared at the closed drawer like it could explain something.

Robby stepped forward, lowering his voice. “She’s scared, Jack. Not of being a mom. Not even of labor, I don’t think. But of what it would do to you if something went wrong.”

Jack’s jaw clenched. He nodded once, like that was all he could allow himself.

“I told her I’d look out for you,” Robby said. “I told her I already planned to.”

Jack finally looked up. His eyes weren’t wet, but they were close. “She shouldn’t be thinking about that.”

“She’s a doctor. A damn good one. She knows the risks. Seen more than anyone should have to.”

“I know, I know.” His voice was rough, low. “I just- I don’t want her scared.”

“She’s not scared of dying,” Robby said gently. “She’s scared of leaving you. It’s not the same thing.”

Jack looked down again, rubbed a hand over his face. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, quietly: “You’ll keep your word?”

Robby didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I will.”

Another pause.

“I can’t lose her Robby,” Jack whispered. “I won’t make it.”

Robby put a hand on his shoulder, solid and sure. “You’re not going to.”

Jack nodded, slow. Then rubbed both hands over his face again, this time with more force—like he could scrub the fear off.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

Robby let his hand fall away. “Just- when she needs you to act calm, act calm. And when she needs you to panic a little? Panic with her.”

Jack cracked a faint smile. “You give this speech to every soon-to-be dad?”

“Only the ones who might implode if things go sideways.”

Jack smirked, barely, but it was there. “Fair enough.”

They stood there a minute longer both carrying more than they said.

And then, like always, they went back to work.

Except now he pulled every OB resident he trusted into side conversations. Asked about signs of hemorrhage. About shoulder dystocia. About NICU protocols and what really happens when things don’t go as planned.

He framed it like curiosity, like professional interest—but Dana knew, and Langdon knew, and Robby definitely knew.

———————————————————————

36 Weeks

You were exhausted. Sitting at home all day wore you out more than you ever thought it would.

The kind of exhausted that made you feel like everything in your body was weighing you down. 

Thirty-six weeks. You’d stopped counting days. But Jack still looked at you like you were the most breathtaking woman he’d ever seen.

Which, at this moment, made you feel like you needed him just as much as he needed you.

You were lying on your side in bed, a hand resting protectively over your belly, when he came in from his morning shower. Damp hair. Bare chest. Sleepy smile.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, eyes flicking to your bump. “Need anything?”

You looked up at him, slow and deliberate. “Yeah actually,” you said softly. “I need you.”

He crawled into bed beside you, careful as always, hand coming to rest on your thigh. 

“What kind of need are we talking here?”

You shifted, moved with deliberate slowness, until you were kneeling between his legs. Belly full and round between you. 

His eyes widened—concerned first, then darkening quickly as he realized where this was going.

“Babygirl, are you sure ? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I want you. But you’ve just been so tired lately.”

You looked up at him. “Let me take care of you.”

He swallowed hard. His cock was already twitching in his boxers, barely hidden. 

You pulled his waistband down, freeing him. 

Thick and heavy, already hard in your hand. You kissed his tip first, slow and soft, tasting his precum.

He groaned immediately, hips twitching. “Fuck.”

You took him into your mouth, just the head at first, letting your tongue swirl around.

His hand found your hair, gentle, never pushing, never rushing.

“You’re so good at this my dirty girl,” he murmured. “God, baby, you don’t have to…”

You went deeper, and he lost the rest of the sentence.

You worked him with your mouth, your hand wrapped around the base, moving in slow tandem with your tongue. He was unraveling beneath you, every sound he made proof of how much he needed this, needed you.

He brushed your hair back, groaning your name. “I’m close,” he warned. “You want me to?”

You pulled back just far enough to say, “In my mouth, Jack. I want all of it.”

That was all it took.

He came, hips bucking once, his hot release spilling onto your tongue. You kept going, gentle, milking him through it until he was panting, eyes glazed over like he’d just saw heaven.

When you finally sat back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, he looked up at you like you’d just knocked the breath out of him.

“So me babygirl. Show me what I gave you.”

He sat up, looking directly into your eyes. You opened your mouth, his cum spilling out of the corners. With his thumb, he guided his seed back into your mouth until you sucked on his thumb. Getting every last drop of him. 

“Swallow me.” 

And you did. 

“I do not deserve you,” he whispered.

You smiled, easing back beside him. “You really, really do.”

He pulled you close after that, one hand on your belly, the other tangled in your fingers.

“Just remind me to return the favor,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You smirked. “You’ve got four weeks, daddy.”

And Jack? He looked ready to make every one of them count.

———————————————————————

37 Weeks

Jack didn’t make a big deal out of the due date. He didn’t talk about it much, didn’t circle it on a calendar or start any countdown. But you knew he was keeping track. He always kept track.

You started noticing the little things first. How your car’s gas tank was always full. How your overnight bag slowly filled itself, snacks, chargers, an extra hoodie he never wore but packed anyway because you liked it. 

He just did it. All of it without you ever saying anything.

Sometimes you’d catch him in the nursery at night. Not doing anything, just standing there. One hand on the crib rail, eyes tracing the space like he was rehearsing something he couldn’t quite say out loud.

He rewired the baby monitor so it reached farther. Tested it three times. Installed a soft nightlight in the hallway, not because you needed it, but because he couldn’t stand the idea of fumbling in the dark if something happened.

There was a checklist in his notebook. Not digital—written by hand. Folded neatly in half and kept in his back pocket when he came home from work.

Jack didn’t talk about fear. He didn’t talk about worst-case scenarios, or about what could go wrong. But when you reached for his hand at night, his fingers were already waiting.

One evening, you found him sitting on the floor beside the crib, tightening one of the screws even though it didn’t need it. You leaned against the doorframe and watched.

“You think he’ll like it?” you asked quietly.

Jack looked up at you. Nodded. “Yeah. I think he will.”

You didn’t say anything. You just put your hand over his.

———————————————————————

38 Weeks 

You were done waiting. Having your baby in April felt nice. 

Every step felt heavier. Every hour dragged. 

Thirty-eight weeks, swollen and aching, and somehow still wanting him inside you more than ever.

Jack had been hovering since you took the first test. 

You came into the bedroom after your shower, towel slung around your waist, damp hair curling at the edges. You sat on the edge of the bed, your hand resting instinctively over your firm your belly.

“Hey,” he said softly, already reading the look in your eyes. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “But I need you to help me.”

He crossed the room quickly, crouching in front of you. “What’s wrong?”

You leaned forward, lips brushing his ear. “I need you to fuck me again.”

He pulled back slightly, eyebrows raised, lips parting. “You serious?”

“I’ve read every myth and midwife blog I could find. Sex helps induce labor. And if this baby’s ready, I am, too.”

This wasn’t just sex. It was trust. It was the both of you saying: Let’s do this. Let’s meet our son.

He stood to meet you at the edge of the bed. 

You lay back on the bed, shifting carefully, hips wide to make space for everything you were carrying. He climbed over you like he’d done it a thousand times but, this was different.

His hands trailed down your sides, reverent. His eyes never left yours.

“Tell me if anything feels wrong,” he murmured.

“Only thing that feels wrong is not having you inside of me fucking me into labor.”

That pulled a groan from his throat.

He knelt between your legs, guiding himself into you slowly, carefully. You were wetter than you’d expected. Desperate.

“God,” he whispered as he slid in. “You feel incredible.”

You wrapped your legs around his hips, feeling full and stretched and grounded. 

Every movement was slow at first, deeper than fast.

Jack bent to kiss you, moaning into your mouth as your hips rolled up to meet him.

“You good, babygirl?”

“Better than good. Don’t stop, daddy.”

And he didn’t.

He moved like he was trying to memorize your body one last time before everything changed. His hands on your belly, his forehead pressed to yours, soft grunts against your skin.

Then suddenly—your body tightened.

Not in pleasure. But in pressure.

You gasped, hand flying to your stomach. 

“Jack—”

He stopped instantly. “What? What is it? Did I hurt you?”

“No—no. I thi- I think that might have been a contraction.”

He blinked, his entire body going still. Still inside you. “Like a real one?”

Another one followed, sharper. “Fuck,” you hissed. “That’s definitely real.”

Jack pulled out gently, panic and awe crashing over his face. “Okay. Okay, baby—uh—do we call the OB? You want to go now?”

You grabbed his wrist, eyes locked on his. “Jack. Finish what you started.”

His mouth dropped open. “You still want..”

“I’m not in active labor yet. Might as well fuck me until I am.”

He laughed, full and loud, and kissed you hard.

“Well,” he muttered against your lips, guiding himself back in, “if my son wants to arrive in style.”

And with that, you rode wave after wave—of contractions, of pleasure, of something sacred and wild and absolutely yours.

By the time the next contraction hit, you were already moaning into his neck.

And your labor had officially begun.

———————————————————————

Jack’s hand never left yours during the car ride, one on the wheel with one hand, gripping yours with the other. The go-bag was already in the car with everything you could need while in the hospital. Plus more.

You were timing the contractions on your phone, trying to breathe through them, but they were coming faster now. Five minutes apart. Then four.

By the time he pulled into the hospital lot, you were doubled over in the passenger seat.

“Fuck,” you hissed, clenching his hand. “That one hurt.”

Jack threw the car into park and jumped out, rushing around to your door.

“Okay, let’s go. Slow and steady.”

You were halfway to the entrance when a voice called out—

“Hey, that looks like an ‘I just had sec and now I’m in labor’ face.” Robby. Of course.

Jack just flipped him off without breaking stride. “Call OB, she’s in labor. Now.”

Dana was at the triage desk when you walked in, her eyes wide.

“Whoa, whoa—are you…?”

“Yep,” you gasped. “Contractions. Thirty-eight weeks. We’re about to have a baby.”

She jumped up from her chair. “Got it. OB’s on call. We’ll page them. You need a wheelchair?”

“No,” you gritted out. “I can walk—”

Another contraction hit, and your knees buckled slightly. Jack caught you with both arms. 

“You’re not walking anywhere,” he muttered, already lowering you into a chair someone had wheeled over. “I’ve got you.”

The elevator ride was a blur. Someone shouted “incoming labor!” over the intercom, and by the time the doors opened on L&D, a nurse was already waiting with a gown and a monitor.

Dana, Robby, and Langdon had followed the chaos up as far as they could. The doors started to close again, but not before you looked back and saw them.

Robby grinning like a lunatic. Dana blinking hard like she might cry. Langdon sipping coffee and saying, “Don’t forget to breathe, Jack!”

Then the doors shut. Hours blurred. Morning into afternoon.

Contractions. Monitors. The deep, low sound of your own breath trying to ground you. Jack never left your side. Even after three coffees and a panic attack in the hallway.

“You’re doing amazing babygirl.” he whispered, brushing sweaty strands of hair from your face.

“I better be,” you groaned. “You’re the reason this is happening.”

He laughed softly, kissed your forehead. “Best thing I’ve ever done.”

Then your OB walked in, checked your dilation, and said the words:

“It’s time to push.”

Jack froze. You squeezed his hand so tight he winced.

“Ready?” He asked.

Jack nodded for you both. “Yeah. We’re ready.”

Your legs were up in stirrups. The pressure was unbearable. But Jack was there, one hand gripping yours, the other bracing behind your head.

“You’re doing so good,” he whispered. “So, so good. You’ve got this.”

Your OB sat between your legs, calm and steady.

“Okay, next contraction,” he said. “Push for me.”

You nodded, bracing yourself. Then it hit. Face twisting in pain.

Jack was right there, voice in your ear. “That’s it. Come on, babygirl. You’re almost there.”

Your OB’s voice cut through the haze. “He’s crowning! One more big push—just one more!”

Tears blurred your vision. You weren’t sure if they were from pain or adrenaline or love. 

Maybe all three.

“Come on, mama. Bring our boy home.”

And with one final, scream—you pushed.

And then,

A cry.

“Time of birth: 2:24 p.m.,” said the OB.

But you didn’t hear anything except the sound of your son’s first breath.

Jack choked out a sob beside you, hand covering his mouth as he stared.

“He’s here,” he whispered. “Oh my God. He’s here.”

They laid your son on your chest, slippery and warm, his fists clenched tight as he wailed against your heartbeat.

You looked down and lost yourself completely.

Tiny nose. Your dark hair. His father’s eyes.

He quieted the second you touched him. Jack leaned over you both, tears streaming freely now.

“Hi, baby boy,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I’m your dad.”

You looked up at him, your hand reaching for his face.

“We did it,” you breathed.

He kissed your lips, salty and trembling. “You did it,” he whispered. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Alright, have to deliver the placenta on your next contraction.” 

You leaned your head over to the left, looking down at what was happening to the lower half of your body.

Your expression faltered. Your eyes rolled slightly.

Jack’s smile vanished. “Hey, hey, hey, look at me,” he said quickly, cupping your face. “What’s wrong?”

Your eyelids heavy. Your sight of Jack directly in front of you becoming blurry.

“Alright we got some bleeding here.”

Blood. Everywhere. Jack could hear it pouring onto the floor below you.

“She's hemorrhaging!” a nurse shouted.

“You shouldn’t be in here Dr. Abbot!” Said your OB as a nurse pulled your son off of your chest.

“No, I’m not leaving her!”

“Someone go get Robby!” A nurse yelled from across the room.

“Jack..” You managed to get out in a whisper.

“I’m right here. I’m right here babygirl. I’m not going anywhere.”

“N-no, his name… Jack.” you breathed. “Your name. He should know who he comes from.”

Jack shook his head, blinking hard, lips trembling. “Don’t say it like it’s goodbye.”

“It’s not,” you whispered, your breath catching. “It’s for him. Just in case. I want him to carry you forever.”

Jack leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours, tears slipping from his eyes and into your hair. “Okay,” he choked out. “Okay, we’ll name him Jack. Our boy. He’ll know.”

Your eyes fluttered, body growing heavier by the second. You exhaled, barely audible.

Jack kissed your cheek, your forehead, your lips—desperate to keep you tethered. “I love you. Don’t let go. Please, baby, don’t—”

Your eyes shut.

The commotion around you barely audible as you slipped out of consciousness. “BP’s dropping—she’s crashing!” “Get her to ICU now. We need to intubate and stabilize.”

“No, no—” Jack stumbled forward, but Robby caught him, using all his strength to pull Jack out of the room and into the hallway.

Jack could barely breathe.

He didn’t even realize the team pushing your crying baby boy passed and down to the nursery. 

“Jack,” he said carefully. “Listen to me.”

Jack shook his head. “She was fine—she was fine a couple of minutes ago, Robby. What the fuck happened?”

“I know. But she’s not now. She’s in the best hands. Let them work.”

“I- I can’t do this without her, Robby. We’re supposed to be talking about the rest of our lives right now. I won’t make it through this alone. I need her.”

“You’re not alone. We’re all here with you. And with her. There’s a waiting room full out there just for you guys. You don’t need to do this by yourself now.”

He lowered himself to the cold, hallway floor. Arms went up, hands above his head, fingers intertwined in his hair.

“I can’t lose her Robby.” His voice broke as he looked up, tears pouring down his face, eyes already bloodshot. “This is all my fault.”

His entire world just changed in the blink of an eye. Because your family just began. But you weren’t there for it with him. 

———————————————————————

Wooo, my longest fanfic so far! Y’all I had to take so many breaks while writing this.  Also accidentally deleted the whole thing and almost threw my laptop across the room but, here it is! And there obviously has to be another part. 

Let me know what you guys think down below please ! :) 

[bimbovicc]

ugh i would LOVE to read more about bruce x clark x reader and the kryptonian breeding season if you ever wanna write more about that

#KRYPTONIAN BREEDING SEASON HCs ˎˊ˗

Bruce Wayne x Clark Kent x fem!Reader 🩷 ── .✦

a/n : okay sooo like… i literally cannot stop thinking about bruce and clark absolutely wrecking me during kryptonian breeding season like??? one’s all cold and calculated and the other one is just a feral puppy in heat and i’m the dumb little thing stuck between them crying and begging and full of everything they wanna give me… like oops!! guess i was made to be their perfect lil cumdump. this is for my fellow needy girlies who love getting bred stupid and filled over n over until they can’t walk and don’t even remember their name — just “daddy” and “sir.” be safe, be hydrated, and don’t trust clark when he says “just one more” because HE’S LYING 🤥 mwahhh enjoy the mess!! 🩷

ᯓ★ The moment Clark’s breeding season starts, you can feel it in the air. Clark’s body runs hotter, his touches linger longer, and he starts growling under his breath whenever another man looks at you—even Bruce.

ᯓ★ He becomes insatiable. We’re talking multiple times a day, desperate humping against your thighs in the morning, needing you on your hands and knees before you’ve even had coffee.

ᯓ★ His favorite position during his “breeding season” ? Bent-over mating press or from behind with your knees tucked under you—anything where he can press his weight into you, knot himself deep, and stay there.

ᯓ★ Clark marks you with his scent constantly—nuzzling your neck, rubbing your inner thighs, licking your chest—and gets irrationally possessive when it starts to fade.

ᯓ★ Bruce pretends he’s above it. He even scoffs when Clark starts his “breeding season” —until he sees you dripping and trembling from being bred nonstop.

ᯓ★ That’s when the switch flips. Suddenly, he’s in front of you while Clark fucks you, holding your jaw and making you look up at him while he fucks your mouth.

ᯓ★ He talks dirty in your ear while Clark’s breeding you, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise:

“He’s going to fuck a baby into you. Do you want that? One from both of us?”

ᯓ★ He won’t let Clark have you all to himself. Bruce insists on taking your mouth or ass while Clark has your pussy. Double stuffing is standard during breeding season.

ᯓ★ Bruce never loses composure, but the way he clenches his jaw and grunts when he spills inside you? That’s his version of falling apart.

ᯓ★ They don’t fight over you—they share you. Clark fucks to breed; Bruce fucks to claim.

ᯓ★ They put you in heat-like states just from overstimulation: pinned between both of them, cock-drunk, messy, and mumbling about wanting their babies while one holds your legs open and the other fills you to the brim.

ᯓ★ They make you cum over and over just to ensure your body is “ready to receive”—Bruce with slow, cruel fingers on your clit, Clark rutting in and out like an animal until your thighs shake.

ᯓ★ The aftercare is almost worse: Clark’s kissing your belly, talking about “how many he thinks took,” while Bruce presses a hand over your full cunt to keep everything inside.

“Don’t waste a drop. You’re ours.”

[xelasrecords]

Touch My Soul

Sylus x MC (NSFW)

It’s kind of hot of Sylus to come back dripping in blood. MC wrestles between jumping his bones and taking care of him.

A/N: Being taken care of by your lover after a long day has got to be one of my favourite things to write. Endless Nightmare, Thank You for the Food, Locus of Pain, and The Love We Live For deal with this from different angles, yet I never get bored. Here’s one more.

Words: 3.3k

Masterlist | Read on AO3

Black and red particles swirled into a hulking figure of a man in the middle of her living room. A familiar iron tang assaulted her senses. The said man was drenched in crimson, beads of blood dripping down his tattered shirt and fingertips.

Her heart leapt to her throat as she slammed her magazine on the couch and scanned for open wounds. Sylus was doing it again. Asking for trouble or being the trouble itself. But he was folding his arms with mild interest, and his lips still retained their colour. He wasn’t limping or wincing in pain. There was no other telltale sign of exhaustion after an intensive self-healing process. The blood must not be his.

She felt herself deflated in relief.

“Worried about me?” Sylus cocked his head to the side.

She threw her arm on the back of the couch and leaned back. “I’m admiring the view. What an honour it is to see you oozing sex appeal.”

“I’m oozing blood.”

“Which isn’t yours,” she said pointedly. A small stutter in her mind pleaded that it indeed wasn’t.

Sylus smirked. “Clever.”

Good enough. Sylus wouldn’t lie to her.

“You should be covered in blood more often.” She shifted her hair so it cascaded down one shoulder and exposed the slope of her neck on the other side. “It really gets me going.”

It earned her a deep chuckle from Sylus. She decided then that acting on the thrill down her backbone as soon as possible was the best option. His angled jaw was smeared with blood, but his red eyes never lost their predatory glint. He had come out a victor from what seemed like a brutal brawl. She wished she had been there. Watching Sylus in action paved a swift path to her sensual fantasies.

“A Hunter approving of crimes,” he said. “The Onychinus application is ready whenever you want to fill it.”

She crooked her finger, gesturing Sylus to come nearer. “I never said whose blood it would be.”

Sylus stalked towards her at a leisurely pace and bent to her level. “You wish to put another bullet through me?”

“You’ll survive.”

“Are you trying to test how formidable my heart is for you?” He knotted his fingers with hers and pressed his lips against the inside of her wrist. It was a brush that made her pulse thrum with need. “Quite a sadistic streak you possess there.”

“You have corrupted me.”

“Pledge innocence all you want, kitten. You’re not fooling anyone.” For a moment, his stare glazed over as if he was thinking about something she hadn’t gained the privilege to be a part of. But his attention honed in on her again in the next second. “Besides, I recall you were aiming for the kill in our first interaction.”

“I literally thought you murdered my grandmother and friend.”

“And where did that blind assumption get you?”

She sent her resonance through their clasped hands, and a shiver of pleasure passed through them. “To you here with me.”

It had been weeks since they last met. She was starved for Sylus and his devotion so total that she couldn’t bring herself to think of anything but him. While they were still bonded, she also seized the opportunity to prod against his internal system, searching for hidden injuries. Sylus’s shoulders dropped in understanding, and he shook his head slightly.

Sylus was always in danger. She was in no position to save him when he was more than capable of doing it on his own, but she worried on his behalf. Sylus shouldn’t push the boundaries of his invincibility and return bearing mortal wounds. He should stay alive. If he came back shattered, she would gather his broken parts and patch him back together.

Sylus was hers. Hers to ruin and hers to fix. The only place he could fall on his knees was by her feet. Not the soil, not the battlefield. As long as she was around, she would not let him break down and dissolve as one with the wind. He would live. She would give her life to ignite his.

She could only wish Sylus wouldn’t tire of her too soon. That she wasn’t like his other worldly possessions. This, she had to believe.

Sylus grasped her hand tighter and sent back a deluge of desire that rivalled hers. He held her chin up and caressed the column of her neck. “I have missed you as well.”

She smiled and leaned in. Sylus almost got to kiss her, but she pushed him back at the last minute. She trailed her finger down his torn shirt, her freshly manicured nail grazing his chest. Only on her off-days could she maintain perfect nails. “I’ll draw a bath for you.”

Sylus took a sharp inhale. “And wash away my sex appeal?” He dropped his stained blazer to the rug, blood seeping into the red and gold weaving.

She frowned at his offensive movement.

That was her rug. Her magnificent oriental rug that was handcrafted for an empress from hundreds of years ago. She had gone to many auctions to locate and secure this artwork. Not even Sylus would be forgiven if he ruined it.

She kicked his damned blazer to the floor. Wooden floorboards could be replaced. Sylus was a man of abundant resources. “Stop bleeding on my rug.”

He seemed affronted, more from the loss of her touch rather than her abject horror. “I’ll replace it with a new one.”

“That’s vintage. The weaver is dead. You of all people should know the value of art from a bygone era.”

Sylus perked up at the mention of the dead artist. “Resurrection is a fascinating experiment. Would you like to test the limits of my Evol?”

The antique collector in him was not comprehending the direness of this situation.

She crossed her arms. “I don’t want to handle the logistics of tracking down her corpse, which I’m sure you’ll pull me along for.”

“Skipping out on fun, I see.” Sylus snapped his fingers. “Ta-da, blood is cleaned. Satisfied?”

She prostrated herself until her forehead almost touched the rug and glared at Sylus. “You didn’t repair it right. The colouring is off.”

“I’ll have it sent for the most delicate restoration so it will be as good as old.” Sylus assumed a formal bow and extended a bloodied hand. “Will that appease you, my lady?”

“Only if you guarantee its safe delivery.”

“Luke and Kieran will be its dedicated protectors throughout the process.”

She frowned. “You can take a twin. Two rug bodyguards are excessive.”

“I promise you they’d prefer gallivanting off for arbitrary missions than doing the paperwork they’re due,” said Sylus.

She appraised him, and he arched his brows. When she was convinced she could hold him and his army of two accountable, a wide smile graced her face. She accepted Sylus’s hand and caught the muscles in his forearm pulling taut as he dragged her up her feet. It stoked the fire in the pit of her stomach.

“My heart is soothed.” She squeezed his arm for a good measure. Still as firm as she remembered. Marvellous. She couldn’t wait for him to put it around her chest as he stood behind her. “Come on.”

Sylus chuckled and eyed her with a knowing glance.

She led him to the guest bathroom while blocking out his complaints. A low-hanging cabinet would only be Sylus’s arch-enemy if he let it. Some things were a matter of state of mind. It was his fault for exceeding the average design layout height.

As she waited for the warm water to fill the bathtub, she put exactly zero effort into masking her ogling of the fine statue of the man who was tinkering with his shirt.

“I’m starting to wonder if I should charge per view,” Sylus said without looking up.

“Are you going to strip?” Excitement was prominent in her voice and smile and posture. Everything, really.

Sylus choked out a laugh and spread his arms. “A little help, then?”

Patient, she was not. She wrestled with the damaged buttons, but some of them were so tangled with the fabric that she just ripped them off. The shirt dangled open, revealing the defined pack of muscles that she had been itching to see in their whole glory. The dried streaks of blood that trickled down his navel certainly contributed to the view.

She did love being a Hunter trained for strength.

“That is vintage,” accused Sylus.

She helped him shake the shirt off. “If it’s that precious, you wouldn’t have worn it to fight your enemies.”

“You have a habit of assuming the worst of me. I could have been ambushed. Ever think of that?”

She clicked her tongue. “Were you?”

“Nope,” Sylus popped the word smugly. He disintegrated his trousers and underwear in a snap, and she had to practice immense self-control from roving her hands all over his body.

Her eyes had no such restraint, though.

Sylus stood straighter and placed his hand on her waist, pressing her against his crotch. She jutted her chin forward. It would be so easy to toss her clothes off and go for a round, but she didn’t want to give Sylus easy things. He had to earn it. With a sly smile, she nipped the underside of his jaw and dragged him towards the bathtub, pushing his shoulders to lie down instead.

Sylus chuckled but relented. He sank into the warmth and tipped his head back. Plumes of pink clouded the water as steam rolled up their faces. She knelt beside the tub and lathered his arms with soap, carving out the blood from under his nails with meticulous precision. The soap was floral-scented. She had kept it in stock ever since she noticed Sylus had a fondness for flowers.

“Close your eyes,” she murmured. She scooped water to his head and worked the shampoo into the silver strands of his hair.

There was an open tenderness on his expression, one that Sylus only wore around her. He might not have let her in completely yet, but this allowance of vulnerability was already an improvement. She was willing to practice being patient for this.

She massaged the tough knots in Sylus’s shoulders, and he let out a contented sigh. “I never knew you had such dexterous hands,” he said.

“Really.”

He peeked at her and knew both of them were picturing the last time she stayed over at Onychinus base. “All right, perhaps I have some idea.”

“I’d be offended if it turns out that you were pretending to enjoy my service.”

“There is no pretence when it comes to you. I relish everything you give me.”

She slid her hand down to where his heart was. It was soothing to feel it drumming against her palm. Sylus was alive and breathing and fine. She had not lost him. “Even the gunshot here?”

Sylus sighed and covered her hand with his own. “Especially that.”

Something in his tone constricted her lungs. “I don’t enjoy wounding you, you know,” she said in a small voice. “The things I said earlier were in jest.”

“I’m aware.” Sylus smiled. “Actions speak louder than words. You’re arm-deep in bloodied water and sitting on hard tiles for me, so how could I not know?”

She worked in silence for a while; the sound of water sloshing was the sole interruption. It was nice being with Sylus like this. He didn’t need her to do anything to amuse him. He didn’t need her to work for his acceptance despite the tests he lobbed at her when they just got to know each other. She had a feeling they never truly mattered. She was finally within his reach and Sylus’s world was righted on its axis again.

“Did you think of me when I was gone?” asked Sylus.

Water had soaked through her top. It was a good thing she wore shorts. Sopping fabric sticking to her skin was a supremely unpleasant sensation. “If I deny it?”

He pushed himself up and twisted to look at her. “I’d deny your denial.”

“How about you then?” She wiped the blood that stained the corner of his eye. “Was I on your mind?”

“I had wondered how it’d be to slaughter bad guys with you,” Sylus allowed.

“I feel compelled to point out that you’re one of the bad guys.”

Sylus twirled his finger. “It’s all about perspective.”

“Don’t think of me so much anymore.” At Sylus’s confounded look, she added, “Just bring me next time. You wouldn’t have to wonder if I’m by your side.”

“I still would.” Sylus cradled her cheek and she inclined her body, her fingers gripping the edge of the tub so she wouldn’t tumble in. “Greed is insatiable by nature. Once we achieve the goal of eliminating opponents together, I would want to move to a bigger target. As long as humanity exists, there will always be new things to conquer.”

She was always gravitating towards him and his touch. It was more than a physical desire. Her heart pounded in her ribcage. It was simply a matter of time before it broke free. She didn’t know what would happen then and who she would become, but she was eager to find out. “I’d rather think that’s the humanity in you. Heartless beings have no higher ambition beyond subsistence. Look at the Wanderers.”

“I’ve seen plenty of heartless monsters burning innocents at the stake in fear of their power.” Sylus’s face scrunched in distaste. “Bloodlust doesn’t need a heart to thrive.”

“So what did you do?”

His voice softened as it often did when he talked about the past. “I burned down the world for her.” This time, his stare remained sharp on her, not receding into his memories.

She heard the reverence behind the person Sylus was referring to. Whoever she was, she was grateful she had been there for him. Before their relationship improved, there was an air of loneliness that hung around him. Sylus was intimidating yet alone. Those who dared to approach him always demanded something from him. Every connection involved a deal and calculation. Nothing was genuine. He had no one to turn to when exhaustion took over him, no one to be gentle with after gruelling days of living.

“You must have loved her deeply,” she said. “I’m glad you had her.”

Sylus studied her face, but she didn’t have anything to hide. He nodded, a small, relieved smile painting his lips. “And I’m glad I have you now.”

She blew the bubble foam in her hand at him. “You should be. I’m one of a kind. Discarding me would be a huge blow. Think of the time and effort you’ve invested.”

Mimicking her, Sylus gathered the foam around him and smeared it on her face. “You’re not an investment. When I gave you my heart, I didn’t expect anything in return,” he said. “As you go through your life, remember that there’s someone rooting for you. You carry me in the palm of your hand, so live well. That’s all I ask from you.”

She thought of her fear of being left behind by him. Sylus had been around for a while and had formed no attachment to anyone. She knew he had a liking towards the twins and took them under his wings, but they had approached him first. They stuck to him relentlessly until he had no choice but to let them be. Would he choose her over and over if given the choice? It was scary to believe that Sylus would be so selfless to give up his heart and never ask it back.

But she believed it, she did. Sylus didn’t leave much space for doubt. Through his actions and words, they spoke of the same thing. Just as loud, just as steadfast. There was so much kindness and love contained in one person. How could that be?

“I thought you were greedy,” she reminded him. “You should ask for more. I’m giving you my everything too. My heart, my body, my soul.” She caught his hand and trailed it down her chest, dragging down the top of her tank. “Take more from me. I’m all yours.”

Sylus had shifted to his knees, yet he still towered over her. Water dripped down her thighs as his nose touched hers. “If only you could see how beautiful your soul is.”

“Your affection is my mirror,” she said. “I can see it from how much you love me.”

“I do adore you so.” Sylus slid down her top and peppered fervent kisses down her collarbones and the swell of her breasts.

She coiled her fingers into the base of his hair and pulled him back up, capturing his lips with hers. With an arm wrapping around her waist, he fell backwards into the bathtub and brought her down with him.

Lukewarm water rocked around them. She was swathed in water tinted with blood that wasn’t even his, but she didn’t care. They deepened the kiss, and she felt him growing hard beneath her pelvis.

Sylus bit her neck and she gasped. “I know you want to fuck, but we should wait until we’re not surrounded by strangers’ blood,” she said.

He licked the shell of her ear before speaking, his words a jagged whisper. “That’s probably for the best.”

“I make wise decisions,” she said. “And since you disintegrated your clothing without a second thought, I’m afraid you’ll have to strut around naked.”

Sylus arranged their limbs so they were not in danger of drowning, making her kneel on top of him. “You ripped my shirt off without a second thought.”

“Ah, I thought about it all right.” She pretended to contemplate hard on it. “And I have decided you’re better off naked.”

“And shivering.”

“My body is an excellent warmer.” She splashed water at him.

“I know.” His thumbs drew circles around her nipples. “But do you truly not keep spare clothing for me?”

She pictured the rows of clothes folded neatly in her wardrobe in case Sylus dropped by. “You shall be naked or... well, naked. You’ve got no other option.” She shrugged.

Sylus pinched her nipples, eliciting a moan from her, and chuckled. She was sure he had seen through her lie. “Fine, let’s go with that. I have nothing to hide from you. But in turn, don’t think you can still keep this on. A deal has to be fair.” He tugged at her shorts. Her top had bunched around her stomach and had outlived its use. “Take it off.”

She huffed. “You do it.”

One snap of his long, agile fingers and she was completely bare to him.

“I didn’t say now.”

“You didn’t say when.” Sylus threw her a self-satisfied smirk while his finger started to rub her clit.

Her hips bucked involuntarily and she curled her hands into fists on his chest. “We still can’t fuck right now.” Her eyes narrowed in warning. “The dead are clinging to us.”

Rich laughter escaped from Sylus. He kissed her forehead while withdrawing his hand. “Only you can manage to kill the mood while making me love you more.”

She poked the tip of his nose. “Everything I do makes you love me more.”

“I know.” Sylus smiled at her, and it was a tender, loving smile that she wanted to sink into forever.

Sylus had no idea how much she loved him. Now that he was within her grasp, she would do everything she could to keep him. No more loss. No more heartbreak. Enough was enough.

She hoped Sylus shared her desire.

Footnotes:

Dragon Sylus can resurrect the dead, so his resurrection offer here is a nod to that.

MC sometimes uses nature-related words and metaphors. It's to highlight Sylus’s and her similar interest and their deepening relationship to the point that she adopts some of his ideas. It also shows that her past life still lives in her subconscious.

Wrote this because I brained too hard in my depressing Caleb fic so now I needed a brain cleanser.

Sylus does know very well how beautiful her soul is, doesn’t he?

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[darnell-la]

MADE THE FIRST MOVE

pairing: Robert “Bob” Reynolds x reader

summary: y/n knew her job as a hero would be difficult, and most people don’t look after Bob like she does. somehow, she enjoyed it, and couldn’t help but fall for the guy. sadly, his depression kept her back from showing any feeling. that was until he surprised her with the first move.

warnings: smut, depression mentioned, mutants, etc

———

Bob has always been an insurance guy. Ever since y/n got to know him, she’s tried to build his confidence. Even after he almost wiped out everyone in New York a few mo the ago.

The Avengerz live in the old Tony Stark tower, helping each other out in life, even after saying multiple times how they couldn’t stand each other.

Y/n and Bob were the only ones who loved being around each other. After a while, they’ve became close, so close Bob could barely function around y/n. It’s almost like his heart would stop any time she’d come around.

“I’m sorry about like this — Usually I’m fine, but he’s just being difficult right now,” Bob said, speaking above the Void who had started getting to close to taking Bob over again.

For the past month, Bob grew a huge heart for y/n, and Void began taking the chance to make Bog over think every possible detail about y/n and him being anything but friends.

“It’s fine, Bob — Really,” y/n said as she slipped off her house shoes and got under the covers. Y/n had been staying with Bob for the night to make sure he felt needed and wanted. Not in any sexual way, but as a friend.

She would be lying if she said she had no feelings for Bob. She just couldn’t bring herself explain it to him or anyone. She felt like it was wrong, especially with that Bob had going on with himself.

“Why do you do this? I know you see something in me, but y/n- I’m a grown man. And, adult, and I can’t even control my emotions. I suck so bad at it that if I feel too down, I could get rid off the whole city in seconds,”

Bob wouldn’t stop speaking down about himself, as y/n switched the TV off to have something going on in the background as they rested for the night.

“Bob, look — We’ve all got our problems, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve help. Why would I watch you and ignore you when u can help? You’re not bothering in any kind of way. Trust me,” y/n said as she turned to look at Bob.

Y/n’s stomached filled with butterflies at the way Bob was looking at her. “I appreciate you, y/n, you know that, right?” Bob asked as he scanned her face, falling in love with her for probably the thousandth time today.

“And, why is that?” Y/n asked, knowing why, but wanting him to speak about her in a way that may make her fall for him harder. “I mean- Just look at you. A gorgeous girl wanting to take care of me — That sounds like a dream,”

“I think you’re over exaggerating just a little bit,” y/n said as she went to tuck under her covers but Bob stopped her by moving closer to put his hand in her cheek. “Not even a little,” Bob said, feeling some courage to show her how much he appreciates her.

“I don’t know what to say,” y/n spoke low, now feeling shy. “You never have to say anything to make me happy,” Bob said as his eyes sprightly glowed yellow. “You’re perfect no matter what you do or say,” y/n was at a loss for words at the moment.

Bob has never been then type of man to have confidence and show it. This was very new for him and her, and she didn’t know how to react. She was happy, yet too shocked to say anything.

“I think I’m actually happy,” was the last thing Bob said before he leaned into y/n, connecting his lips onto hers. Before either of them could settle in, Bob deepened the kiss as he moved on top of her.

“Tell me if you’re uncomfortable, and I’ll stop — I promise,” Bob pulled back to make sure he wasn’t ruining anything by his quick decisions. “I would never tell you to stop. Ever,”

That’s all it took for y/n and Bob to be sweating, moaning, and shaking underneath the covers. They both weren’t to experienced, or had a great person to do this with. Now, they finally do.

“I swear, I love you, y/n — I really do. You’ve changed my perspective on life — On living,” Bob said as he softly, but same time roughly thrusted down into y/n. “I-I’m glad I could h-help,” y/n stuttered as her back arched.

“I want you to — I need you,

[koyagifs]

one last time

pairing: yunho x reader au: 9th member | idol | poly genre: angst with comfort word count: 1.2k synopsis: you release a song for every member on their birthday while they are away in the military warning(s): unrealistic

You smiled at the crowd, tears stinging your eyes as the reality hit you — you had just sold out your first solo tour. It was a dream you could hardly believe was real. You had just finished singing Utopia, your voice still echoing in the venue, unaware that Yunho was watching from the crowd, a wide smile on his face, the lightiny glowing in his hand.

"ATINY, how are we feeling tonight?" you asked, pulling out your earpieces. The roar of the crowd hit you all at once, sending a shiver down your spine as you took in a deep breath, soaking in the moment.

"As you guys know… it’s Yunho-oppa’s birthday today."

“And he’s not here to celebrate with us, unfortunately,” you added, voice trembling slightly, “but just know — he loves you all. So much.” A soft sniffle escaped before you could stop it.

The crowd let out a collective aww, which made you laugh through your tears. You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, trying to compose yourself. A small cough escaped as you raised the mic again, your voice steadier now.

“So… I prepared a little birthday gift for him,” you said with a gentle smile. “And I want you guys to tell me what you think, okay?”

The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, a wave of excitement rolling through the venue. You smiled softly, then gave a small nod as the lights dimmed and the stage faded to black.

You made your way to your cue spot, heart pounding in your chest. Sliding your earpieces back in, you took a deep breath, grounding yourself in the darkness.

For just a moment, it was quiet — the kind of stillness that feels like the breath before a confession.

Then the music began.

Soft, intimate piano chords filled the air, and the sound of the crowd faded into a hush. You clutched the microphone tightly, grounding yourself as your heart pounded in your chest. The first verse left your lips like a secret finally spoken aloud, your voice full of emotion, fragile but unwavering.

Behind you, the screen flickered to life — a warm montage of shared moments: you and Yunho laughing during rehearsals, playful glances in interviews, quiet behind-the-scenes clips, and lingering hugs after long performances. The kind of moments fans had always noticed... but never quite had words for.

You took a shaky breath and began to sing.

"One last time, I need to be the one who takes you home..."

The chorus hit like a wave, and the entire arena swayed with you, some fans mouthing along through tears even though they were hearing the song for the first time.

In the crowd, Yunho stood frozen, the Lightiny in his hand forgotten. His eyes were wide, lips parted, chest rising unevenly — as if he’d forgotten how to breathe. The emotions in your voice cut straight through him, threading between every beat of his heart.

The crowd erupted into cheers as you soared into the high note, your voice unwavering and full of raw, unfiltered emotion. But Yunho barely heard them. His world had narrowed to just you — standing on that stage, bathed in golden light, singing a song that felt like it had been written from the very center of your soul.

It was like he had fallen in love all over again.

The way your voice cracked slightly on the bridge, the way you clutched the mic like it was the only thing keeping you grounded — it was all so you. Vulnerable. Brave. Beautiful.

Yunho’s heart ached in the best and worst way.

He wished the others were here to witness this moment, to see you shine the way only you could. But he knew — you’d planned this. You told them to come to certain dates, spaced out, quiet and private. It was so like you to give each of them their own space in your spotlight.

Still, tonight was his. And he knew it.

He didn’t look away from you, not even when the final note faded and the lights dimmed just enough to soften the edges of the stage. The crowd erupted into cheers, some chanting your name, others openly crying — but Yunho just stood there, eyes locked on yours, like you were the only one in the room.

And when you finally looked out, eyes scanning the audience as you caught your breath…

You found him.

You smiled through your tears, the sight of him grounding you like nothing else. With a soft laugh, you wiped your cheeks, stepped forward into the spotlight one last time, and brought the mic to your lips.

“Happy birthday, Yunho-oppa,” you said, voice thick with emotion but laced with the kind of warmth that only belonged to him.

The crowd cheered again, but all you saw was the way his lips curled into that familiar, gentle smile — the one that always felt like home.

Blowing a kiss to the crowd still chanting your name, you smiled through the shimmer of tears and waved one last time before the stage platform lowered you beneath the floor. As soon as your feet hit solid ground, you were surrounded — your team clapping, cheering, offering hugs and congratulations as they guided you toward your dressing room.

But none of it truly registered.

Not until you opened the door.

There he was.

The second your eyes met his — tall frame, warm smile, Lightiny still in hand — your breath hitched. Without thinking, you ran straight into his arms, leaping up as he caught you effortlessly. His soft chuckle rumbled in your ear as he spun you around, grounding you in the kind of warmth only he could give.

The tears you’d held back through the entire performance finally broke free.

“You came! You actually came!” you cried, clinging to him tightly.

Yunho didn’t trust his voice, so he just nodded, arms wrapped around you like he never wanted to let go. His own eyes shimmered as he pressed his cheek to your hair, breathing in the moment, the relief, you.

“You think I was going to miss your first solo concert?” Yunho asked, gently cupping your tear-streaked cheeks, his thumbs brushing away the remaining drops. “You have no idea how jealous the others are, by the way.”

You sniffled, laughing as your nose scrunched adorably. The smile you gave him could’ve lit up the room. “Well… if you hadn’t caught on,” you said playfully, “it’s because I wrote songs for all of you — for your birthdays.” You shook your head, eyes glimmering. “You have no idea how hard I had to fight to convince them to let me tour nearly the whole year.”

Yunho blinked at you, then laughed, rubbing a hand over his face like he was trying to believe you were real. “Oh, Hongjoong is livid that they actually agreed,” he said, voice laced with fond disbelief. “Why would you do that to yourself? You’re going to tire yourself out, baby.”

His voice softened at the last word, concern bleeding into every syllable. His hands never left your face, holding you as gently as if you were made of glass.

But you just leaned into his touch, whispering,

“Because I love you all. And if I can't be with you every day... I’ll sing for you instead.”

[slytherin-pen]

The Only Man I See

pairing: Bodhi Durran x Reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: none

tags: no use of y/n, gn!reader, set during IF, Bodhi is feeling insecure

summary: After an offhand comment made by an Assembly member, Bodhi is struggling with feeling inadequate in Xaden’s shadow. Good thing he has you to remind him of who he is.

written for day 2 of Bodhi Week @empyreanevents

Bodhi Masterlist

The door creaked softly as you entered the bedroom you shared with your boyfriend in Riorson House, the familiar scent of the vanilla candle you loved greeting you. You deposited your weapons on top of the dresser, your bones aching from the long patrol flight. You were covered in sweat and mud, but none of that mattered the moment your eyes landed on him.

Bodhi didn’t move.

He was sitting at the vanity, elbows on the polished wood, eyes fixed on the mirror in front of him. His fingers were loosely laced together under his chin, his expression unreadable in the fading evening light. He didn’t turn when you shut the door. Didn’t even flinch when your boots hit the hardwood floor with a dull thud.

A heavy feeling settled in your chest.

You approached quietly, setting a hand on his shoulder. Still, nothing. Your other hand found the opposite shoulder and squeezed gently.

“Bodhi,” you said, your voice soft and concerned. “What’s wrong?”

A long pause.

Then, in a voice so low you almost missed it, he murmured, “They’re right.”

Your brows furrowed. “About what?”

He exhaled slowly, his shoulders rising and falling under your touch. “That I’m nothing like him.”

Your heart sank.

You stepped close enough to smell his cologne, kneeling slightly so you could see his reflection in the mirror beside yours. His eyes were tired and filled with emotions you hadn’t seen in him in a long time. Guilt. Shame. Insecurity. Bodhi was a lot of things—sarcastic, brave, loyal—but not this. Not often.

“Suri said it during an Assembly meeting,” he said, voice flat. “Xaden couldn’t make it, he had to help Violet with something, so I stepped in. I gave a full rundown of a new patrol route. It was solid. I knew it was solid.” His mouth twisted. “And after I presented it, she just smiled and said, ‘Well, you may look like Xaden, but you sure don’t think like him.’”

You blinked, a flare of anger rising in your chest. Suri. Of course it was Suri.

“Bodhi…” you began.

“I know she didn’t mean it in a cruel way,” he cut in, waving a hand. “She probably thought it was funny. Or some backhanded compliment. I’ve heard worse.”

“But it still hurt.”

He finally met your eyes through your reflections in the mirror. “Yes,” he whispered. “It hurt.”

You wrapped your arms gently around his shoulders, your chin resting on top of his head. “She wasn’t right,” you said. “She was so, so wrong.”

He huffed a dry laugh. “Was she, though? I’ve always been the mess-up. After the Apostasy, I could barely dress myself, let alone gather marked ones to start planning a revolution. Xaden was what, seventeen? Already planning how to take care of us all and taking the necessary steps for the revolution. Meanwhile, I was…” His voice cracked. “I was just trying to survive.”

“Bodhi—”

“I didn’t fight like him. I didn’t lead like him. I spent years feeling like a fucking liability. I know he never said it, but I saw it in people’s eyes. Like, ‘Oh, there’s Xaden’s cousin. Wonder what that one’s good for.’” He gave a bitter chuckle. “And I can’t even blame them.”

You stepped around the chair and knelt in front of him, hands gently gripping his. “Those people don’t know you.”

“But it’s true,” he insisted. “He’s the one who’s always been strong. Who made the right calls. Who held everyone together. Me? I freeze when I’m overwhelmed. I make jokes when I should be serious. I’m soft. And I know you say that’s not a bad thing, but it feels like it is when I’m sitting in his chair and everyone in the room is looking at me like I’m an imposter.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he wasn’t done.

“And sometimes,” he said, voice smaller now, “sometimes I wonder if you would’ve chosen him. If he wasn’t with Violet. If you had met him first, would you have picked him instead?”

You blinked. “Excuse me?” you asked, your head rearing back like you’d been slapped.

“I know it’s a stupid thought, but I—”

“A man who spends his time brooding in dark corners and has the communication skills of a brick wall is not my type,” you deadpanned.

Bodhi blinked.

A laugh burst out of you. “You think I look at him and think, ‘Ah yes, the one who glares at anyone who so much as breathes too loudly and is about as warm as an ice bath. Dreamy.’”

Bodhi snorted, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I chose you,” you said, softer now. “Not because you’re Xaden’s cousin, because you’re you.”

His smile faded slightly, eyes flickering to the mirror again. “Why?”

You took his hands and kissed his knuckles.

“Because you know I’m getting sick even before I do. Because you plate my food for me in the dining hall so I don’t have to wait in that ridiculous line when sparring runs late. Because you lay out my flight leathers the night before every patrol because you know I like to sleep in as long as possible and still be on time.”

His eyes started to glisten.

“Because when I’m having a bad day, you never ask questions—you just pull me into your arms and hold me in your cocoon of safety. Because you remember how I take my tea, how I hate the hours after it’s rained and it’s muggy, how I get nervous before debriefs even though I pretend that I don’t.”

Tears slipped silently down his cheeks.

“Because you’re the first person to notice when something’s wrong, and the last person to ever judge me for it. Because you make me laugh when I want to cry. Because you believe in people, even when they don’t believe in themselves.”

You climbed into his lap, cupping his face in your hands.

“And because when I look at you,” you whispered, “I see the man who always puts other people and his duties before himself. I see my Bodhi.”

He swallowed hard. “Your Bodhi?”

You nodded, smiling gently through your own tears. “The man I love. The one I feel like the luckiest girl alive to have.”

A broken breath escaped him as he buried his face in your neck, arms wrapping around your waist tightly. “I love you,” he murmured. “I love you so damn much.”

You held him, rubbing slow circles on his back. “I love you too.”

For a while, you just sat there with your legs draped over his lap. Eventually, his breathing steadied. The tension in his shoulders loosened.

You turned both your gazes back to the mirror.

“Others might see Xaden’s cousin,” you said quietly. “But I’ve always just seen you. The best parts of you. The ones that don’t belong to anyone else.”

He looked at your reflection, then at his own, eyes soft. “You really don’t wish I were more like him?”

“Bodhi,” you said, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “if I wanted someone who frowns professionally and has a dramatic monologue prepared for every crisis, I would’ve started dating one of the actors who work at the theatre in Chakir.”

He chuckled again, properly this time.

“Besides,” you added with a wink, “your hair’s better.”

He grinned, finally—wide and full and unmistakably Bodhi.

“You think so?” he teased, leaning back slightly.

“I know so. And your eyes are softer. Your voice is warmer. You give better cuddles. And don’t even get me started on how good you are with kids—”

“Okay, okay,” he laughed. “You’ve made your point.”

You leaned your forehead against his. “You’re not supposed to be Xaden. You’re supposed to be you. Sweet, loving, loyal, selfless, Bodhi. The man who makes me feel safe and like I’m at home.”

His eyes shimmered again, but this time, the tears weren’t from pain. They were from love.

He kissed you, slow and reverent, like he was trying to taste the truth in your words. And when he finally pulled away, he whispered, “Thank you. For seeing me.”

“Always,” you said.

You tucked your head under his chin, smiling when his fingers started to play with your hair.

You knew your reassurances wouldn’t fix the real problem, the lifetime of constantly being compared to his cousin, but you could do your part in reminding him that he has always been enough for you. That the only man you see in a crowded room is him. That while he may think he’s the sidekick in Xaden’s story, he’s the main character in yours.

[andy-15-07]

Say It Louder

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 1513 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

request:Can you maybe write one where the reader is like in her 30's and dating pedro and lately she notices hes a bit distant and not himself to her at least and one day after work she asks him whats going on and he tells her he wants to break up and he doesnt give an explanation and they are both heartbroken and on set shes quiet and one night at a award show or afterparty of a movie a guy is flirting with her but she is just being nice and not going in on it until he put his hands on her and pedro is there too and helps her and confronts the guy and she takes him home and he explaines why he broke up cause of ppl downgrading her with the age difference but she never cared and they make up? Can you end it with smut and maybe after they go full out public cause they dont care anymore what others think @kellyxo1

You knew something was off.

Pedro hadn’t been himself for weeks. Not distant in the obvious way,he still made your coffee just right, still left sweet voice notes when you were on set,but it was in the eyes. Less sparkle. Less softness when they landed on you.

You didn’t want to pressure him, but after two weeks of his half-hearted kisses and distracted smiles, you couldn’t pretend it didn’t hurt.

That night, you waited until he got home. He dropped his keys in the bowl like usual, shrugged out of his jacket, and when he turned to greet you, you were already waiting in the hallway.

"Hey," you said gently. "Can we talk?"

Pedro paused, eyes flicking to you with that guarded look you'd grown to hate. “Sure.”

You motioned toward the living room. He followed, sinking into the corner of the couch while you sat opposite him.

"You’ve been different lately," you said. “And I didn’t want to make a thing out of it, but… it’s been eating me up.”

He ran a hand over his face. "Y/N..."

"Just be honest with me, Pedro. Please."

He didn’t look at you when he said it.

“I think we should break up.”

Your breath hitched. "What?"

His hands gripped his knees, knuckles pale. “I just… I think it’s time.”

"Why?"

“I just," he shook his head, still avoiding your eyes, "I can’t do it anymore.”

“You can’t do what, Pedro? Be with me?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said quietly.

You stared at him, stunned. “So you’re just ending it? Without even explaining?”

His silence told you everything. You nodded slowly, standing, your heart pounding in your ears.

“Okay. If that’s what you want.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, finally looking up.

You didn’t cry. Not until the bedroom door closed behind you.

You stayed professional on set. You didn’t cry in your trailer or avoid eye contact with crew. But people noticed.

Pedro noticed too.

He watched you when he thought you weren’t looking,eyes filled with regret he refused to speak aloud. You greeted him politely, like any colleague. He looked gutted every time.

A few weeks passed. The new film premiered with glowing reviews, and the cast was invited to a big afterparty at the Chateau.

You almost didn’t go. But the publicist insisted. “You’re stunning and successful. You need to shine.”

So you put on the dress that made you feel invincible and stepped into the spotlight like nothing had ever hurt you.

Pedro was already there. In a classic black suit, nursing a whiskey, eyes tracking you from the moment you walked in.

You didn’t go to him. You were trying to move on.

A tall man with a sharp suit and cocky smile approached you at the bar. “You’re Y/N, right? The scene-stealer?”

You laughed politely. “That’s generous, but yes.”

He offered you a drink. You sipped slowly, nodding along as he talked,clearly impressed with himself. You were just being nice, not encouraging anything. But then his hand slid across your lower back.

Too low.

You tensed. “Hey,”

He leaned in. “You’re even hotter in person. Age looks damn good on you.”

You stepped back. “Okay, that’s enough.”

But his hand followed. “Oh come on,don’t be like that,”

A hand clamped over the man’s wrist. Firm. Unyielding.

“Let go of her.”

Pedro.

He stood between you and the man now, body tense, jaw clenched.

The guy raised his hands, trying to play it cool. “Whoa, alright. Didn’t know she came with a bodyguard.”

Pedro didn’t flinch. “I’m not her bodyguard. I’m the man who’s about to get you kicked out if you touch her again.”

The guy muttered something under his breath and slinked off. Pedro turned to you, eyes stormy.

“You okay?”

You nodded, heart still pounding. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“I’ll take you home.”

You didn’t argue.

The ride was quiet.

When you got inside your place, you kicked off your heels, adrenaline still buzzing. Pedro lingered at the doorway like he didn’t know if he was welcome.

You stared at him for a moment, and finally asked the question that had haunted you since the night he left.

“Why did you break up with me?”

He closed the door behind him. “Y/N…”

“I deserve the truth, Pedro. Not silence. Not distance. Truth.”

He paced for a second, then finally let it spill.

“Because people were starting to talk.”

You frowned. “Talk about what?”

“The age difference. You know,how I’m older, and you could do better, and I’m holding you back. That it’s weird. That you’re some kind of… fantasy I don’t deserve.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “You broke up with me because of them?”

He looked pained. “It got to me. I started thinking maybe they were right. That I was just dragging you down.”

You took a slow step toward him. “Pedro, I never cared what people thought. You’re the one I loved. You.”

“I know,” he said softly. “And that scared me. That I could have something so good, and maybe I didn’t deserve it.”

You placed a hand on his chest. “You do deserve it. Us.”

He looked down at you, hands curling around your waist like he couldn’t help himself.

“I missed you,” he whispered. “Every damn day.”

You leaned up and kissed him,soft at first, then fierce. Weeks of longing and heartbreak melted in the heat between you.

Pedro lifted you in his arms without breaking the kiss, carrying you toward the bedroom like instinct. The door clicked closed behind you.

His jacket hit the floor first. Then his shirt, hanging forgotten over the back of a chair. Every barrier vanished as he pressed you against the wall, one hand braced on the drywall, the other cradling your face. His lips trailed open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, to the hollow at your throat, each touch igniting a spark that ran straight to your core.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, voice thick. His mouth dipped lower, sucking gently on your collarbone, and you gasped, fingers tangling in his hair. He lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist, and carried you to the edge of the king-size bed.

He paused to meet your eyes. “I need you,” he breathed, voice husky.

You nodded, heart hammering. “I need you too.”

Clothes fell away in a trail: your dress pooled at his feet, his belt and jeans hit the floor in a soft heap. He paused to admire the curve of your hips, the smooth line of your back, the way your breath hitched when he pressed his palm to your belly.

“Perfect,” he murmured, capturing your lips again.

He guided you down onto the mattress, positioning you so you were lying back and he hovered above, knuckles brushing your inner thighs. The anticipation was electric,each small touch sending shivers along your nerves.

Then, gently, he slid home. You cried out, an urgent, breathy sound, and Pedro paused to close his eyes, savoring the feeling. Slowly, he began to move, barely a whisper of motion at first,inch by inch, savoring every gasp and tremor escaping your lips.

Your fingers gripped his shoulders as the pace deepened. He thrust deliberately, hands bracing at your hips, then increased the rhythm until the world narrowed to the friction at your core and the sound of skin against skin.

“Oh, Pedro…” you moaned, arching your back as he found the right angle, each stroke driving you higher.

He bent to press kisses to your neck as he moved, murmuring your name over and over. “Y/N… Y/N…” His thrusts grew more insistent, driven by need and regret and the promise of never letting go again.

Your breath hitched into one long, keening plea just before your release. Muscles tightening around him, you came apart beneath him,hard, trembling, tears of relief and joy shining in your eyes.

He collapsed beside you, sliding out and rolling onto his side so he could cup you close. His body shook as he rode out his own climax, whispering a choked, “I love you,” into your hair.

You curled into him, skin to skin. He pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder blade. “I never want to be apart from you again.”

Your fingers traced lazy patterns on his chest. “Stay,” you murmured. “Let’s never hide again.”

He smiled against your skin. “For real this time, I promise.”

Outside, the city hummed on,and inside, you two rebuilt all the pieces you thought were lost.

Two weeks later, Pedro posted a photo.

It was taken on your balcony, sunlight hitting your bare shoulder as you looked over your coffee mug. You were wearing his shirt. He captioned it simply:

“Mine. Always was.”

Within minutes, Twitter exploded. The age-gap discourse restarted, of course,but something shifted.

This time, neither of you cared.

You went public, hand in hand at the next premiere. Pedro kissed you on the red carpet.

And you smiled, because no whisper, no headline, no jealous critic could erase the way he looked at you now.

Like he’d never let go again.

[loves-n-kisses]

Because I liked a Hero - ProHero!Bakugou x ProHero!Reader

TW: Vandalism, Curse words/slurs (Slut, Whore, Gold digger, Homewrecker, etc.)

A story where Pro Hero Dynamight is in a fake relationship with Illusionist Pro Hero, Camie Utsushimi, but you're the one he really has feelings for. Things take a turn when the press catches bakugou and you kissing, and the media completely turns on you--in the worst way possible.

Inspired by "because i liked a boy" by Sabrina Carpenter <3

"I'm a home wrecker, I'm a slut

I got death threats filling up semi-trucks

Tell me who I am, guess I don't have a choice

All because I liked a boy"

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The city skyline glittered under the twilight, but for you, the world was a blur of adrenaline and light. As Luminara, a rising pro hero with the quirk Radiance—the ability to manipulate and weaponize light into blinding beams or solid constructs—you were used to the spotlight. But nothing prepared you for the chaos of falling for Katsuki Bakugou, the explosive Dynamight, whose temper was as volatile as his blasts.

You and Bakugou had been colleagues for years, both climbing the hero ranks with relentless determination. Your quirks complemented each other: his fiery explosions paired with your precise light constructs made you a formidable team. Late-night patrols turned into banter, then trust, and somewhere along the line, you caught yourself staring at his sharp crimson eyes a little too long.

But Bakugou was untouchable—or so the media thought. For months, he’d been in a high-profile “relationship” with Illusionist, the pro hero Camie Utsushimi, whose quirk let her create vivid mirages. The public ate it up: the bad-boy hero and the glamorous illusionist, a perfect tabloid romance. You knew it was fake, a PR stunt to boost their agencies’ visibility after a joint mission went viral. Bakugou grumbled about it constantly, but he played along, posing for photos with Camie’s arm looped through his.

You tried to ignore the pang in your chest every time you saw them together, but working with Bakugou made it impossible. He’d bark orders, then soften when it was just you two, his voice low as he asked, “You good, Sparkles?”—his nickname for you, mocking your glowing quirk. One night, after a grueling battle against a sludge villain, you collapsed beside him on a rooftop, catching your breath. The city hummed below, and he muttered, “You’re not half bad, you know.” 

Your heart raced, but you laughed it off. “High praise from the great Dynamight.”

He smirked, but his eyes lingered. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

The tension grew over weeks—stolen glances, brushes of hands, late-night talks about everything but the fake romance plastered across headlines. You knew he felt it too, but neither of you dared cross that line. Until one mission changed everything.

A villain ambush left you and Bakugou pinned in an alley, your light shields barely holding against a tremor of projectiles. He shielded you from a blast, his body pressed close, and in the chaos, he growled, “I’m not losing you, idiot.” The words hit harder than any explosion. When the dust settled, you were both alive, panting, and too close. Without thinking, you kissed him, and to your shock, he kissed back, fierce and desperate.

It was a stolen moment—until a civilian’s phone flash caught you. The photo hit the internet within hours: Dynamight Kisses Luminara in Steamy Alley Smooch! The headlines screamed betrayal. Homewrecker! Luminara Steals Dynamight from Illusionist! Fan forums exploded, and your social media drowned in vitriol. “Slut,” “gold-digger,” “whore”—the words stung like venom. Physical letters arrived at your agency, some with death threats scrawled in red ink: “Stay away from him or you’ll regret it.”

You tried to stay strong, but the hate wore you down. Your apartment was vandalized—windows smashed, “HOMEWRECKER” spray-painted across your door. Stalkers lingered outside, snapping photos. You barely slept, jumping at every sound. Bakugou noticed, his jaw tight as he cornered you after a patrol. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

You shrugged, voice hollow. “Didn’t want to bother you. You’ve got enough with the media circus.”

He grabbed your shoulders, eyes blazing. “Don’t be stupid. I—” He stopped, then softer, “I care about you, damn it.”

The confession cracked something in you. You admitted your feelings, the fear, the guilt. He pulled you close, promising, “I’ll fix this.”

The breaking point came during a live interview. The host, a smug woman with a shark’s smile, leaned forward. “Luminara, how does it feel to be seen as a homewrecker? Breaking up Japan’s favorite hero couple?”

You froze, the studio lights burning. The audience’s stares felt like knives. But you lifted your chin, voice steady. “I didn’t break anything. I fell for someone I work with, someone I respect. I’m not the villain here.”

The clip went viral, splitting the internet. Some praised your courage; others doubled down, calling you delusional. The threats escalated, and one night, a brick crashed through your window with a note: “You’ll pay for this.”

Bakugou had enough. He called Camie, and they devised a plan. At a press conference, the room buzzed with reporters, cameras flashing like a storm. You stood beside Bakugou, your heart pounding. He stepped to the mic, his presence commanding, voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

“Listen up, because I’m only saying this once,” Bakugou began, his crimson eyes scanning the crowd. “The relationship with Illusionist was never real. It was a publicity stunt cooked up by our agencies after that viral mission last year. You know the one—where we took down that giant mech villain in downtown Tokyo? The media went nuts, and our teams saw a chance to boost our rankings. They pushed us into this fake romance to keep the hype going—photo ops, staged dates, the whole damn circus. I went along with it because I thought it’d help my career, but it was a mistake. I never had feelings for Camie, and she knew it. The only person I’ve ever wanted is Luminara. She’s not a homewrecker—she’s the one who’s been caught in the crossfire of this mess. So if you’re sending her hate, you’re not just wrong, you’re pathetic.”

He stepped back, jaw tight, as Camie took the mic. Her usual carefree vibe was gone, replaced by a steely resolve. “Y’all got it twisted,” she said, her voice clear. “Like Katsuki said, this was all fake. Our agencies set it up after that mission because our quirks—my illusions and his explosions—made for a flashy combo that got tons of views. They thought a ‘power couple’ narrative would keep us trending, bring in sponsors, and raise our profiles. We signed contracts, had scripted appearances, even practiced how to look cozy for the cameras. But it was all an act. I never dated Katsuki, and I’m not heartbroken. Honestly, I’m pissed that Luminara’s getting trashed for this. She’s a badass hero who’s been saving lives while dealing with your garbage threats. Katsuki and I agreed to come clean because this has gone too far. The vandalism, the stalking—it’s not just unfair, it’s dangerous. So cut it out and let them be happy.”

The room erupted in questions, but Bakugou and Camie stood firm, their detailed accounts leaving no room for doubt. The truth hit the airwaves like a shockwave. Reporters scrambled to rewrite their stories, and social media shifted. Fans posted apologies, trending hashtags like #SorryLuminara and #TeamDynamara. Your agency bolstered security, and the police cracked down on the stalkers. The hate began to fade, drowned out by the next news cycle.

Weeks later, you and Bakugou sat on your balcony, the city quiet for once. He slung an arm around you, grumbling, “Tch, told you I’d fix it.”

You smiled, leaning into him. “Yeah, you did.”

He tilted your chin up, kissing you softly, no cameras or chaos to ruin it. The world had tried to tear you apart, but you were still here, glowing brighter than ever—all because you liked a boy.

[sahrberrii]

I’LL STAY HERE ｡｡｡

↳ 「 issei matsukawa 」 ␥ 松川 一静 .ᐟ

college has been feeling a bit lonely and your friend promises to stay till it doesn’t. but are you really only friends?

event masterlist, general masterlist

His big, calloused hand found its way to the arc of your head, thick fingers entangling with silken locks of hair, freshly cut fingernails barely grazing the surface of your scalp.

The swell of your cheek was pressed against the solid surface of ISSEI MATSUKAWA’s chest, the palpitations of his heart as loud as ever against the lobe of your flushed ear.

His other hand rested parallel to the small of your back, the ridged pad of his finger lingering for a moment of time before unconsciously tracing unsteady lines along the curve of your hip. In a way that makes you wonder, is that really how friends act?

“Do you feel better?” he asked, his lips airily moving against the stands of your hair, almost imitating the feel of a soft breath.

“…Yeah, a bit, I guess,” you mumbled into his shirt.

He hummed in response, eyes trailing along the ceiling. He thinks he wants this moment to last till he draws his last breath.

Occasional sniffles filled the silence and the scent of your freshly washed hair engulfed the little space remaining between your bodies. In return, the tip of your finger lazily traced distorted flowers along his chest. Mattsun’s breath hitched and he just wished you knew of the effect you had on him.

“Mattsun,” You mumbled.

“Yeah?”

“When…When are you leaving?” Your voice slightly dipped, the question asked as your eyes traced the t-shirt lazily draped over the back of the arm chair. His t-shirt.

He’s been here for 8 days, the decision of the nearest train ticket and a packed bag made on his part after earning a shaky phone call from you. No questions asked.

The thought of him leaving did bad things to your heart. The subtle traces he’d been weaving into your life—subconsciously—made it damn near impossible to imagine him not being there. Not having his scuffed shoes next to your smaller ones. Or his green toothbrush idly sitting next to yours in a shipped ceramic holder. Or having the room filled with the smell of his fresh cologne. And worst of all—the touches. His big arm around your shoulder. His hand within your hair. His lips teasingly lingering around your temple.

“When you tell me to,” He grinned. That stupid, smug grin that made your heart beat slightly faster.

You angled your head to stare at him. “What?”

“You heard me. I’ll be gone whenever you want me to be gone,” His hand left your hair to wrap around your own, fingers threading their way through yours.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” He replied. “Until you feel better, and you no longer need me,”

“What if I never feel better—I mean, making friends is not the easiest thing in the world,” You pressed.

“Then I’ll stay here,” He reassured.

The way your hands fitted together, the way they moulded into one another, as if one, made your throat a little dry. Your cheek goes back to its previous position, pressing against his clothed skin.

“Okay,”

Moving cities sucked. Making friends sucked. Loneliness ate away at your very skin. But it’s okay now. It’s okay because ISSEI MATSUKAWA was going to be here until it truly is okay.

hello mey i hope this was what you just wanted help idk but ily and you’re gonna do soooo well in uni i just know!!!!

[c4shm0neyxxx]

“The Quiet Between Us”

Pairing: Yeon Si-eun x fem!reader

Genre: Fluff, slow-burn comfort

⸻

The wind was crisp today—cool enough to make you shiver despite the faint sunlight filtering through the trees in Yeongdeungpo Park. You tugged your sleeves over your hands and glanced beside you.

Yeon Si-eun was sitting on the park bench, back straight, hands resting neatly on his knees. His expression was neutral as always—guarded, distant—but you could tell he was relaxed in his own way. The gentle sway of his leg and the way he let out a soft breath every now and then told you more than his face ever did.

“You’re cold,” he said suddenly, his voice low.

You blinked. “What gave it away? My chattering teeth?”

His gaze flickered to you—dry, deadpan.

“You’re not that subtle,” he replied.

You rolled your eyes, but smiled. “You could offer me your jacket, you know. Like a proper gentleman.”

“I would,” he said without missing a beat, “but you’d probably drown in it.”

That made you laugh, and you didn’t miss the tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth. You loved that—you loved the way he didn’t smile often, but when he did, it felt like you’d uncovered something rare. You didn’t need big gestures with Si-eun. His presence, his quiet concern, was enough.

“You always come out here when you’re thinking,” you said, watching the small pond across from the bench. Ducks floated lazily, undisturbed by the cold.

“It’s quiet here.”

“You don’t like quiet?”

“No, I like it,” he said, turning his head slightly to look at you. “But when I’m with you, the quiet feels different.”

Your heart stuttered.

He wasn’t the kind of guy to say things like that. He wasn’t the type to offer compliments or be affectionate without reason. But every now and then, he dropped these quiet, thoughtful lines that left you breathless.

“Different how?” you asked softly.

Si-eun looked away, watching the leaves dance in the breeze. His brows drew together—not in irritation, just contemplation. You’d come to recognize the subtle shifts in his expressions.

“It’s not heavy,” he finally said. “Silence is usually… pressure. But with you, it’s not.”

You didn’t speak for a while, afraid that anything you said might shatter the moment. You simply leaned your shoulder into his, your touch light but intentional. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t move away.

He let you stay there.

That was enough.

⸻

You and Si-eun weren’t dating—at least, not officially. You weren’t even sure what you were. Friends, maybe. Companions. Something suspended in that space between understanding and unspoken affection.

But days like this made you feel like you didn’t need a label.

“You know,” you said after a while, watching a kid try to feed bread to a pigeon twice his size, “most people wouldn’t pick a cold bench over their warm beds on a weekend.”

He shrugged. “Most people aren’t me.”

“Mm, true. But most people aren’t this pretty, either.”

That made him pause.

“Pretty?”

“You know you are,” you teased. “If you ever wanted to stop beating people up, you could just model for skincare brands. You’ve got that ‘stone-cold beauty’ thing going for you.”

He gave you a flat look, but his ears were pink. That was enough for you to claim victory.

“You’re weird,” he said quietly.

“So are you.”

There was a pause. He was still looking at you, his gaze lingering just a moment too long to be casual.

“That’s why I don’t mind being around you,” he murmured.

You were pretty sure your heart forgot how to beat for a second.

⸻

Later, the two of you wandered the nearby streets, your footsteps naturally falling in rhythm. Si-eun didn’t talk much, but his presence filled the space in other ways. You always noticed the little things—how he walked on the side closest to the road, how his eyes subtly scanned your surroundings, how he slowed his steps if you fell behind.

There was comfort in that. In knowing that he cared in ways that didn’t need to be said aloud.

You stopped in front of a small convenience store.

“Want hot chocolate?” you asked.

He nodded once. You ducked inside, grabbing two cans of warm cocoa from the heated shelf. When you came back out, he was leaning against the wall, hands tucked into his pockets, face turned up slightly to the sky like he was trying to read something in the clouds.

You handed him one can.

“Thanks,” he said, fingers brushing yours as he took it.

The contact made you warm in a way the drink couldn’t.

You both stood there for a moment, sipping cocoa in silence.

“I used to do this alone,” he said suddenly.

You looked at him.

“Come out on weekends. Watch people. Drink hot chocolate.”

You smiled. “Sounds lonely.”

“It was.”

His eyes met yours. There was something unguarded in his gaze, a softness that didn’t come often.

“It’s not anymore,” he said.